There are three rules in dysfunctional family systems:
1. Don’t talk.
2. Don’t trust.
3. Don’t feel.

We learn at an early age not to talk about family problems. We keep them to ourselves either because we are embarrassed about what’s going on or because we’re convinced no one could possibly relate. So we stuff our family stuff.

We learn not to trust others. Children are, by nature, very trusting. Not trusting is a learned behavior. When children are unable to trust you can be sure it is because their trust has been violated by someone close to them.

When children find they can’t talk freely about what is going on in their life and when they are distrusting of those around them they tend to shut down emotionally. They “turn off” feelings like anger, fear, or sadness because they have nowhere to go with them anyway.

Adhering to these three rules as children makes sense. Kids somehow believe that by not talking, not trusting, and not feeling, their pain will be alleviated. But continuing to keep to these rules as adults can have serious consequences. Following these rules as grown-ups does not protect us from pain. It prevents us from wholeness.

The first step in successfully putting our past behind us is to break the rules.

We must talk about the things that caused and, more than likely, continue to cause so much pain. We must bring to the surface those things we didn’t or weren’t allowed to talk about. Our dark family secrets must be brought into the light if we are ever to strip them of their power. We can’t ignore them. We can’t go around them. We must talk through them.

The key to breaking the don’t talk rule is to first break the don’t trust rule. We must find safe people we can talk to. People who have our best interests in mind. People we can be comfortable confiding in. People who won’t judge us. People who accept us–even in our brokenness. As we seek to recover from a painful past we must assemble a support base of trust-worthy people and lean on them often. Yes, this involves risk. But it is a risk worth taking. Trust is the single most important element to a healthy relationship.  So find a counselor. Confide in a friend. Join a support group. Trust does not come easy. Truth is, trusting others with things we’ve kept secret our whole lives can be downright terrifying. But learning to trust is crucial to our emotional, spiritual, and relational well-being.

And, finally, we must learn how to feel. When we’ve found people we can trust, when we give ourselves permission to speak of things we may have never talked about before, we must then deal openly and honestly with any and all feelings that may pop to the surface. We must identify and process the feelings we have spent a lifetime trying to suppress. Author Gita Bellin writes, “The fastest way to freedom is to feel your feelings.” We must actually feel what we feel and feel those feelings all the way through before we can finally release them. That is the only way the pain of our past will no longer pervade our present.

Does the pain and trauma of a difficult childhood still hang like a dark cloud over your adult life? Maybe it’s time to break the rules.

I hate detours. They slow me down. They take me off course. They often lead me into uncharted territory. So, basically, what I'm saying is I hate detours because I have an often insatiable need to be in control. I want to know where I'm going and when I'm going to get there. That bold black arrow on the bright orange sign could just as well be pointing at me saying, You're not in charge. I hate that.

We all encounter detours as we travel life's path. Unexpected things pop up that slow us down, take us off course, lead us into uncharted territory.

• Being served with divorce papers. 
• The sudden loss of someone we care about.
• A consultation with a doctor that begins with, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but..."

Our carefully planned life course is altered. And, worse yet, there's usually not a thing we can do about it.

But, actually, there is. Rather than resign ourselves to the fact that we're not in control, we can simply place our trust in the One who is in control. We can trust that God knows where our journey will take us even though we don't. We can trust that He will provide exactly what we need to move forward. We can trust that He will be our Guide, our Constant Companion, who will walk beside us, every step of the way.

Years ago, I received a rather unique gift from a friend. I had no idea what it was until I read the letter of authenticity that came with it. It was a lamp that dated back to the time of Jesus. It's what people used back then to get them around in the dark. It was a tiny, handheld lamp like this--with the less lumens than a 99-cent flashlight--that was the psalmist's reference when he wrote, Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path (Ps. 119:105).
 
When I encounter detours on my journey and am unsure of where I'm going, I often ask God to "show me the way." What I really want is for Him to shine onto my life His super-sized celestial spotlight,  revealing every twist and turn along the road and bringing my ultimate destination into plain sight. Instead, he hands me an itty bitty lamp with the candlepower of, well, a candle, that illuminates just enough of the path before me to take the next step.  Once I've taken that step, I have enough light to take the next. 
 
One step at at time. Since Old Testament times, that is God's reminder of how we should do life.

