Let me begin this article by saying to you that this has only ever happened once to me, and I believe it was for a very specific reason. I am by no means a spiritual visionary!
As I mentioned in my introduction, the first big cracks in my façade of perfection occurred with the birth of my second child. I was losing my sense of peace as my control of the externals deteriorated. I wanted to re-ignite my prayer life, which had withered away somewhat and on the advice of a trusted priest, I began the practice of spending just 5 minutes sitting, stilling my mind and going inward to listen to Jesus, rather than talk (just for a change!).
Well, it seemed God really wanted to tell me something and wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. It was maybe the third or fourth time I had had my ‘5 mins’ when an image came into my mind. It was of my heart, badly wounded in several places, with partially crumbling walls built up around it and stuck to it, holding back the flow of blood from all the wounded places.
Jesus walked into the scene and tried to remove the piece of wall from my deepest wound. I pressed it back on. He tried again, and again I rushed to press it back into place. This happened maybe three or four times and then Jesus stopped and started weeping. His mouth did not move but I heard the words, “If you don’t let me heal you, this wound will kill you.” Then the image was gone, but the memory of his tear-streaked face lingered and haunted me. Still, I resisted.
I had no idea what that particular wound was, but I knew it would be painful to cure, and would require me to give something major up, and that it would be very difficult. I struggled for a long time with the question, “Will I let him heal me?” Finally, amongst many of my own tears, I gave my “Yes”, and plunged into the unknown.
The insights came over time, but that is how this all started for me. The wound was to do with my ability to love, and the arrows that caused it were some very powerful lies that were buried so far down in my subconscious that I believed them without question, and they controlled my every action without me even realizing.
I think they are common to many perfectionists, and bringing them to light now will start to strip them of their power.
I must be perfect to be loved.
I don’t matter.
The result of believing these lies meant I lived by the maxim “Failure is not an option.” Perhaps you do too?
But coming back to what I was shown in my one and only vision, I realize only now why those tears had such a profound effect of me. It was because they addressed these very lies. I experienced then the intense depth of Jesus’ love for me. Clearly, I was not perfect, but I was loved. His weeping so sorrowfully over me showed that I did matter. I was important enough to shed tears for. He was worried about losing me!
It’s funny, because I really want to be missed when I do die. I want to matter. I think we all do.