Have you ever seen a tree split in two, yet still standing tall? It’s a beautiful and amazing thing to behold.
Recently my husband and I went camping in the Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia. I didn’t notice the tree the evening before, when we set up camp. But at dawn, I wandered a bit and discovered the tall beauty. Slender but sturdy, she rose high above our campsite. Right down the center, it looked like a perfect slice had been made from top to bottom. Yet still she stood, growing and thriving, providing shelter for countless forest creatures.
Gazing at the two halves, I began to think about how that’s sometimes the way it is with people. Many of us seem to have two halves—one that’s our private self and one that’s the version we show the world. Both halves are there, making up one whole and functioning as one for all the world to see.
Yet when you pause to look closely, you notice there’s a split. Maybe one half isn’t identical to the other. Perhaps it has scars, defects, and wounds, things that weaken its structure or weigh it down. The other side might look healthier, as if thriving. Regardless, it’s connected to that other half. Both are part of the same unit. They are one, tied together in life.
For many years I was like that—I had what felt like two widely separate “halves.” I had my public self, which pretended everything was just perfect, as if I had no problems at all. Perhaps I looked confident, invincible, like I had it all together. Yet walking alongside me in every moment was that other half—vulnerable, wounded, hurting, and overly sensitive.
That other half had a harder time trusting, a harder time confiding. It built up an armor of protection from what it assumed was a big, bad world—so much armor, in fact, that few could penetrate it. So much armor that I spent far too much energy on protecting myself from harm instead of what God really wanted me to focus on.
It was a lonely place, and I’m grateful those years are over.
That notion of a hidden self—a hidden “half”—is something I address in my latest Christian contemporary novel, Tangled Roots. In the book, Tiff has carefully constructed a façade so ironclad that no one knows she was once raised in an abusive, dysfunctional family, one of those “no good Steadmans.” She ran so far from her past both physically and emotionally that it doesn’t even cross her mind anymore, except in the occasional nightmare.
Yet when her brother is released from prison and his parole officer wants him to join Tiff in her new, wholesome hometown of Dahlia, South Carolina, her carefully concealed past now comes back to haunt her. She has to confront her past—her hidden wounds, her hidden self, not to mention her anger toward her brother and her family—in order to move into a healthy, godly future.
Do you know someone who goes through this in real life, or is that something you have been struggling with? It takes a lot of emotional and spiritual effort to maintain those two halves—so much so that the work sometimes interferes with God’s purpose for our lives. Sometimes it prevents us from forgiving those who once hurt us, or even forgiving ourselves for past sins. Sometimes it prevents us from becoming the best, healthiest version of ourselves—the person God truly wants us to be, brimming with the fruit of the Spirit.
There are times when it’s best to leave the past in the past. But sometimes, we need to deal with the pain of the past in order to let it go.
God can help with this. Church can help with this.
But once we’re free of the shackles of the past, the liberation is truly, abundantly awesome.
“So you also are complete through your union with Christ, who is the head over every ruler and authority.”—Colossians 2:10 (NLT)
Let’s talk about this! How easy or challenging do you find it to share your pain and difficulties with others? Why do you think this is? Share your thoughts in the comments below, because we can all learn from and encourage each other!
Get to Know Jessica Brodie
Jessica Brodie is an award-winning Christian novelist, journalist, editor, blogger, and writing coach. She is also the editor of the South Carolina United Methodist Advocate, the oldest newspaper in Methodism. Her two Christian contemporary novels, The Memory Garden and Tangled Roots, are Amazon bestsellers. Learn more about Jessica’s writing ministry and read her faith blog at http://jessicabrodie.com. She has a YouTube devotional, and you can also connect with her on Facebook, Instagram, and more. She’s also produced a free eBook, A God-Centered Life: 10 Faith-Based Practices When You’re Feeling Anxious, Grumpy, or Stressed.
Check Out Her Latest Release, Tangled Roots:
Some secrets can’t stay buried forever.
Tiff Steadman has spent seven years running from the broken pieces of her past—the alcoholic parents, the convicted-felon brother, the shame of being “one of those no-good Steadmans.” Now, as editor of the Dahlia Weekly, she’s finally built the respectable life she’s always craved. With a proposal from her upstanding boyfriend Bobby, everything seems perfect.
Until her past comes knocking.
James Steadman has found God behind prison bars, but freedom feels more terrifying than his cell ever did. All he wants is a chance to reconnect with the little sister he once protected—the sister who now refuses to even acknowledge his existence. When his parole officer sends him to Dahlia, James discovers Tiff’s walls run deeper than he imagined, and starting over means confronting the wreckage they both left behind.
Two siblings. One devastating secret. And a love that refuses to let go.
As wedding plans collide with family secrets, Tiff must choose between the safe life she’s built and the messy grace that might heal them both. Can she find the courage to let her brother back into her heart? And can James prove that redemption is real—even for people like them?
In a small Southern town where everyone knows everyone’s business, some stories are too painful to tell—and too powerful to stay buried. Grab your copy HERE!
Buy Book Two in the Dahlia Series, where grace meets grit, hearts are mended, and hope finds a way to flourish.
