It is a word many victims of abuse don’t understand, experientially. At times the word is merely a mockery of that thing we crave and cannot attain. Our spirits scream for it, our minds are desperate for it, and our bodies ache from their wanting… But peace evades us at every turn.

Unfortunately I cannot simplify it into one quick anecdote for the turmoil, fear, pain and anguish.

It is a rise and fall… A learning to hold onto it a little longer before it slips away… A persistent leaning into a sheltered place… Staying intentionally in the Rock that hides us in the storm and covers us… Learning to abandon the need to prove a thing at all… Abandoning the desire for approval and perfection…

And resting in the One who defines us… Loves us… Accepts us…

Ah… sweet Love…

Because there is no fear in Love. And where there is no fear, there is peace.

Peace… that inner quiet… surrounded by a world with chaos all around…

canstockphoto8291889 (3)
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger

Beautiful Wounds, Redeeming Scars: Abigail’s Story (Part 4)

WARNING: This post contains graphic content… If you struggle with cutting, or are sensitive to the graphic description of cutting, do not read this post. The intent is to create awareness in the body of Christ, of a struggle that is relatively common, and tragically hidden, because of fear of judgement. Healing comes when silence is broken.

The day Abigail gave me her blades, she gave me something else. Her trust. And the trust went much deeper than handing me the blades. There was trust in that, without a doubt, but she gave me an even more personal trust.

“Abigail, has anyone ever seen your cuts, your scars?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Where are they?” I asked.

Abigail pointed out several areas on her legs and body, where she had cut. “One word will always be there. The scar is bad. It will never go away,” she told me.

“What’s the word?” I asked.

“Die,” Abigail said.

“It expresses what you felt at that moment, doesn’t it?” I asked the obvious question. I paused a moment, then continued, “Would you let me see your scars?”

Knowing where the scars were located, I knew I could ask without feeling inappropriate. I handed her a blanket, and told her it was to cover up the rest of her legs, if she decided it would be okay for me to see her scars. She hesitated.

“What are you most afraid of?” I asked. “Are you afraid that if I see your scars–if anyone sees your scars–that I won’t love you any more, that I won’t see you the same way again? Are you afraid of rejection… of being judged?”

Abigail nodded. Fear. Pain. Angst. Shame. Impending judgement. So many things you feel when you contemplate revealing the inner, hidden parts of your heart.

“Abigail, I promise you that I will see you no differently.The only advantage to letting someone see your scars, is so they no longer have the same power over you,” I explained.

Anything we carry alone, as our little secret, has power over us. When we let someone who cares into that secret, the power is broken.

Abigail spread the blanket over her legs, then raised her skirt just above her knees, revealing a patch of skin with letters boldly carved into into her body, three inches tall. DIE it read, just as she said.

I had never seen with my eyes before, words boldly scarred into flesh, that way, and my heart felt sad for Abigail. Not because of the scars, really. But the pain those scars bore testament to. It’s okay to grieve the sorrow and trauma of another, and in that moment my heart felt her pain. But more powerful than her pain, I felt the deep conviction that Jesus is more. He is more in every way, and more than enough for her pain.

Our eyes met. “I don’t see you any differently, Abigail,” I said. I reminded her that Jesus died for her scars. That her scars, rather than reminding her, and the world, of her pain, have the potential to be a testimony to the grace and goodness of God through Jesus, if she will continue to give it all to Him, and let Him redeem those scars.

Her scars, I told her, have the potential to inspire praise. If she looks at them and remembers what God has done for her, and redeemed her from…

We think of wounds as unsightly, and scars as a reminder of darkness, but it doesn’t have to be that way.

When I stand in front of Jesus, one day, I hope I will have a moment alone with Him  to kneel down in front of Him, to hold His hands, and kiss the scars the paid the price for my freedom. I want to touch His pierced side and see the wounds that gave me life, and healed my bleeding heart.


