Peace
I imagined them in a circle - surrounding me and looking down at me. Each person glared at me with a scowl. Some pointed their fingers. I felt the pain in my side as one of them kicked me. “You are a pathetic son.” “Look at the mess you’ve made.” “You are an incompetent parent.” You are a terrible Christian.” “You are a failure.” The feelings were overwhelming. Then I pictured Jesus in a white robe, taking my hand and helping me up. “I love you, son - no matter what - I’m proud of you.” Maybe the therapy and EMDR was working. At least I could take the thoughts captive. I could counter the negative emotions. I could at least temporarily silence the voices. My son had just returned from camp. I had just gotten home from work and my son hugged me as he stepped out of the van, a beaming smile across his face. He was happy and he actually missed us. He couldn’t stop talking about the fun he had had. This year, he was surrounded by friends. He liked his counselor. He loved the water slide.