Matthew 18:6: “if anyone causes one of these little ones, those who believe in me to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large mill stone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.”

Meaning: Children are trusting by nature. Because they trust adults, they are easily led to faith in jesus. God holds parents and other adults accountable for how they influence these little ones. Jesus warned that anyone who turns little children away from faith in him will be severely judged.

Reflection: How does it feel to know Jesus is angry for what happened to me?

Honestly… it feels strangely peaceful. Like someone finally walked into the ruin of my childhood with a light and said, “Yeah… this was wrong. All of it.” It hits like a warm wave settling over places in me that have been locked tight for decades. For the first time in my thirty-something years, I feel like somebody actually gives a damn — and not just a soft, comforting love, but a fierce, protective, chest-thumping anger that says, “What they did to you was not okay.”

I never had anyone stand up for me like that. Growing up, I didn’t know a God who defended the little girl hiding under the weight of adults who were too broken to notice the damage they were creating. I didn’t know a God who stood next to me when my mother stumbled into my room smelling like shame and alcohol, or when my father’s addictions turned him into a ghost who didn’t care that his absence was carving holes into me.

I thought God had tossed me out with the rest of the mess. That I was so tainted from what happened behind closed doors, so contaminated by secrets no child should ever carry, that even God wouldn’t touch me. And so I learned to carry everything alone — the rage, the confusion, the fear, the disgust, the deep belief that I was unlovable. Trauma doesn’t just scar you… it teaches you to expect abandonment.

But now? Now I can see it wasn’t Him who left me. It was trauma tightening around my eyes like a damn blindfold. It was lies whispering that it was all my fault. It was darkness convincing me I was disposable. The whole time I thought I was forsaken… He was right there, steady, patient, waiting for me to finally breathe again.

And now that I can actually see, I’m realizing Jesus didn’t ignore my trauma — He was angry about it. Angry that people who were supposed to care for me turned around and harmed me. Angry that I had to grow up raising myself while pretending I wasn’t drowning. Angry that I spent years believing I deserved the pain handed to me.

And somehow — this part blows my mind every time — He took every violation, every betrayal, every night I cried alone, and He made something out of it. Not to justify it, not to excuse it, but to make sure it didn’t get the last word. The very things that tried to destroy me ended up becoming the backbone of who I am now.

Still… there’s a part of me that thinks about my mother facing Jesus. About the truth finally being laid bare. And there’s a sting there, a heaviness. Because part of me wants justice, and part of me just wants to understand why. But at the end of the day, that’s not my burden. What she did and what she’ll answer for — that’s between her and Him. I’ve carried enough.

But even with that truth, the ache doesn’t just vanish. The questions I’ll never get answered — the “why didn’t you protect me,” the “why didn’t you choose me,” the “why wasn’t I enough for you to stop” — they still sit heavy. And some days they burn like open wounds, especially when I’m sitting with my journal, peeling back layers I thought I had already healed.

Healing is holy.

But it’s also brutal.

And today I’m letting both realities exist without trying to pretty them up.

XOXO, The Healing Wildflower 🌻