And because of those beautiful wounds, and redeeming scars, I can look at the words carved on Abigail’s leg, and see beauty, hope and grace, because God will use her life–and, in fact, is using her life already–to reach others. Hundreds of people are reading her story, here, and are touched. Your messages tell me that her pain has purpose…

Purpose that is being realized in your hearts, as you find permission to open up your own pain to Jesus, so that He can take your wounds and scars, and make them beautiful, and bring redemption. Purpose in the ways her story is preparing you for that young man, or young woman, whom you will meet soon, who struggles with feeling worthless, and maybe even cuts, like Abigail.

And as we stand in the gap for others, and bring Jesus to them, we experience church–the Body of the Christ–as it is supposed to be. A place where wounds and scars are exposed, and the love of Jesus transforms them into life-giving testimonies. And we extend grace for the rise and fall of that battle, so that we don’t destroy or shut down hearts in that battle.

Abigail’s battle is far from over, Any expectation of perfection, any expectation that her psychological scars, and the spiritual battle, would miraculously end, would have served only to push her into hopelessness. But in turning her heart gently toward Jesus, she found the courage to take one step into freedom….

And then another…

And another…

But with the steps into freedom came vicious attacks from the enemy, and a divine visitation from God, through Jesus, in a dream.

To Be Continued…

© Trudy Metzger

Return to: Abigail’s Story Part One

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Why I Struggle Out Loud…

All of us struggle. How we struggle, varies from person to person, based on many factors, not the least of which are our personality and our upbringing. Life experience has a profound impact on our perception of reality, and our personality or temperament influence how we process experience.

Some of us struggle silently. The reasons for this are just as varied, ranging, again, from temperament to things like protecting an image–whether real or imagined–to concerns over whether people can handle our struggle… and fearing the inevitable loss of relationships if they can’t.

To the latter, my philosophy is that people who walk away because they can’t handle a bit of humanity, struggle and truth, are not people we need closest to us. It is not us, or even our struggle, that they reject; it is their fear of facing their own demons. And those demons can be anything from false image, to inadequacy, to not wanting to face their own pain and struggle. If they leave, let them go with a blessing. Having said that, finding balance in how much to share, with whom, and when, is important. No one wants to be used as anyone else’s garbage can.

Some of us struggle quietly because we are reserved, private individuals. (But, if you haven’t guessed it already, that would not be me.) And there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as it isn’t out of pretentiousness. My life is an open book. My husband’s is not. He cautiously gives me permission, from time to time, to share about his life, or our shared life. But it is not easy for him, or characteristic of him. By nature he deals quietly with his own heart, his own disappointments, and his own hurt.

Me… I struggle out loud, from time to time, because I want to be real, and transparent. In the weeks leading up to my previous blog post, I was relatively quiet for two reasons. One, I was busy and, two, because the struggle was too deep to share. I am a firm believer of saying something positive, if you’re going to speak at all. (And for this lesson I thank Thumper from the Movie Bambi.)

I fail at this, on occasion, but in recent weeks I was especially careful because I didn’t want my battle, my struggle, to tear you down, or cause you to stumble. It is not that struggling is something to hide or be ashamed of. (I like to think that every prophet, apostle and disciple went through seasons of silence for this reason. Though some did write some pretty dark, negative stuff in the depth of despair and what we would call depression. Clearly there is a time to share that darkness.) However, I prefer to come to the place in a struggle when I can share good in it, and bring life and hope to others in there struggles.


Even then, I admit, it would still be easier to be silent… to save face and present an image of ‘togetherness’ that isn’t realistic–at least not realistic for me. It is in sharing the battle, and showing God’s faithfulness, that I feel my life is most believable, and my faith most real. It’s real life. Real battles. Real victories that give us hope.

When I speak to you, and encourage you, out of that ‘realness’, it has more impact than if I guide you through something that I have never been through, or dared to face.

In September 2010, I had a conversation that I will probably never forget. It was with a fellow blogger, who is also a published author. Out of respect I will leave out his name.