I'm not to the point in my spiritual walk where I thank God when I encounter detours. But, more and more, I find myself thanking God after I've experienced them. Because often when I look back, I can see clearly that God allows detours in my life to strengthen my faith, to deepen my dependence on Him, and to teach me to trust Him to control things that I can't.

Where were you when...?

There are only a handful of historical events that prompt that question. The assassination of President Kennedy. The Beatles first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. Man landing on the moon. And, especially this week on the fifteenth anniversary: Where were you when the planes hit the buildings on 9-11?

I will never forget where I was.

Just a few days before September 11th, 2001, I attended a Turn the Tide Promise Keepers conference in Indianapolis with dozens of men from my church. One of speakers that weekend issued a rather daunting challenge. I remember it vividly. He said, "I am going to ask you to do something you're probably not going to want to do. But if you do it. I guarantee it will change your life."

And then it came: "I'm asking you to commit to praying for one hour a day for the next thirty days."

He was right. I didn't want to do it. I consider myself a man of prayer, but an hour a day? That's a bit much, isn't it? How could I possibly talk to God for an hour? Even if I prayed by name for every missionary I knew I couldn't fill up an hour. Besides, I reasoned,  I'm a little ADD. I can't do anything for an hour straight.

But, to my surprise, I soon found myself standing to affirm my acceptance of the challenge. Even more surprising, I was able to do it.

For the next thirty days I set aside an hour a day and I prayed. I usually went to talk with God at a golf course near our house. I discovered that the the bike trail that wound around the property took almost exactly sixty minutes to walk. I remember getting up early on some days to pray there before work. There were days I prayed in the rain. After one particularly busy day, I remember falling into bed exhausted and was half-asleep before it hit me that I hadn't gotten in my hour. I got up, got dressed, and walked the bike trail with God. My prayer began with my asking forgiveness for what I said as I was getting out of bed.

At the conclusion of the thirty days I concluded that the speaker was right about something else. The experience changed my life. That extended time with God deepened my dependence on Him. It strengthened my faith. It helped me to trust Him--something that due to painful childhood experiences has always been difficult for me to do.

The prayer challenge also made me realize that up until that point in my life, my definition of prayer was wrong. Prayer is not talking to God. Prayer is talking with God. Teacher and pastor Andrew Murray once said, "Prayer is not monologue, but dialogue. God’s voice in response to mine is its most essential part."  

There were many times during our hour together when I was silent and simply revelled in God's words to me: I delight in you. I treasure you. I have your name written on my hand. I will always be here for you. Don't be afraid. Don't be anxious. Nothing will separate you from my love.  

So where was I when the planes hit the buildings on 9-11? As the nation was in turmoil, I was on the bike trail at Wicker Park Golf Course in Highland, Indiana talking with God--basking in His presence, experiencing His peace, feeling the depth of His love.

Interesting, isn't it? For the remainder of my 30-day challenge, I found that an hour a day in prayer wasn't nearly enough. As the unrest of the country was stirred in historic proportions, I found rest in the presence of God. 

To this day, I relish my times alone with God. I have even integrated regular prayer days into my schedule. My 9-11 experience taught me well. When the craziness of this world threatens to bring me down, God--my Rock, my Strength and Shield, the Lover of my soul--is only a prayer away. And no matter what circumstances may swirl around me, trying to bully me into submission, I can hear the affirming voice of our God: I delight in you. I treasure you. I have your name written on my hand. I will always be here for you. Don't be afraid. Don't be anxious. Nothing will separate you from my love.  

There are three unspoken rules in families affected by addiction:

1. Don’t talk.
2. Don’t trust.
3. Don’t feel.

I followed them religiously as a child.

I didn't talk. I learned at an early age not to air my family's dirty laundry in public. I protected our family secret with the vigilance of Marine in combat. I never acknowledged my dad’s out-of-control drinking—not with my friends, not with my teachers, not even with my siblings. It was a deep and pervading shame that sealed my lips. I vowed to myself that no one would know the truth of what was happening in our house.

I didn't trust. Since children are, by nature, very trusting, I had to learn not to trust. When my father's promises were routinely broken--I'll take you fishing Saturday, I'll come right home after work, I'll be at your game, I'm going to quit drinking--I learned not to believe anyone or anything. After all, if you can't trust your own father who can you trust? I reasoned that by adhering to the don't trust rule you can guard yourself from a myriad of discouragement. My childhood motto was built on distrust: If you always expect the worst, you will never be disappointed.

