Over the River and through the Fire: Journeying to Overcome the Roadblock Called Self

By Sherry Lewton

Heartache and brokenness are universal. When our lives are thrown into the fire, it will either make us or break us. In her memoir, author Sherry Lewton recounts events from her past that ignited her own fires, throwing her life into a blaze of secrecy, shame, despair, and devastation. Throughout those tumultuous years of painful experiences, roadblocks springing up to hinder recovery are labeled and defined. Of all the roadblocks, she acknowledges that it was her own self that was often the greatest obstacle preventing recovery. But Sherry unashamedly proclaims how choosing to focus on God alone as the only answer, and the only one who could heal her broken heart, led her to find her way to the path that could lead her out of the fire and into triumphant living.

With no desire for platitudes, pat answers, or shaming techniques to infiltrate her message, she seeks to tenderly offer hope to her readers through an unwavering and passionate desire to inspire those who find themselves engulfed in fiery trials to let go of selfish motives and desires. In doing so, roadblocks that hinder recovery are removed, and we can then gain freedom to reach out our hearts and hands to a broken and hurting world. No other way will satisfy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685709815

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Over the River and through the Fire

Journeying to Overcome the Roadblock Called Self

Sherry Lewton

ISBN 978-1-68570-980-8 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68570-981-5 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Sherry Lewton

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Foreword

Introduction

Prologue

Thrown into the Fire

Trails Off the Path

Tumbling Down

Train Whistles

Tears at Birth

Teeth and Legs of Concrete

Taming My Tongue

Turmoil's Debut

Thinking Clearly

Throw Away the Baby Bottle

Toxic Thoughts

Tests

Taxing the Remotest Star

Traditions Change

Tender Victories

Think on These Things

Teach Me to Pray

Then…

Those Who See Things Differently

Toss the Chameleon

Tableland

Turning Back

Times Are Right

Tracks Are Necessary

Tackling Sideways Energy

Treat from the Birds

Through a Broken Heart

Threats to Self

Tell Him!

Thankful… Still

Taunters

Things We Cannot See

True Paths

Two Sons

Task Change Depression

Trust—That Evasive Command

Troubling Foxes

Taking Me in His Arms

Truth… It Will Set You Free

Touching His Garment

Three Strengths

Tribute

Tap into a Gold Mine

Testify

Triumph out of the Fire

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Bibliography

About the Author

There is one answer, one conclusion, when all philosophical and theological foundations on which everything rest give way: don't demand explanations.

Don't lean on your ability to understand. Don't turn loose of your faith. But do choose to trust Him, by the exercise of your will He has placed within you. The only other alternative is despair.

—Unknown

To Dan and Joel—who kept me from choosing despair.

Foreword

All self-pity is satanic, wrote Oswald Chambers. In this day of garish self-exaltation through victimization, Sherry Lewton's remarkable memoir offers us the only way out of self-preoccupation. By the time I got to the second page, I was already asking the Holy Spirit to search out my tendencies toward self-reference in life's vicissitudes. How refreshing to find a wronged person honestly, yet unselfconsciously, choose to live the Life that her Lord both desires and enables, no matter the circumstances. It is glorious to see how the Spirit of God can so revolutionize a heart that what flows out of pain are rivers of living water. This author has vigilantly confronted any stagnant places that would hinder that flow.

I have known Sherry since college. Her ex-husband was one of my best friends at the time. In fact, I attribute much of my conversion experience to his patience and kindness towards me when I was a cauldron of anger and rebellion. Over the years, I gathered snippets of the maelstrom Sherry was thrown into, by both stultifying revelations and divorce. Remarkably, she and I reconnected through a note of gratitude for something I had preached. But the blessing has all been mine in learning from her in this recounting of the God who is big enough to burn away every vestige of shallowness which storms of pain often uncover. For the person who endures unjust affliction, I hope this book is chosen as a precious resource of wise and exacting counsel.

