Tidal Wave

When God Rewrites What Hurt You

In this series, I want to begin sharing some of the deeper places where God has brought truth and healing into real wounds — places where painful memories and long-held lies have shaped how we see ourselves.

This kind of healing isn’t about forgetting the past, but about allowing God to speak truth into it.

Some of these stories, from my life and the lives of others, touch on painful experiences. Take your time as you read. You can pause whenever you need to.

My hope is that as you read, you will begin to recognize places in your own story where God may want to speak truth and bring healing.

What Did You Say?

I’d been recovering from burnout.
OK…I was burnt out. Crispy.

As I was nearing retirement, I realized I was pretty stuck — sedentary, worn out, and honestly not doing much beyond playing games on my iPad. But I was also praying, letting others pray for me, reading Scripture, journaling, seeing my people, resting, and trying to be honest about where I was.

Slowly, I began to feel better.

I thought about exercising on my own. I even tried a gym membership. But I’ve learned something about myself: I’m a social exerciser. I do better when I’m with someone.

My husband walks almost every day at a nearby nature park. I had gone with him before and enjoyed it, but he usually went right around the time I was getting up.

Now retired, I told him I’d like to join him more regularly. He kindly offered to start half an hour later.

So we began walking together last summer, and our routes were often three miles long. It felt good.

But then I hurt my knee. Later we did some longer four-mile beach walks. They were beautiful, but with my tender knee, they ended up throwing my hip off.

Then the adjustment to retirement hit me harder than I expected. I felt lost, and I became sedentary, not only with body pain, but now a kind of soul ache.

So this was me trying to begin again.

I asked if we could go walking again. I was hoping we could go a little shorter than three miles, but didn’t say that. I was enjoying being on the trail again in the fresh air.
I thought we were nearing the end of our usual three-mile walk, but I don’t know the paths as well as he does. My husband said, “Let’s take this one, you’re huffing and puffing.”

He meant nothing bad by it.

But it landed hard.

I’ve been a big girl most of my life. I’ve rarely been at a weight others would consider ideal.

The Zing Back to Childhood

“Huffing and Puffing” sent me straight back to elementary school.

The summer between second and third grade, I gained a substantial amount of weight. In my school photos you can see I went from normal size girl to chubby girl. My sister, who was nine years older than me, had left for college. We had shared a room. She had been my protector.

In adulthood, I once lost 75 pounds. At the time, I believed the weight had been about hiding — protecting myself from a sexually abusive step-father. Through counseling, I came to understand that I was no longer that vulnerable child. My abuser was gone. I was safe. I could care for the younger parts of me.

Internal Family Systems (IFS) work was especially helpful. I’ll write more about that another time.

But I gained most of the weight back.

In therapy, I realized food had also been a way I soothed myself. When my sister left, I felt scared and alone. Food comforted me. And, in a triumphal twist, I also noticed I became less attractive to my step-father. At the time, it felt like a kind of protection. A strange “win-win.”

Still, being a chubby child wasn’t easy.

My mom was kind, but it was hard for her too — especially having to buy clothes for her child that were labeled “chubby” sizes. And then there were the boys.

Fifth and sixth grade boys called me “Tidal Wave.”

When I walked by, they would pretend to be knocked over by me with exaggerated hand motions.

That memory stayed.

So when my husband said, “huffing and puffing,” something in me went quiet.

I wasn’t gasping for air. I wasn’t complaining. I was just breathing a little harder than when I’ve been more fit.

But it touched something deep.

In the car, he noticed I had gone quiet and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Since I had already been processing it, I was able to lightly say: “You hurt my feeling.” (We joke that we only have one.)

He apologized right away. He truly had no idea.

He was trying to take care of me. He thought I was tired. I told him I was actually enjoying myself. I was only breathing harder because I had been sedentary.

But inside, something older had been stirred.

A childhood hurt.

And this is where the process matters.

My Healing Process

Thankfully I caught myself and didn’t take this out on my husband. I took it to God.

The memory of being called “Tidal Wave” had been shameful and painful for over 50 years. I used to joke about it when I told people, but it was humor covering pain.

Sometimes it takes a little digging to get to the core lie that is turning things sideways. But this was a situation where I knew exactly what the problem was, I had been given a nickname that was hurtful — a label that implied a lie.

I had never thought to bring this before God, though it had often stung me.

It took the friction between my spouse and me to prompt me to bring it to Him.

I found a quiet time and place to pray. I thought about the scenes from childhood and felt the pain.

And as I’ve done with others, I did with my own hurt:

“Lord, these boys used to call me ‘Tidal Wave.’
What do You have to say about that?”

And He answered me as clearly as I’ve ever heard Him:

“Honey, they had no idea how powerful you are.”

I cried and laughed at the same time.
Crying because of the surprising tenderness of God calling me ‘Honey.’
It felt like God was protecting me as His daughter and saying to those boys,
“Don’t mess with her. She’s Mine.”
Laughing now, because I could see the boys falling over under the power of the Holy Spirit.

That old memory — the sting of “Tidal Wave” — lost its power.

He didn’t take out the image.
He changed what it meant.

After all the years of stinging,
when I think of it now, I don’t feel shame.
I find myself smiling.

Because the truth is, there is a kind of wave.

But it isn’t something to be mocked.
It’s something powerful.
Something life-giving.
Something that carries strength.

They simply didn’t understand what they were seeing.
And neither did I.

And this is the kind of Father we have.

He wants to bring healing into those painful memories we carry.
But we have to bring them to Him, and ask what He has to say.

It’s always good.

When Healing Shows Up in Real Life

My husband and I went on our first walk this spring. We hadn’t been walking together in months. I’ve been doing some exercise, but not really aerobics, so I knew it would be a bit of a stretch for me.

We took our normal three-mile circuit in the nature park. The trees were starting to bud, and we saw the first trillium of spring. The birds’ singing was glorious.

And as we went up a small hill I noticed I was starting to breathe a little harder. I thought about “the ‘huffing and puffing’ comment,” but smiled. I said, “I’m breathing hard, breathing is good! And this feels good,” with a smile in my voice. And my husband reported back that “breathing is good.” So that was repaired and the sting was gone.

But then an unexpected test happened later that day.

If you grew up the fat kid in a skinny family, or maybe the uncoordinated kid in an athletic family — something like that — you’ll understand.

We had dinner with family I hadn’t seen in almost two years.
I have always been the only overweight sibling, and the only overweight one as a child.
One family member made a comment about my weight and actually poked my sides.
Oh yes, I thought. Here we are again. We’re still doing this?

Before, I would have felt the old familiar shame.
But not this time.
It was gone.

That’s when I knew something else had truly changed.

I knew the sting of the nickname was healed, and now I realized the shame of being an overweight kid had been healed too.