Where the Crawdads Sing
Been a while. Let's catch up.
I read Where the Crawdads Sing, starting in late July and ending early August. It's not rare that I read books, so why am I posting? All I wanted was a mindless book to read so searched for popular books and went to the public library. This one I found interesting. Normally, I check out at a kiosk, but this time it didn't work properly so took it to the counter. The woman looked it over a bit longer than necessary but didn't say anything. Maybe she knew I was in for something. Maybe she thought it an odd book for a man to read. Maybe she wondered if crawdads actually sing.
Where the Crawdads Sing refers to a place far away from civilization, was published in 2018, and was made into a movie, released in 2022. I had no knowledge of any of it, just wanted a book to occupy my mind. Checked out a Bret Easton Ellis book before this but returned it after two chapters because it wasn't sparking joy, so to speak. Normally, I enjoy his writing style and all the minutia, but the content was turning my stomach. Actually, that's common for me when reading his books. I mean, have you read American Psycho? I digress.
I didn't expect a gut-wrenching experience reading a library book. But my life experiences echoed across the pages, and I felt a hard hand on me while churning toward the back cover. I didn't know if I should throw up, throw the book at the wall, or quickly read it so as to be done. After finishing, I am still haunted. I wake in the night after dreaming about it and it invades my thoughts during the day. No, I will not soon forget this book and the awful, ugly things dredged to the surface, nor will I forget the main character and how perfectly she was depicted by the author. She wrote knowingly about a particular type of woman that has probably never been so perfectly portrayed. The author's heart leaked all over the pages, and I felt it all. I have not seen the movie but will wait a spell because the images in my mind will surely clash with what's on the screen. And the setting. I mean, can you argue with setting this in the South? The South generates such great stories. No argument from me.
It goes without saying I do not expect anyone else reading this book to have such a powerful reaction. I was triggered (hate using that word) in a violent way, as if God was pinpointing something so far in my past, it was like bedrock. I have never in my life cried like I cried when I read Where the Crawdads Sing. The last time I read a book and had a similar reaction (though not as violent) was in 2018 when I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower (which I wrote about here). I recall sitting in the forest as God touched my heart, saying He wanted to heal childhood wounds of sexual abuse. This time, the hurt went deeper, and all the hate and noise and sadness I could never express ripped out of me. I sincerely hope no one heard me sobbing because they surely thought something terrible happened, as in my whole world ended. And it did, just a long time ago. How on earth did I make it to the hoary age of nearly 47 (next month) with such a backlog of pain? It's unfathomable. The only answer is the love of God is regenerative beyond understanding. My heart still beats because He lives, and because He lives I can face tomorrow. But, in order to go further, God dealt with something deep and destructive. Just when we think we will always have to live like this, He changes everything. Just when we think the dark clouds will never go away, the sun comes out. Just when we think these cell walls will keep us here forever, He sets us free. But, for all my zeal for the Lord, there was something I missed. That's the thing I'm learning. How to curl up under the Lord's wing and let Him weather the storm that's defeating me. It's putting aside self, the self that was always my savior, mentor, and friend for my Savior, Mentor, and Friend.
Realize I likely don't have many years left. People who work alone with minimal social interaction can expect a shorter lifespan than those who regularly work with people. It's like smoking a pack of cigarettes a day. The same is true for those who live with depression. Combined, it's like smoking two packs of cigarettes a day. And those who endured child abuse also experience short lifespans with poor health. Is that three packs now? But my life is in God's hands. Make no mistake, I will not pass out of this world before He says it's time. My isolationist strategy took hold in childhood. It is a failed strategy because we all need people. I know why I chose that route and can also see it's something that needs to change. It feels like God added a new tool to my repertoire — a new way to deal with trauma and disappointment. It's very humbling but also makes something jump inside. I don't have to live like I used to. I can change. God can change anything!
A theme of the book is aloneness, though the main character was not always lonely. She made friends with the natural world like she was one with it. Same for me. She was not only enjoying nature; she was a part of it. Her childhood was marked by abuse and abandonment, twin prongs that also skewered my soul. It was like my life was portrayed in a sneaky way that somehow bypassed time-worn defenses and struck me through. I have no words for how this book made me feel, and I expect no one else will feel the same, as we are all different. I begged God to take away the searing pain that ravaged my body like it was being electro-shocked. Did you know that emotions can cause physical sensations, even suffering? Of course. A pleasant memory can make you smile. A bad one can make you frown. Imagine emotional pain so intense it causes physical suffering (or vice versa) and you're on your way to understanding why some commit suicide or why those who endure trauma-based mind control (which is what I endured in a disorganized fashion) need occasional "tune-ups," or "rehab," which is more abuse to strengthen the programming and hold the mind together a little longer. Eventually, people like me fall apart completely. Unless God intervenes, which is what happened to me.