Without a whit of sensationalism or self-promotion, Sherry honestly, lovingly, and pensively retells every difficult heart cry to discern the presence of her Master in the relational devastation. Few are brave enough to be willing to enter the darkness of abandonment in exchange for His resurrection power. This is not a relishing of pain; every paragraph glorifies Jesus. That should not be unsettling, but it is. If anyone wants to know Jesus like this author, it will cost everything.

In manageable and memorable portions, Sherry invites us to see any tragic heartbreak as an invitation into the heart of God. Refusing the self-curvature of pain, she recounts the means by which tears of rejection can be turned outward, watering the world with tears of intercession. She does not bypass the self, but she does not get mired in it. Here, deep reflections on the destructive alienation of sin give way to the immeasurable victory offered to all by our Savior. Sherry is never preachy. Her humility is seen on every page, and that is the reader's challenge. Discouragement for most of us is disguised egoism. For a quarter of a century, she has fought that temptation to destruction and we are the beneficiaries of her meditative prayer, extensive reading, and wisdom from above gained through the arduous journey of discerning Christ making all things new.

Like our forebears whose maturity dwarfs us, she shows us how sanctification in the midst of great difficulty enables personal enlargement. Intimate union with Jesus comes by vulnerability over a lifetime. Because Sherry has died to herself, she beckons the reader into the stark beauty of a teachable, malleable, correctable spirit. We are not used to this sort of careful selflessness. That is why this book ought to be digested slowly, prayed through contemplatively, and applied ruthlessly. Broken-heartedness is rampant but few have been able to rise above despondent defeat. Sherry charts a realistic map in every paragraph toward becoming a recreated, purified, emboldened reflection of the compassionate Purger of our souls.

There is a shift in the universe when those who have experienced torment are grateful for the mystery of severe mercy. Sherry takes our hand and leads us through fire-like affliction, pointing us to the One who is able to sustain and bring a thriving life out of chaos. Her brave heart outlines every place where the voice of her Deliverer might have been shut out or misconstrued. We glibly quote Paul's adage, in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, without including ourselves as part of the problem. This disciple of Jesus has heard what few can in agony. Our fundamental pain is not sourced in the perpetrator but in the human heart, even of the sufferer. I know of few books which plumb the depths of our corporate sinfulness with such outright abandon to the will of the One who knows why all evil occurs and is able to turn all it into His glory.

At first, I thought I would quickly read this memoir. I was wrong. It was difficult to relinquish my pride. I am guilty of allowing pain, resentment, and bitterness to cloud my path. But each day for several months, Sherry's selfless insistence on living as He would have us live offered me a better way. Her unforgettable Christian imagination paved a way to engage with pain, past and present, with hope, peace, and radical love.

I encourage you to read this book over and over. You will not understand the depth of this kind of trust and true faith. It is counter-cultural and at times offensive. But more, it takes time to relinquish old beloved roadblocks to selfless grace. We are so used to self-poisoning and the toxicity it breeds in all relationships that we need a model for rejecting those ingrained patterns. This riveting memoir of practiced holiness is also to be shared at the proper time with anyone who has never known true love. Though we know that pride is at the heart of all brokenness, we wait until the perpetrator buckles. But, this author's conclusion is healthier. We cannot fix anyone else but we can ask the spirit of holiness to rid us of the self life. Sherry has sought Him and He most evidently has worked purifying love in her. What we find then is an abundant, rich, joy-filled freedom.

It is remarkable that this book was concluded during a pandemic. None of us need to go far to find the paralyzing catastrophe of the turn inward. Sherry Lewton's voice is that of the apostle's Perfect love casts out fear. She has the mind of Christ, which always incorporates the Cross in victory. My hope is that the many who invest their hearts in this book will become as its author: kind, compassionate, vibrant, forgiving, teachable, integrated, and willing to identify with those in pain because of the infusion of transformative grace that is greater than all pain. To allow Christ to live His Life in us is the essence of all reality. If you desire to live without debilitating self-reference, the Deliverer who absorbed our conflagration and thus knows what tragedy is can be met through this beautiful book. It is a great place to start real life.