I didn't feel. Since I couldn't talk freely about what was going on in my life, not to mention the fact that I had no faith in anyone around me, it should come as no surprise that I began to shut down emotionally. This process was accelerated when, in moments of weakness as a young child, my attempts to express how I felt were swiftly squashed with comments like:

• You shouldn't feel that way,
• Stop being such a baby, and 
• You're just too sensitive.

The strange thing is, following the don't talk, don't trust, don't feel rules actually helped me as a child. Not talking spared me from having my opinions rejected. Not trusting taught me to be self-reliant. Not feeling insulated me from untold heartache. But continuing to follow those rules in my adult life have done nothing but harm me. The very rules that protected me from hardship as a child have prevented me from wholeness as an adult.

It is God's desire that we experience intimacy in our relationship with Him and others. Three non-negotiable components of an intimate relationship: talking, trusting, and feeling. For many of us from addicted homes who deeply desire yet greatly struggle with intimate relationships, perhaps it is simply a matter of breaking the rules.

We must learn to talk about the things that caused and, more than likely, continue to cause so much pain in our lives. We must bring to the surface those things we didn’t or weren’t allowed to talk about. Our dark family secrets must be brought into the light if we are ever to strip them of their power. We can’t keep ignoring them. We must talk through them. If we don't give voice to them they will continue to clamor for attention in the form of anxiety, nervous tension, headaches, stomach issues, and/or depression.

The key to breaking the don’t talk rule is to first break the don’t trust rule. We must find safe people we can talk to. People who will facilitate our wholeness. Who will accept us as we are. Who will give us the encouragement we need. As we seek to find healing from our painful past we must assemble a support base of trust-worthy people and lean on them often. Yes, this involves risk. But it is a risk worth taking. Trust may not come easy, especially when it's been broken in the past by people close to us. But trust is the single most important element in a healthy relationship.  So find a counselor. Talk to a pastor. Confide in a friend. Learning to trust is crucial to our experiencing healing from damaged relationships.

And, finally, we must learn how to feel. When we’ve found people we can talk to and trust them with things we've kept quiet for way too long, we must then be prepared for whatever feelings may pop to the surface, as uncomfortable as that may be. We must acknowledge them. Accept them. Embrace them. We must allow ourselves to feel every feeling and feel it all the way through so that we can finally be done with them. That is the only way the pain of our past will no longer pervade our present.

Does the pain and trauma of a difficult childhood still hang like a dark cloud over your adult life? Does your inability to talk, to trust, and to feel prevent you from being intimate--truly intimate--with God and others you care about? Then maybe it’s time to break the rules.

I grew up in a home compromised by alcohol. Personal security was continually threatened. Our family never knew from one day to the next just what level of risk to expect when Dad came through the door.

There were those “high alert” days when Dad stayed too long at Alex’s Tap after work. On those days, he would come home and scream and cuss and throw dishes. I would often simply run for cover, seeking refuge in a closet, under my bed, sometimes even in the dog coop. Our fox terrier, Max, proved faithful in keeping me safe when I needed to flee the house.

On “moderate alert” days it was typical for Dad to polish off a six-pack while launching an occasional, outrageous allegation at me or my mom, then stumble into his room and sleep it off. On those days, we would tiptoe through the house so as not to awaken him and trigger any more serious verbal explosions.

Sundays were “low risk”  days. Dad rarely drank on Sundays. Sunday was my favorite day of the week. Dad was a great guy when he wasn’t drinking — kind, caring, a wonderful sense of humor. I have many pleasant memories of Sundays — family dinners that always included warm garlic bread; watching White Sox games on our Zenith black and white TV; and going to church, both morning and evening, armed with enough pink peppermints to offset our garlic breath. We never missed church.

I have never not believed in God. Even as a young child, creation just made more sense than evolution. But I have a confession to make. While I’ve never doubted God’s existence in all my years of being a practicing Christian, I’ve often doubted His word.

If we’re going to be honest, when a person lives with fear, shame, sadness, and the haunting belief that his or her life doesn’t matter, it’s often difficult to buy into what the Bible says about God. We may believe it in our heads that God is a God of love, that He accepts us just as we are, that He works all things together for good. But those attributes are nothing more than spiritual soundbites if they never gain entrance into our hearts.
 
