Mess to Masterpiece

By Karyn Mulligan

We all have varying degrees of mess in our lives. Whether it's abuse, self-doubt, divorce, addiction, fear, or some other barrier, our mess keeps us from living this one life God gave us. Join Karyn as she journals her way through her mess of childhood sexual abuse and her struggles with debilitating anxiety and fear. Mess to Masterpiec

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karyn Melone Mulligan
• Release date: Nov 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735807119

Book preview

MESS TO

MASTERPIECE

KARYN MULLIGAN

Mess to Masterpiece

Copyright 2020 © Karyn Mulligan

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781735807119

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version, The Message Bible, or the Amplified

Contents

Dedication

Tears

Preface

Introduction

Can Anyone See Me?

Does It Matter?

Resurrection Power

Forgiveness

Thanksgiving

Love

Joy in the  Unfamiliar

Christmas Bells

A Simple  Christmas

Frozen

Far Away

Strawberry Fields

Meaningful Tears

F.A.I.T.H

Don’t Be Fooled

Sleep, Sheep, and a Shepherd

Peace

Empty Nest

Limits

Redeemed,  Again?

Four Wives

Everyday

Acknowledgements

Dedication

This book is dedicated to every person who has experienced sexual trauma. It is an evil that unfortunately touches way too many of us. One of life's greatest blessings is to be loved and to express love. When that is perverted, it damages the soul. While reading this book may God's love be revealed in a tangible way, to bring healing and restoration.

… we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago… 

Ephesians 2:10

Tears

The clouds roll in all dark and grey

The wind begins to blow

And then the rain starts falling hard

The steady streams now flow

But in each tiny drop of rain

There's healing for the soul

It washes over all the hurt

The past has had its toll

But what is left behind instead

Is where I want to dwell

All nourished, clean, refreshed again

There's freedom to be held

And once again the clouds do part

The sun begins to shine

The pain and hurt have been replaced

My tears have all been dried

And God looks down from up above

He leaves a promise strong

A rainbow stretched across the sky

It is to Him, that I belong.

Preface

God took all the messes of my life and fashioned them into a beautiful handmade masterpiece.

As I stood at the mailbox and opened the letter, I felt that twinge of dread that most of us do. Staring down, I saw just two words: JURY DUTY. It was followed by number 98. It was my fourth summons to serve since moving to North Carolina, and I no longer had any excuse not to go.  Forced with my reality, I decided maybe it would be a fascinating experience and who knows, maybe I would get to serve on an exciting case.

At least a hundred of us were sworn in on that hot summer day in August. We made our way into the gallery of the courtroom, filing in one by one. There was a judge, two police officers, a court reporter, and two attorneys. When I realized that both the plaintiff and the defendant were present, I started to feel a bit tense, this was something I had not expected. 

The defendant looked to be a 30-year-old male. He was tall, muscular, and his long hair was tied back. He wore a dark suit that matched his eyes. They darted back and forth as he watched us – those who would perhaps decide his fate. He and his lawyer sat on the left of the court. The plaintiff was a teenage girl. She was uncomfortable, continually fidgeting while sitting in the corner instead of at the table on the right with her lawyer. The first 12 numbers were called at random. The judge asked them to state their name and address, if they had ever served on a jury, and if there was any reason that they would not be able to serve. If nothing was keeping them from their civic duty, they moved onto the questions asked by both lawyers. 

Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.

As I sat and watched the lawyer for the plaintiff address the first young juror, sitting in her sundress and sandals, the lawyer began, Have you or do you know someone who has been sexually abused? 

Not yet connecting the dots, I thought, Wait, what?! Why would she ask that question?

The follow-up question came after the young blonde replied, Yes, my best friend was sexually assaulted. 

Do you think you could remain impartial and be fair-minded if you were chosen to serve on this trial?

It was then I understood.

The sweat started first on my forehead, then on the back of my neck. My tenseness had now turned to pure panic. I silently prayed, Please, God, do not let them call my number. 

I was sitting in a room full of strangers. Each juror would be asked the same series of questions, and I'm pretty sure you had to tell the truth. I kept thinking, "I can't do this." And yet, I had no choice.  

How could this be happening to me? How could I walk past everyone in the courtroom, sit in the jury box, and answer that question with all eyes on me? That's when I started to shake. 