Dr. M. William Ury

Introduction

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.

—Isaiah 43:2 (NIV)

Over the river and through the woods

To Grandmother's house we go.

The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh

Through white and drifted snow. Over the

river and through the woods. Oh, how the

wind does blow. It stings the toes and bites

the nose As over the ground we go.

—Over the River and through the Woods¹

Are we there yet? the habitual phrase of childhood family car trips would come predictably from my own mouth as my family headed to the panhandle of Florida, from our home in Kentucky. Though we went over the river many times as we drove through Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama, and Florida, I can't be sure if we went through the woods. I do remember rows and rows of tall pine trees lining the sides of the highways, and to my childish imagination, they could have easily been planted as sentinels to guard the perimeters of some deep dark woods.

My family made the trek to my grandmother's usually twice a year, and for me, it was a highly anticipated journey each time. To Grandmother's house we go meant something powerfully special for me. Not only did I love my grandmother very much, but in stark contrast to my disharmonious daily life in my own home, here was a haven where I felt welcomed and loved unconditionally.

Every visit brought joy and excitement, fond memories of time spent with my cousins at the beach, sleepovers, mealtimes, and Christmases. The gentle positive memories of those days cast a warm glow over my moments of reminiscing, and though welcome, they bring others in hand of less happy days—deep painful memories from my childhood and broken marriage, and without warning, I am thrown into the fire of a shattered dream.

On a page now yellowed with age, dated August 26, 1996, I wrote:

So today I begin my book, hoping to allow my heart, as the writer, to touch yours, as the reader. It is a book of survival, of a journey of pain—with love as the final destination. It is not just my story, but a message of hope, that precious life-supporting anchor that helped me through those deep and dark days of despair.

This book is written to you, my dear sister, living in the closet in your marriage—a marriage that you once thought was traditional, normal, maybe even perfect. One shattering discovery, either revealed to you in an instant of time, or a confirmation of your suspicions over a period of time…the heartrending agony and devastation of finding out that the man to whom you pledged your heart and life till death do us part is gay. I really did not want to write the story. It seemed too painful to relive, and out of respect for family members, especially my two precious sons, I felt I had to continue in the secret. But my heart would not rest because I knew you were out there—hurting and hiding and living in the closet of unbelief, despair, secrecy, and hopelessness. Your children, his job, your job, the family's reputation, friends, what would they all think if they only knew? The questions you may have, my precious sister, I know. I've asked them all. But answers? No, there are no specific answers and definitely no pat answers. I long to share with you in this book that I'll call a journey of faith the only answer. The answer is the One who brings comfort and healing, and yes, He alone will help you make it—if you will only trust Him. I promise you that. He has done it for me.

More than twenty-five years later, the passion to write from a heart filled with gratitude for all God has done for me had never abated, and I knew I must obey. From the time I discovered the invasion of my marriage and home to its final destruction by forces beyond my control, His grace was sufficient.

Throughout my journey so far, I have encountered many roadblocks. A roadblock literally stops you in your tracks and hinders forward movement because it is just that—a block. I felt so much pain, but I could not share it with anyone. It was my secret and my pain alone. Often my consideration of myself became my greatest enemy. It seemed that only when I kept my sons' needs before me, ever present in my mind, was I able to manage my pain better.

I find the roadblock of self is still the one that hinders me most. This roadblock seeks to possess our hearts and minds by keeping us focused on and consumed by our own little worlds, which can repeatedly get in the way of recovery from painful experiences. There may be many detours throughout the course of many years, but God is the only One able to unblock the road so we can continue on in our growth. The promises in His Word are so numerous we cannot fathom the amount of love and care that pours out from our Heavenly Father! We are His workmanship, and He never stops working on us. Focused on self, we may scream, Stop! I can't take this anymore! Yet God says, My grace is sufficient for you. With the promise of this grace, we strive to overcome three nasty little demons called me, myself, and I, and as we do, I believe there is hope to arrive victorious at the end of the journey.