I had asked him for a bit of advice on how transparent to be, and wondered if he ever runs into harsh criticism because of his forthrightness. (I had just encountered my first ‘big bump’ in this, and was not at all prepared for it.) My interaction with him led to doing a bit of a rant, wherein I expressed myself more freely than I typically would, using slang and frustration. I knew he could handle it, but I also knew that he had only read my ‘uplifting stuff’ and had never seen me struggle.

After my rant I sent an ‘I’m sorry’, feeling a bit apologetic for not having been spiritual enough. His response stuck with me, particularly two lines:

“Don’t ever apologize to me for saying it like it is. Your message is probably the most honest thing I’ve ever seen from you. I’m highly attuned to the “Praise Jesus, all is great” stuff. I always view such spastic noise with admittedly too much suspicion.

That said, I sympathize. Be who you are. Who you REALLY are, with your flaws. When you use that “writing material,” do it humbly with discretion 

God is who He is. I’m way to skeptical, but I still believe. Ultimately, I believe His grace will encompass all our petty battles, all our flaws, all the crap we emit in the living of our daily lives.”

Wow! The most honest thing he had ever heard from me? I thought about it, and realized that I post all my ‘happy’ and ‘Praise Jesus’ status updates, and I mean them from all that is in me. I sincerely love life, and am eternally indebted to Jesus for giving me back my life. How could this ‘struggle’ be so much more believable, when both were spoken in honesty?

As I contemplated it, I realized there was a lack of balance. I mean, even King David, a man after God’s own heart, couldn’t hold his life together. And then Peter, a man who knew Jesus personally and intimately, stood by a fire cussing, and declaring he never knew the man. And Paul, one of the strongest early church leaders, couldn’t get along with his ministry partner–probably because he was too bull-headed, and the other guy too much like him–and they parted ways, but both continued in ministry.

That message made a huge impact on my writing, and challenged me powerfully, to check the honesty and openness with which I express my struggles, my imperfections.

I try to do this with humility and discretion, as my friend recommended, so that the people I walk with through their struggles can see that it’s not the end of the world when they go through tough stuff. Life doesn’t end when we ‘bomb it’ and don’t have it together.  It proves to them that when I say “Jesus is enough”… that He has your back… that He can forgive and set you free no matter what you’ve done… or any other encouragement, they can believe it, because He is enough for me.

When you, my readers, see me rise again, after admitting to being knocked down, I pray that it may give you the courage to do the same. And that you will know that we are all in this thing together, and together we can make it.

Yesterday I got a phenomenal response to what I wrote. Percentage wise, I think more people who read it, wrote a note than any other day in my blogging history, which was both surprising and cool. So many of you wrote notes to acknowledge what you read, with a variety of tones, and motives, but all were good and encouraging.

A recurring theme in most messages was surprise that I, being in ministry and all, still struggle and hit battles. They said things like,  ‘I didn’t realize you go through stuff like that’, or ‘I thought you were past that… but thanks for being honest’…

One gentleman wrote on my Facebook wall, “Wondered when you would face this. 🙂 You have been a warrior, poking the devil in the eye on his hidden attacks etc, hidden under the name of Christianity… God bless”.

Some wrote to identify with the struggle, and admit that they had thrown in the towel in ministry, or were tempted to. One said they may need to reconsider.

Whatever your words, as the messages trickled in, you inspired me, challenged me, and blessed me. That’s when I remembered why I sometimes struggle out loud, where you, my friends, get to see me in my ‘battle duds’. I do it to know your hearts, and for you to know mine.

I’m honoured to be part of your lives, your journeys, your battles, and your victories, as you invite me in. Many of you I have never met, and may never have the opportunity to meet, but the intertwining of our lives, here, is a gift.

Thank you.

© Trudy Metzger

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Same Old Name, New Meaning… Same Face, Defined Identity

‎”To stop pursuing God’s vision in your life because of an offence (or any other reason), in reality you are simply saying that ‘I never really believed in that vision in the first place.'”
~ Artur Pawlowski ~

Last Friday morning, February 8, I sat down at my computer, to pick out a new name. A name I need. I decided it was time to trade in my name, “Trudy — Beloved Warrrior”, for something less demanding. I searched name meanings and found my new name. “Saranya (Surrendered) Olivia (Peace) Rochelle (Rest).”

