My Trauma, She Haunts Me...No Moore
A ghost I see now and again,
She comes out at twilight,
When I’m down in the deep dark night.
The Siren calls, and I hear her say,
“You, but a child, I matured long ago,
And I’m here today to save your soul.
Open your box of memories,
Think of me and you’ll escape your miseries.
Blame me for your choices,
I’m the savior that silences all critical voices.
Forgetting me is the reason,
You can’t tolerate the season.
My smell, you remember often,
A benevolent aroma, your shame, to soften.
You painted over me.
And hidden I’ve been,
Unveil me, and you’ll see,
I alone can save you from sin.
I’ve remained here all along,
Hear my enchanting song.
Follow me and you’ll be alright,
I’ll save you from the deep dark night.
I’m the undercurrent in your life.
Guiding you through a maze of strife.
I made you who you are,
The reason you still live, your north star.
You are my time vault,
And in you I placed,
Unworthiness, shame, and fault,
So I could come today to heal and replace.
I’ll excuse your darkest sinful lots,
For you’re a product of me not your faults.
In your mirror, see my face,
A benevolent queen, full of grace.
No one you can trust, but me,
For I made you all that you are to be.
No one knows you like I do,
A loving mother I’ve been to guide you.
You are only worthy when you remember me,
Forget me not, lest my beauty you won’t see.
You cannot flourish without me,
For I help you righteously hate your enemy.
Talk of me often,
And I’ll give you a restful coffin.
I know you’re tired. Together we’ll sleep.
And your soul I’ll pleasantly keep.”
But on this weary road,
Another voice I hear,
It’s the carpenter’s Son,
“Come to Me, and your trauma will be undone.”
He calls me back to His cross,
Where He gave His life, the King suffered loss.
My best day, and His worst.
God the Son crucified, cursed.
Where was God? I thought. But then Gabriel speaks:
“See Him hanging there, submitting to a sinner’s lot.
Gnashing and weeping ensue,
The Son of God, traumatized for you.
Foretold by the prophets, and Christ Himself,
Sinners tortured the Son of Man,
Under God’s sovereign hand.
Then, out of the tomb, He came,
Ascended to His Father’s side to rule and reign.
The greatest good known to man,
Came out of the worst trauma ever experienced, that a man can.”
Could it be that the God of right,
Was sovereign over my trauma, even in the deep dark night?
If the God-Man’s trauma can bring immeasurable good,
Then the Lord can use mine, if Him, I only understood.
I need not know how God uses the Siren or the fallen,
I only need to cling to the One who knows, He alone is sovereign.
He is enough, regardless of what I don’t understand.
For He is my all, and I’m headed to the promised land.
My trauma renamed me long ago,
But a new name I have today, Christ has saved my soul:
Child of God, bride of Christ, brother, friend.
He’s called me His own though I’ve heinously sinned.
Therapists say, “The body keeps the score,”
Yet my trauma, she haunts me no Moore.
For Christ’s body keeps His and my scars,
His trauma and mine, dead in an empty tomb, no longer mars.