Many of you who find these pages in your hands sense a quickening of recognition in your heart because something similar has happened to you. Your dark days and painful secrets may be different from mine, caused by a rift in your marriage due to infidelity, abandonment or desertion, addiction, pornography, sickness, financial ruin, even death. Whatever it is that has thrown your life into the fire, I can make no promise of a way through but that promise which God has given so clearly to me. In spite of all the pain, the roadblocks, and the detours, one thing is certain: I have not been burned; the flames have not consumed me; the rivers have not swallowed me nor taken me under. God has carried me through—both the rivers and the fire.

Thoughts, prayers, notes, ideas, verses, and quotes have all poured into my mind and heart and onto paper for many years. In putting this book together, I have felt God promising me that He would help me form the content to a T. I looked up the definition of to a T, and this is what I found: "Most likely, the phrase is descended from the expression ‘to a tittle'. A tittle is a small mark used in orthographic details, such as the dot over an i or a j or a diacritical mark, such as an accent mark, and the sense is ‘to the smallest detail." So that is my desire—that to the smallest detail, these thoughts I share with you will help you in your journey that has been, or is now, taking you through the fire. My prayer is not to splatter out pat answers across the pages of this book on how to survive, and then leave you empty when you have read through it. Many of you know my story. I write this memoir humbly seeking to speak truth, with honesty, respect, and compassion but, most of all, having a heart full of love. It has only been the constant love and care of my Heavenly Father that guided me around, under, and through the roadblocks that wanted so persistently to trip me up on this journey. I know God will continue doing that until my journey ends, and I go to my final destination—my heavenly home. He will guide me—to a T.

Prologue

The last winter snow had not yet melted, but the sun was breaking through on an early spring day in northern Indiana in 1977. It was the perfect setting for the perfect early-afternoon wedding, which would be the perfect beginning to the perfect marriage.

Though free from typical wedding-day jitters, my heart and mind were distracted by concern, wondering if my recently divorced parents would be able to tolerate each other long enough to peacefully get through the day and allow me to speak my vows and dedicate my heart to my husband. Until I saw him there, I had not even been sure my father would attend. It had been several years since I had received any communication from him. His presence placed only a slight edge on my bridal preparations because I had long been in delirious anticipation of this day—the day that would mark a symbolic end to past years of pain. I was marrying the man I loved—the man God had brought to me—and when our words of commitment had been spoken, he was going to walk me down the aisle.

*****

Born barely fifteen months after my brother, I was in my early teens when my mother expressed to us both that she had not wanted another baby so soon after my brother's birth. My young mind struggled to process the meaning of this painful admission, but I had already begun to master the self-preservation technique of letting such hurtful thoughts roll off my back. Another telling discovery about my childhood came to me in later years. I had often been placed in my playpen or baby bed and left alone for hours on end. My infant response to this neglect was to cry and bang my head against the rails. After my mother's death, I found a letter she had written to me but never mailed. In the letter, my mother expressed her belief, using a very cutting, hurtful word, that all that head-banging had caused me to become so independent throughout my life. Through blinding tears, I read and reread that letter, trying to make sense of it and to understand not only how her perspective existed but in the form of an accusation, no less.

As I think of that baby's behavior, I see it as nothing more than an expression of the desire which never left me, even into adulthood. Deeply ingrained in me was that most basic human desire to be loved. I have yet to recall even one brief hug, kiss, or anything demonstrably affectionate from either of my parents, except those touches, I later learned, were unwholesome and inappropriate from my father. My young heart was very tender, and the distance between my heart and my parents' hearts seemed impossibly far. I sensed the width of an ocean between us, and try as I might, I had no concept of how to span that ocean and reach deep inside to where I knew their love for me must lie.

As a result, there was a force inside me, pushing me