A life lived that was incredibly unfair. That's a takeaway from the book. Trauma, betrayal, our own mistakes. We didn't choose to be treated poorly. How we forgive (especially ourselves and loved ones) and move forward is on us, though. That's one decision we actually own. What we do with our wounds is our responsibility. Some wallow. Some seek healing in various ways. Some cover it up, let it fester. I am determined to let God have the wounds to heal or whatever He does. The wounds brought me closer to Him, for which I am grateful, but that's all the goodwill I have for them. I pray God cleans the wounds and heals me as soon as possible.
Some will read this book and feel largely unaffected, though are aware they just read a good book, I hope. What happened to me was like a spiritual door opened (was fasting the day I finished it) and things that needed to be tended to were summoned. I gave God those things and asked Him to heal me. These experiences surfaced at once with acute suffering and great power, then something was wrenched from deep in my soul, as if from my very backbone, tearing as it left. When I closed the book a final time, I immediately took it back to the library and made peace with what God was doing. It was clear His hand was upon me. Every word revealed something I experienced, like I was a live wire (not a normal reaction). The day after, I felt strangely changed and new, though raw. Could God have healed me so quickly? Clearly, the healing was necessary and overdue. I'm positive healing took place immediately and still more is coming. I praise God for what happened. Reading Psalm 107 the day I ended the book was the capstone, and I can't explain how it made sense. I cried even more as I read it because it was the perfect answer, antidote, and way forward. Jesus truly is the way. Friends, I'm moving forward. God is taking me to a different place.
Reading a book should not be a harrowing experience, and this was not my intention when I picked it up. But God had plans to allow a violent reaction so as to get me on my knees and cleaned up for His use. I don't know why it was necessary. All I know is it happened, which is why I'm recording it. I did not go to any other source of comfort but the Lord. I did not run to sin, myself, or another person. No music. No TV. Nothing. I did walk more than 11 miles the weekend I finished, but my mind works better when my body is active. And I talk to God along the way, wherever I wander, even where the crawdads sing.
What an odd experience! I can't explain, and it happened to me only one other time when God clearly spoke and said, "It's time to heal these festering wounds." God touched me gently while violence ripped through me. I am cleaner today. I am clearer. I gave way, and He rescued me. I was in prison, and He set me free. He paid the price so I wouldn't have to suffer endless years of misery and abandonment. I feel so free as I sit here writing, though still crying, but differently now. Honest tears of gratitude. And a heart full of hope because, if He can change me as I sat reading a book, He can reach anyone. He can sovereignly touch anyone He pleases. And I pray He touches whoever reads this post with whatever they need. Amen?
***
Perhaps you happened upon this space because you used to read here. Perhaps you'd like to know what happened to the girl. Sorry, no news. She is in counseling. I am confident God will heal her, and there are some signs of that. We don't see each other or talk much, which I would like to change.
And then there is my son. Our relationship seems to have bettered. I believe God told me I would not be able to move forward spiritually or in other ways until our issues were resolved. They may not be completely resolved, but good changes are evident. After attending church one Sunday morning and hearing a particularly fiery sermon (not our usual pastor, and by far the best sermon I heard since attending), my son went up to the pastor in the vestibule. The pastor saw me and shook my hand, and I said my son had something to say to him. But he didn't get a good chance to say it. He's very persistent, though. By the third time trying, my son said he wanted to give out gospel tracts with someone. He does this regularly. The pastor said I've done a very good job raising my son to be a godly young man, to which I replied, "I'm trying." Upon arriving at home, my son went to all our neighbors and gave them gospel tracts and continued to do so for days after. A man who my son has given tracts to previously moved to Lincoln a few days later and gave my son $100 because he was impressed by his ministry. (My thought was the money should buy more gospel tracts.) He said his parents died recently and he had a trust fund. That's two people in a short timespan who said my son exhibits Christian behavior. That's progress and very heartening. He's doing better than me! There are breakthroughs, for which I can only thank God. I am beyond humbled.
Thank you for reading. And God bless.
Christian blog: a-better-hope.blogspot.com
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