Have you ever seen something so beautiful that you could cry? I have. When you open your eyes and really look around you, you'll see it too. That's what I see when I look at the clouds and how they are brushed with light, swirling in the sky, entranced in some sort of heavenly dance. That's what I see when I look upon a father walking down the street with his daughter hand in hand, enjoying some banter or perhaps not even talking at all. That's what I see when I look upon my mother's face, covered in tears, (as is often what happens when one stands before the Lord open and exposed), weeping with her son in reconciliation. For just one moment, the world is as it should be and nothing else matters. It's a beauty no painter can paint, but to see it means to have seen death.
I've never used to think about love when I thought about home. When I wasn't home, I never thought about going back, and when I was home I thought about being anywhere else but. My home was a prison, not just because I wasn't allowed to come and go as I pleased (at least without some clever excuse), but also because it's been the place I kept my emotions locked up. All the pain and hurt no one ever saw but me and my siblings huddled in a corner, crying not for forgiveness but for each other, was locked up at home. Could you blame me for wanting to get out? Could you blame me for not wanting to go back?
Suffice it to say that home was the last place I wanted to be and I know I am not alone in this.
I remember sitting in class, watching videos on child abuse. I remember the shock as the little boy on the screen turned into the little boy inside of me. I remember the pain of every "How could they do that?" and "That's how not to raise a child." I wanted to disappear. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream out "Stop! They love me! You don't understand!" until I slowly came to realize the truth: I was abused.
Despair. Anger. Blame. the fallout of revelation. My past would not let me forget it and my lies wouldn't cover my wounds anymore. I wanted to run away and ditch my life. I had just become a Christian too, the church was all the family I would need (and in fact for some of us the Church is all the family we have). It would've been easy to run away and start a new life with Christ and mother and brothers and sisters. Jesus would have none of it. "Try reconciliation first," He chided me, "then we can talk."
It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Willingly go home and face my demons? Knowing full well what awaited me, what I had locked up there, I was afraid. A dear friend of mine comforted me with a story he seemed to tell so well:
There was a man who guarded a closet. Inside the closet was a horrible demonic monster so insidious that it struck fear into the hearts of any man who dare approach it, and it was breaking out. The man stood alone, fighting to keep the door closed as the demon fought to get out. The man’s arms, clawed and scratched by the demon's claws and fangs, dripped with blood. He was terrified, but even more afraid what would happen to him if the demon got out. And there they stood, neither side backing down. As soon as he was at the Brink of exhaustion, Jesus appears in the room and calls out to him, "Let go of the door and take my hand." The guard replied, "You are too far away! The demon will kill me before I even reach you!" "Let go of the door and take my hand" was all Jesus said, to which the man replied "I can't! I just can't!" Finally, beaten and completely fatigued, the man collapsed from the door and reached out for Jesus with the last of his strength. His arm was caught by Jesus who had been standing right behind him the entire time. Looking around, now securely in the arms of Christ, he saw that the demon was not a demon, but just a pile of dirty clothes. He had no wounds on him and was dressed instead in dazzling white. "Why were you afraid?" replied Jesus, "I have been with you always."
And indeed that is what happened to me. The problems which seem so big to me are dirty socks to Jesus. Jesus saw what I could not because he was not the one holding the door. Jesus saw the beauty in my family through the brokenness, the kind of beauty no painter could paint. I understand now just where I have been and where I am going despite my sufferings. What was once weakness I can call strength. What was once suffering is now my character. I would not trade my childhood for anything because the Lord Jesus Christ has revealed his glory in my life through them. They are me and I am His. By his blood I have been set free (for after all, what is freedom other than the ability to be what God has made you to be?) and by his blood I can return home. Indeed, I am home at last.
Respectfully submitted,
John Dao