All the shame that I had carried since I was a little girl – the same shame that I had been trying to shed over the last several years – came rushing back like the waters of the Niagara. 

In one instant, fear began to rear its ugly head as I dreaded where I found myself right there at that moment. Why was this happening, God is this some kind of a joke? Why would He allow this?  

And that's when I heard my number – 98. 

I stood and walked to the jury box, passing the twelve jurors and sat about 20 yards from the judge. Sitting on my hands to help control my shaking, a cold sweat washed over me. The judge who was soft-spoken, asked his questions, he then turned me over to the lawyer for the plaintiff. She asked me the same question that had been asked many times that day.

Have you, or do you know, anyone that has been sexually assaulted?

And as if someone else was speaking for me, in a firm and confident voice, I responded, Yes, I am an adult survivor of childhood sexual abuse.

Right then, all eyes were on me. It was as though they could see through me, right down to the core of my ugly past. As I was asked more questions, I knew when it came time for the defense lawyer to ask his questions, I would be dismissed. He would not want someone with my expertise deciding the fate of his client. That is exactly what happened; he dismissed me almost immediately. I picked up my things, again walked past the jury box, the now half-empty gallery, and didn't stop until I reached my car. 

As I sat in silence, I heard a still small voice. It wasn't condemning; it was encouraging. It wasn't a voice that perpetuated humiliation but promoted celebration. No doubt, I had made great strides over the past seven years. But it wasn't about how far I'd come. It was about how deep I had once been. 

God had made a way for me to overcome the shame and humiliation that comes with abuse. I was not about to allow this one experience to undo even an ounce of what the Lord had done in my life. Going back was not an option. As I listened to that still small voice now coming at me, it reminded me of what I had buried deep in the crevices of my heart.

Do not fear, for I am with you. Isaiah 41:10, 

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them. Deuteronomy 31:6

I will keep in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee. Isaiah. 26:3

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. Prov 3:5

God was with me. And He had not brought me this far to leave me to fend for myself in that courtroom. He had been with me. Whether I had recognized it at that moment or not.

Was it hard? You bet! 

Was I uncomfortable? Like never before. 

But if there is one thing I have come to understand, God isn't all that concerned about how comfortable I am. What He is concerned about is my character. What He wants more than anything is for me to walk in His truth. I am not a victim of my past any longer. I am a child of God, redeemed, whole, and accepted. I needed to believe this truth no matter my circumstances. No matter what comes my way, the focus of my attention needs to always be, I am His.

I thought of the young plaintiff. What had happened to her? What torment had she been living? Would she ever be whole again? 

As I sat, physically and emotionally drained, tears spilled from my eyes. I was so relieved the courtroom ordeal was over. But I also felt something else. For the first time, I felt vindicated, maybe even a bit liberated. I realized I had never spoken those words out loud. My silence didn't make them any less true. But speaking those words out loud, I AM A SURVIVOR, confirmed my new identity. God took all the pieces of my life, my messes, my pain, my hurts, and fashioned them into a beautiful, handmade masterpiece. I truly am the work of His hands. I am His beloved.

Do I have scars from my past? Indeed, I do. But they are a reminder that I don't do life alone. They are a reminder that God causes all things to work together for my good. Those scars remind me that nothing will ever separate me from His love. They remind me that none of my sufferings will ever compare to the glory He will reveal in me. He has lovingly held my hand and walked with me; grace and mercy have guided my way to self-discovery. I am no longer a victim. And that, my friend, is good news. For me, for you, and for the young girl left sitting in the courtroom facing demons from her abused past. 

Introduction

Fear had kept me from living out my faith because my view of God had been so skewed.

I couldn't breathe. My anxiety had increased to a level I was not familiar with. It was about 2:00 am and I had not slept in several days. The panic attacks were coming more frequently, one after another, and they seem to be lasting longer. How would I ever be able to get on a plane that Friday? It was less than 48 hours away. 

I couldn't allow my thoughts to take me there. Maybe I wouldn't even make it until Friday. The first thought of my day had become, I wonder if today would be the day I die. I left my bedroom and headed downstairs to the couch. I wrapped myself with my favorite blanket, hoping it will bring me some comfort. I propped my feet up on the ottoman.