Saranya Olivia Rochelle… Yep… that has a nice ring to it. Besides, it’s much more fitting for someone who is tired of war. And, with that, I ‘laid down my sword’. Warrior princess no more. A new name, a new identity. A new life….


I opened the daily Bible reading several hours ago…. something I had neglected for days. The words in those verses were like a blood transfusion to a dying heart. They were not new words, in fact, it was the familiarity that created the impact, creating a lifeline.


The weeks leading up to this moment had created spiritual anaemia  that left me so weak, there were moments I thought the life was literally draining from me.

It all began about a month ago. Well, technically it began many years ago, when I was a toddler, and a lie formed in my mind. The lie that I need to take care of myself, because no one else will. That lie was strengthened just before I turned seven, when my father threatened to kill my mom, and then us children. I stopped trusting people that day.

My relationship with God, from that day forward, and for many years, became one of ‘need based trust’. In other words, ‘I’ll trust You when I’ve exhausted every other option’ kind of trust. Mostly it came into play when I faced violence and death threats in childhood and teen years, and then, later, when I faced sickness and had several near-death encounters. Apart from those things, and salvation, I didn’t have a trust-based relationship with God.

Gradually I learned to trust Him more, in the day to day, as I got to know Him more. And I even learned to trust people more, at a deep level, without trusting naively. I’m talking the kind of trust that allows them to make mistakes, even sin against me. It’s the kind of trust that forgives quickly, and offers second chances, without being a door mat.

Trust that chooses to believe noble intent when people fail. It’s been a painful growing journey, and I was doing pretty good. At least I thought I was.

About a month ago there was a shift in my heart. I didn’t notice it immediately, but it didn’t take long. I felt a gradual change come over me; one I couldn’t identify until I was in too deep. Or, maybe, in hindsight, I was too afraid to identify it.

I found myself living in fear in a way I have not, for many years. The gap between ministry income, which is almost none, compared to our obligations with raising a family started to take my focus off of my calling. At every turn, it seemed, the demands were rising, with the enemy using the shortfall to taunt me, as if blowing raspberries in my face and letting me know that God was not and could not provide.

After all, even Christians and churches, in general, don’t seem to understand ministry to the abused, the victimized, the broken. Are they not a direct reflection of God in the world?

And that is how I found myself in a panic, feeling abandoned by God–yet keenly aware of His call. Little by little I pieced it together. I don’t trust God. The thought almost startled me when it first came to me.

I thought I had ‘attained’ that one. I could list a thousand ways I trust Him. When I walk into ‘hellish’ situations, I have no fear that He is not there, going before me, my Shield and Protector. When someone sits across from me, and shares some demonic encounter, or another, or confesses to suicidal temptations, or murderous thoughts, I remain calm. I confidently tell the individuals that nothing is too big for God. And I say it, because I truly believe it. I trust God that way. He’s worked in me, so I can testify to it without any questions.

But as I contemplated it more, I realized I really don’t trust God to provide for me. I’ve always carried that as a weight on my own shoulders. It was the one thing about moving into ministry that frightened me. I pushed that fear down, and assumed that would resolve it, but it didn’t. There’s always that heart issue that God is after, and that was a door I was carefully standing in front of, and telling God He’s not allowed in.

I’m embarrassed the extent to which that fear went. Really embarrassed, if I think about it, the things that exposed the depth of my lack of trust.

The first major revelation came one Saturday evening when a bunch of youth popped in, right over supper.

‘Invite them for supper’. The thought went through my mind, and I knew good and well where it came from.

It wasn’t my idea. And I didn’t like it. In the moments that followed I became quite upset, as I argued with the Holy Spirit. Arguments like, “If You can’t provide for me, why should I feed random people in my house?” and other lame arguments. I know… like I said, embarrassing. And rebellious.

