Peeling Off the Dragon Scales

God literally drew me to a desert soon after (See The Desert Place). Except it wasn’t a desert so much as a tropical island in the middle of the South Pacific.

I spent a year living in Fiji, on a deserted island with no electricity, no roads in or out. And it was a glorious year of refocusing and relearning how to walk with God.

One day I was told by a missionary living on that island to pick up a big rock and carry it with me all day. At the end of the day he asked me if I had had any profound thoughts. And I responded by saying, “You know, in the beginning of the day it was a real nuisance – and so heavy! But now… now I barely notice that it’s there. It’s like it has become a part of me.” 

“Ah,” he said, “and so it is with all of the unnecessary burdens that we carry with us through life.”

Stupid wise man.

And so he made me think through what I was unnecessarily carrying. And when I was ready, I was to place my rock at the foot of a cross he had set up 10 feet away as a symbol of laying down my life burden.

I knew immediately that the burden God was calling me to lay down was the identity that I had formed from being the traumatized daughter of a very sick man (Daddy Disclaimer). I remember visibly shaking as I approached that cross and heard God whisper to my heart, “That is not your identity, dear Gretchen. Lay it down and pick up your true identity in me.” I should have thrown that rock down with all of my might and leaped for joy but instead I hesitated and hesitated, trembling at what it might mean. 

I don’t know how to be anything else, God, I thought. What am I supposed to do with the big gaping hole that will be left when I set down this burden?

In C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia series, there is a story told in the book, Voyage of the Dawn Treader about Eustace. Eustace accidentally turns into a dragon (I know, I know. Who DOES that?) and after many attempts to turn himself back into a boy, he encounters Aslan, a lion who resembles Jesus Christ. Aslan tells Eustice that he must tear the dragon scales off with his big lion claws. Eustace explains, “The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off… He peeled the beastly stuff right off… And there I was as smooth and soft as a peeled switch.”

In Fiji, terribly afraid and feeling like my skin was being peeled from my bones, I set down my identity as a victim, and took up my identity as whole, victorious, daughter of the King.

When Victim Called My Mind Her Home

[Daddy Disclaimer]

There was a knock on the door. Opening it a crack, I saw Victim standing before me, beckoning me with her alluring ability to place blame elsewhere. I swung the door wide open and welcomed her as an old friend.

“Would you care for tea, dear Victim? Or maybe a warm scone instead?” I invited her to the coziest chair of my house.

“Tea would be perfect, my dear. But first, let’s discuss this father of yours,” came the haughty reply of my new guest. “A bit of a letdown isn’t he?” Victim began, watching me closely. “Or maybe disappointment is more appropriate? How about absentee, heart-breaker, aloof, addict, selfish ….” she suggested. My increasingly enthusiastic nods and budding righteous anger only fanning the flame of my indignant friend.

“Yes, yes…” she continued. “It is worse than I thought. You have not realized the fullness of your undeserved pain, little one.  You have not recognized what has been stolen from you – youth, security, innocence, happiness.” She sighed a weary, pitying sigh. Then Victim rose regally from her chair, walked to the foyer and gestured to a large suitcase sitting unnoticed by the front door.

“Please, dear, would you show me to my room?” Victim said sweetly as she started towards the stairs. I rushed to carry her heavy load and followed her as she led the way to my bedroom. Never questioning her right to be there, I swiftly filled my arms with my belongings and settled into the sparse, spare bedroom down the hall.

“Oh, and I’ll take my tea while I bathe!” she rang out. I watched her cross to the master bathroom wrapped in my robe.

Victim had moved in. And it appeared she planned to stay awhile. 

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Don't worry. I'm not ending the story there. But this was a reality in my life for a long, long time. When you're handed a trial and not given the choice to "opt out," it's incredibly easy to begin taking on this victim persona. And I played right into her hands for too many years. 

Through God's goodness, I discovered who Victim really was and what I had let her do to me. And I decided to reclaim my master bedroom (because that bed is just TOO good to give up to anyone).

So, I fought and I dug and I yelled and I kicked and I punched and I sobbed and I prayed. Oh, how I prayed…

Until I made my way out of the trenches that Victim had meticulously buried me in.

And I wanted healing. And new life. And hope. I wanted those things more than I wanted to fill my lungs with breath.

But then I looked down over me and was horrified to find the shell that was left. 

(Don't worry, the story doesn't end there either).