I wish I could divorce myself from my past some times. But I can’t. My past proves to be part of the whole. It’s not the whole of me but I wouldn’t be who I am without it, so I will live with that part of me I wish’d I could sometimes forget. In part, because I never want to divorce myself from my writing and the ‘safe and sacred space’ I wish this blog to be for fellow survivors of domestic violence, intimate partner violence and/or sexual abuse. It seems like sex and violence often are paired. Much like abuse and sexual harm are often coupled.
It ‘ain’t pretty or glamorous to remember the past, but my mission — my vision, as it were, is to communicate to others that they are not alone and that there is healing. In finding my voice after abuse, writing poetry and communicating my story, I hope to give voice to you and your story. We are a sisterhood and brotherhood. Survivors ‘get each other’ in profound ways. We are the human experience and humanity, no matter what kind of suffering or grief you've faced, 'get each other'-- if only we try.
It came as a surprise, then, when my first thought in hearing the word ‘vision’ was spit. I didn’t really want to explore that part of my story. I didn’t want to peel that layer back and expose that humiliation. Some things, I’m told, are better left unsaid.
But it persisted. This correlation much like an ice breaker ‘association’ game —- you say ‘bunny’ and I say the first thing that comes to my mind. Hope*writers daily prompt challenge said 'vision', I said spit.
(un)Incredible Hulk spit on me. In my face. Vile spit. Demon spit. Straight from the pit-of-hell spit interlaced and interlocked with the same kind of vile curses —naming me things I’d never heard and calling me names I never could imagine. In all the violence, I’d never been spit on before. For that matter, I’ve never been spit on since. It’s the closest thing I’ve ever felt to understanding Jesus and His suffering on the way to the cross. He was spit on; beaten. Often, those horrendous acts of hatred, paired. Sadly, coupled to emphasize the blows of shame.
It was mortifying. It was humiliating. It was disgusting. Hatred hawked at me like I was nothing. Intended to damage. Intended to hurt. Intended to bring shame. It stayed with me— even after it was wiped away— and it’s been a hard memory to shake; an easy trigger to get pulled.
Then I thought about holy spit. Healing spit. Straight-from-heaven spit. The kind of spit that leaves you whole and healed and grateful. The kind of spit that tenderly calls you His child and His friend; names of comfort and strength; blessing and joy.
Jesus heals with holy spit. He healed the deaf and mute man with spit. He heals the blind man with spit. And then, he heals the blind beggar with a spit mud pie. Interlaced and interlocked with His power over all things, He made the beggar-man see.
Every part of Jesus is a healing agent. Every part of Him is the oil of gladness and salve for broken places.
In a sort of re-Creation story, Jesus mixes His breath, His saliva and His spit with the earth, the dust; the common ground and makes mud. Mud pies of miracles, as it were. Then, he placed the mud on the blind beggar’s eyes and tells him to go wash in the pool. He is healed! Blind men see! Deaf men hear! Mute men speak!
It is THE biblical story that gives us the famous line from the hymn, Amazing Grace—
‘I once was blind, but now I see.’
So few believed this blind beggar that Jesus had healed him. They protested, they questioned, they denied and they even rejected the idea, but it was true: holy spit heals. Mud pies made with the Living Water of Jesus’ own giving of Himself, heals.
So, I’ve been spit on more than once. I’ve felt the vile spray of demons casting poison onto me. And, I’ve been touched by the Most Holy Living Water and Breath and Spit of Jesus that heals. He heals blind eyes, deaf ears, broken hearts, shattered emotions and fragile minds. He heals the woman caught in domestic violence and the one sexually abused.
I once was blind but now I see.
Jesus gave me back my vision when the enemy sought to destroy it forever. If ever you need to see more clearly, ask the Lord for mud pies. Ask the Lord to touch your broken-hearted places. Ask the Lord to cup your face with His tender mercies. Ask Him to give you mud pie miracles.
He is the Great Healer. He Himself is the God who sees.
Vision feels like blind beggars, seeing
And that blind beggar was me.
Midnight Mud Pie Musings
Make me a mud pie
One to help me see
Like the blind beggar man
That you healed so generously
With holy spit and dirt
Like the dust you know we are
Mix it with Your Living Water
Place the mud upon my heart
And heal me of the spit of man
That posed as vile demon
Remove the shame that blinds
And the gross humiliation
I need my vision back
Healing for my soul
Touch my weakness; my diseases
Make me miraculously whole
And let me sing
With the other beggars, needy
Amazing Grace, Amazing Grace
‘Twas blind but now I see
And let me never forget
You touched me
With mud pies made of tender holy spit
You healed me so very generously
Let me never forget
Vision feels like mud
Cupped in the hands of Jesus
Like matted eyelids touched with soil;
Washed away in the nearest pool
Until my eyes open with new clarity
Vision feels like blind beggars, seeing
And that blind beggar was me.
ss:cjz
5.13.22
12:03 am
In the Biblical New Testament books of Mark, chapters 7 & 8 and John, chapter 9, the authors tell the stories of Jesus using ‘spit’ to heal a blind man, a deaf man and a blind beggar. In the story of the blind beggar, He mixes His spit with the dirt to make mud. It’s a fascinating and profound read with layers and layers of meaning and depth.
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