This arguing carried on for a while until a few of them left. One stayed and we had dinner, followed by a great night of games. My heart felt convicted the entire time. I had disregarded God, and I knew it.

In the weeks that followed, this type of thing happened, in one form or another, numerous times. And with it, blow after blow, spiritually and financially.

The final blow was getting word that our charitable registration did not go through, meaning we cannot do fundraising for upcoming events. While the door to becoming a charity isn’t completely closed, it has dragged out far longer than timelines we were given, a year ago in January, and it has put us in a difficult position in every way.

Discouragement set in. Was this God’s way of saying I did not have His blessing? That I was to walk away from this ‘fight for hearts’? Was I rebelling against Him to keep going?

Or was it the enemy trying to stop me? How could I know for sure whose voice I was hearing? The torment almost took my breath away.

Somewhere in there I stopped reading my Bible regularly, as I focused on ‘this world’ survival. Prayer went from constant conversations and delightful communication, to occasional moments of panicked cries asking God if He is still there. It was dark. Very dark. And lonely.

I shared the struggle with Tim, and eventually found the courage to let several of my church leaders,and three close friends and mentors, have a glimpse into my heart. Especially Pastor Rob, with whom I held nothing back, when Tim and I met with him on February 6. At least nothing that I could put into words.

On Friday, February 8, I finally ‘laid down my sword’. Still uncertain of what it all meant, I felt I had no choice but to release the ministry.

Moments after Tim and I came to the conclusion that there are no other options, an email came through, a desperate cry for help. It was one of the most devastating stories I’ve heard to date. One that, under any other circumstances, would have been greeted with the confidence that ‘God is more than enough’. But, in that moment, it completely overwhelmed me. I had laid down my sword. Something had changed.

Sobs shook my body, as I wept. Why? When it all seemed so clear? When I had just made peace with releasing the ministry… why? It ripped at my heart, and tormented my mind, eating at the fabric of my spirit like a fast spreading cancer.

I sent an email to my pastor, sharing some of the torment with him. I had to get it out of my system, out of my spirit, and break the power. I knew he would be off for a few days, and not likely reading emails, but if I waited, I would lose courage.

Too much happened in a short time, to tell it all, but that email broke the power of the lie, and gradually I came to the realization that God was not finished with me, or with my dream or ministry.

It wasn’t about Him not wanting me in ministry. It was about Him wanting my heart…. that secret place that He was not allowed to go before. That place of complete trust, and the kind of faith that is the evidence of things not seen. I so much prefer the kind that isn’t really faith at all–the kind that sees the answer.

Each time I tried to go to that place of deep trust, my heart stopped. At least that’s how it felt. And I caught my breath in fear. Was God really asking me to trust Him that much? I wanted to, but had no idea how.

So that is where I began. I told God, “I haven’t a clue how to trust You. And I’m scared to ask You to teach me, because I’m afraid of what that will cost me, but I desperately long to trust you.”

I began praying little things like, “Thank you for providing for our needs today,” and celebrating little things in my heart, in a way I had not for quite some time.

That was the nature of my prayers these past few days, starting on Friday. And quietly begging God to take care of me, to help me trust Him.

I started to worship again. ‘Glorious‘, by Paul Baloche, ‘Breath of God‘, and ‘Broken for Love’s Sake‘ by Tricia Brock, as well as ‘Build Us Back‘, by Newboys, became my songs over the weekend. I listened to them over and over, letting God speak to me, to awaken my spirit again.

Slowly my heart softened, and life started to return, and, with it, joy.

But breakthrough came shortly after midnight, this past night. I had taken a nap in the afternoon, and was not tired when Tim was ready for bed, so I told him I would stay up and work on my book.

I turned on my music–a blend of worship and contemporary Christian–and set to writing. I imagined myself writing at least two thousand words… maybe even four. My mind was alert, creative. It would be a productive night. Well, by the time the night was over, I had written over three thousand words, but only a few went into my book. The rest are right here, in this blog…

Breakthrough began shortly after midnight, when my iPhone reminder popped up, and distracted me from my book. “Don’t forget to read your Bible”, it said… a reminder I had ignored repeatedly the past few days. One I intended to ignore again.