Many times throughout Scripture God is referred to as light. The Apostle John refers to Him as the Light that shines in darkness. James calls Him the Father of lights. I remember singing as a seven-year-old in Sunday School, the Light of the world is Jesus. Problem is, I didn't believe it. I didn’t always see God as light. And not just when I was a scared little boy attempting to navigate through life with a drunken dad, but when I was an adult trying to make sense of all different kinds of heartaches and hurts.

I had come to believe that sometimes God was light and sometimes He was dark. Sometimes He was there for me and sometimes not. Sometimes I experienced Him as warm and caring and other times I viewed Him as dark and brooding. I was believing a lie. And it was a lie that stood as a barrier between me and the God I so desperately needed.

But one day, this truth dawned on me: You can’t possibly trust a God who is sometimes light and sometimes dark.

After decades of this cloudy thinking, God directed me to a Bible verse that gave me much-needed clarity on the matter. The aforementioned Apostle John, who was all about correcting false doctrine in the church, strips away all doubt about God’s luminescence with these straightforward words: God is light; in Him is no darkness at all (emphasis mine).

What an illuminating truth. God is light. God will always be light. The light of His love will flame through all eternity. It cannot be extinguished by the problems or pain we may encounter in life. Even if our circumstances are dark, our God is light. 

The truth is, this world can be a very dark place. When faced with world news about terrorism or political corruptness or having to deal with personal pain like depression or addictive behaviors it is easy to be overcome by darkness. But like a candle glowing in a cavern, God’s love shines brightest in the darkest of times.

Even on the cloudiest of days, we don’t question the sun’s existence. We know that above the clouds the sun still shines. The same is true of God’s light. It burns brightly whether we can see it or not.
​
It’s all about trust. Trusting that God is who He says He is. Believing that He longs to dispel our darkness so that we may bask in His wonderful, life-giving, wound-healing light.

Mainline Christians used to shake their heads at those cardboard carrying zealots who stood on street corners warning the world that The END is NEAR. Now we have become them.

In light of recent political events many of us have come to the conclusion that life, as we know it, is over. It is wasn't obvious before, it is now: America is going to hell in a handbasket.  Depending on our party affiliation we will be destroyed by either illegal immigrants or intolerants, criminals or corrupt law officers, conservative Supreme Court justices or liberal judges, big government or big business, pacifists or terrorists, sexists or humanitarians, socialists or capitalists. By the sound of it, our nation's future may very well be determined by those in the adjoining rest room stall or those who allegedly hate them.

And for folks who believe that our country's moral demise may one day be traced to the wife or husband of the 2016 president elect, let me remind you that Kanye West is planning to run in 2020.

The truth of the matter is, if we have this kind of miserable and misguided mindset, we are doomed. As long as we put our hope and faith in people we can expect our country to go into a free fall. 

Our trust must be in God and God alone. He is our Hope. He is our Deliverer. He is the Savior of the world. If we truly believe that He sits on the throne does it really matter who sits in the oval office?

Imagine how different our Facebook pages, our lives, and our world would be if, instead of expecting the worst from people we expected the best from God.

Centuries ago, the Holy Spirit inspired an anonymous writer to pen lyrics to a powerful and profound song which today we know as Psalm 146. Since the Middle Ages, believers of various spiritual traditions have found peace, confidence, and hope by reciting, singing, and more so, by believing these words. We may want to dust off the sheet music.

Praise the Lord! Let all that I am praise the Lord. I will praise the Lord as long as I live. 
I will sing praises to my God with my dying breath.
Don’t put your confidence in powerful people; there is no help for you there.
When they breathe their last, they return to the earth, and all their plans die with them.
But joyful are those who have the God of Israel as their helper, whose hope is in the Lord their God.
He made heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them. He keeps every promise forever.
He gives justice to the oppressed and food to the hungry. The Lord frees the prisoners.
The Lord opens the eyes of the blind. The Lord lifts up those who are weighed down.
The Lord loves the godly.
The Lord protects the foreigners among us. 
He cares for the orphans and widows, but he frustrates the plans of the wicked.
The Lord will reign forever. He will be your God, O Jerusalem, throughout the generations.
Praise the Lord!
(Psalm 146, NLT)