I picked up my phone. But instead of ignoring the reminder, I opened the app to see what was on the ‘menu’.

The daily verse popped up.

Micah 7:18

New International Version (NIV)

18 Who is a God like you,
who pardons sin and forgives the transgression
of the remnant of his inheritance?
You do not stay angry forever
but delight to show mercy.

Cool, I thought to myself. I nice verse to remind me that God forgives, that He delights in mercy. I reflected on the past few days. Good thing He’s merciful. I really bombed it with Him, and am still in recovery.

I tapped ‘The Essential Jesus’, part of my daily reading plan, and it was stuck at Friday, the day I ‘laid down my sword’, and told God I was giving up ministry. I had not read one thing in my Bible since that day, other than reading the first chapter of Lamentations that night.

The verses for Friday were significant. Had I read them that day, I would not likely have surrendered ministry, but it needed to happen because God needed to conquer that place in my heart.

The verses are common enough, but they are documented repeatedly in my story, as God’s call to ministry. On November 4, 2007, when we joined Wilmot Centre Missionary Church, they were in a song sung just before an elder at church prophesied over me, saying that God would open doors for me to speak to the wounded. He didn’t know me, other than having heard a fifteen minute testimony.

These verses can be found in communications with my late pastor, Don Mills, who was the first man to encourage me in this ministry. They have been spoken over me many times, and should no longer surprise me.

But tonight they took me off guard. Seeing the reference, and realizing it was the verses for February 8, was completely overwhelming. In a good way.

Isaiah 61:1-11

New International Version (NIV)

The Year of the Lord’s Favor

61 The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,[a]
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
    and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor.

They will rebuild the ancient ruins
and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
that have been devastated for generations.
Strangers will shepherd your flocks;
foreigners will work your fields and vineyards.
And you will be called priests of the Lord,
you will be named ministers of our God.
You will feed on the wealth of nations,
and in their riches you will boast.

Instead of your shame
you will receive a double portion,
and instead of disgrace
you will rejoice in your inheritance.
And so you will inherit a double portion in your land,
and everlasting joy will be yours.

“For I, the Lord, love justice;
I hate robbery and wrongdoing.
In my faithfulness I will reward my people
and make an everlasting covenant with them.
Their descendants will be known among the nations
and their offspring among the peoples.
All who see them will acknowledge
that they are a people the Lord has blessed.”

10 I delight greatly in the Lord;
my soul rejoices in my God.
For he has clothed me with garments of salvation
and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness,
as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
11 For as the soil makes the sprout come up
and a garden causes seeds to grow,
so the Sovereign Lord will make righteousness
and praise spring up before all nations.

I read the verses past the tears that had started to fall. Tears of release. Tears of wonder. Tears of hope. Tears of repentance.

I fell to my knees in front of my chair and prayed like I have not prayed in a very, very long time. If ever. And I wept, as I surrendered my heart. I embraced God’s call, a call that had never changed, as He picked up the sword I laid down on Friday, and placed it, again, in my hands.

There on my knees, I thanked God for forgiveness. I repented of my unbelief and rebellion. I invited Him into all of my relationships. I asked Him to open the right doors, and provide the way and the means for me to do what He has called me to do. I asked Him to define the vision, to shape it. And if the way it needs to happen, doesn’t line up with the advice people give me, to give me the courage to follow Him, not them. And if what He asks me to do collides with what I have been taught to believe is appropriate for women–a battle I constantly fight–that He will give me the humility to follow His lead and not question Him, when others question me. I asked God to take my life, my heart, my dreams, my visions, my hopes… said I surrendered them all. And it was more than words.

For the first time in a long time, I raised my hands to heaven, to worship, to surrender, to lay down my life, for His sake, His kingdom. And then my heart found peace and rest.

I realized then, when I went to get up, that my legs had fallen asleep. My ankles were weak. My knees felt like they were permanently bent. And it felt good.

I don’t know what lies ahead. I don’t know how we’re going to accomplish the conferences and all that God has called us to do. But I know that God has called us to do it, and therefore we will do it. He will provide. He will make a way.

As I type these last words, ‘The Jesus I Need‘, by John Waller, is playing. Specifically, the ending where the children sing, “Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him, how I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er…”

That is my commitment, my prayer, to truly trust God with my life and my heart. That is the surrender my heart has longer for, for a very, very long time.

“Thank you, Jesus.”


Saranya Olivia Rochelle, or Trudy?

Hmmm… Decisions, decisions…

…I think I’m going to keep using my real name, Trudy. At heart I am, and always will be a ‘Beloved Warrior’.

My parents had no idea of the meaning of my name when they named me, but God did. It’s who I was created to be. And my greatest freedom, my deepest joy will always come from relationship with God, from being who He created me to be.

Still, it’s kind of cool that I am ‘Surrendered’, at ‘Peace’ and at ‘Rest’. Maybe I can be a Beloved Warrior, and still experience all of those things.


© Trudy Metzger

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“Be Blessed!”

I often sign off an email, a letter or a note with ‘Be blessed!’ This has resulted in interesting discussion. Recently I received an email this response:

“I chuckled at your sign off “be blessed” – my first thought was that I am already so completely blessed. Then I realized that part of the wisdom of your words is that it is reminds me of the danger of allowing blessings to go unnoticed. We miss out on part of the blessing, which only comes as we recognize the blessing as a blessing. So thanks.”

Several years ago, during our Week of Prayer at church, I had a radical shift in my thinking, as it relates to the word ‘blessed’. During our Week of Prayer, our church sanctuary is transformed into ‘stations’ where we meet with God and worship Him in various ways. It might be writing a poem, a story, a thought. It might be through prayer, or a piece of art. Each station is a unique experience, a place to connect with God.

That year, at one particular station, there were stones and markers. We were to choose a stone, and ask God for a word, or message, and write it on the stone with permanent marker. The perfect stone caught my eye. Smooth. Almost heart-shaped. Semi-flat. Not too big. Not too small. I held it. It was mine.

I paused, and asked God what He would like to say to me, what I needed to know.

One word: ‘Blessed’.

“Blessed”. I almost rejected the word. Not because I didn’t want it to be true, not because I didn’t wish for the blessed life, but because, in many ways, I didn’t ‘feel’ blessed at that time.

I asked God again, hoping He would either change the word, or add to it and clarify it. Maybe I had just made it up because I wanted so desperately to believe that His blessing was for me.


A single word. Again. There was no additions. No explanation, like, “When you walk through those doors tonight, you will be blessed for the rest of your life”, or any other thoughts expounding on that word.

Not long before this event I had suffered a massive heart attack—morbidly known as the Widow Maker, because it is usually deadly and mostly happens to men. My health felt fragile. How could I be ‘blessed’? Death had pursued me all my life, even before that heart attack. I had haemorrhaged to within an inch of my life several years prior, and experienced various other health crises.  Not to mention a childhood riddled with abuse and death threats that had me constantly terrified of death.

How could I be blessed? Where was the blessing?

‘Blessed’. I thought about it. What did it mean? And then it hit me, “I am blessed.” The outcome in each of the tragedies could have been worse, and that alone was a blessing. But there was something more, something deeper.

I am blessed because in each of these tragedies, regardless of the outcome, I knew I was held in God’s hands. In my humanity, I went through moments of fear and anxiety but in that fear I had the confidence that I was safe.

I am blessed because I know that I know, all is well with my soul. Not because of who I am, or because of my goodness, but because of Jesus.

The blessing is not found, in an easy life, or a perfect life, but in knowing God. If you’re going through a hard time in your life, if you need to know that there is purpose in this moment, let God speak to you about what being blessed really means. (Matthew 5:1-12)

Be blessed!

© Trudy Metzger 2012