trauma – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

May 30, 2024

Company Of Friends

Cradling the lifeless form of their newborn daughter, the couple could hardly contain their sorrow. Nothing fully prepares expectant parents for the trauma of losing the precious infant whose arrival had been joyously anticipated through the long months prior.

They were young in the Christian faith, and their shattered hearts needed all the mending “the God of all comfort” might bring.

Comfort them he did. Not in a magic display of immediate relief absent of future tears and void of sorrow surges that can erupt without a moment’s notice. Rather through the companioning presence of One who (though intimately acquainted with grief) embodies the singular kind of hope that “springs eternal”.

To the husband and wife and their young son, a handful of friends, American and international, remained available in respectful but easy reach. In the fortifying strength of intercessory prayer, the small band of the faith community supplied them with the embodied presence of the Lord of Life. Verbal expressions were rarely voiced. They were seldom needed. There are settings where Presence alone speaks volumes.

To the wonder of many – believers and non-believers alike who had filed into the sanctuary for the little one’s memorial service – the young father offered up tender expressions of gratitude to God the Father. Though weary with grief, our gentle=mannered friend, hailing from a land far away, had drunk from waters of grace issuing from the risen Christ.

From their shadowland valley, the family moved forward day by day, drawing often upon the Lord’s peace, his immutable Word, and a company of friends.

November 23, 2023November 22, 2023

Oxygen

Meeting with Steve and allowing him to engage me in conversation over struggles stemming from my past became the threshold across which further steps toward freedom could eventually pass. Professional counseling became a game-changer to my health. mental – spiritual – emotional. In time my shackles of fear and shame would begin loosening their grip.

Getting episodes of trauma and emotional dysfunction brought out into the light of day meant exposing more than one blind spot. Contrary to some prevailing assumptions, us Christian folks can collect and harbor blind spots along with the best of them. It is true of me.

Over time, the Lord helped me see just how skewed my understanding was of the religious term, ‘Christian Ministry’. Christ’s building of his church, for instance, pushes forward through the contributions of a marvelous and diverse array of loving servants – Counseling clinicians being counted among them.

My session with Steve that day, and others following, signaled the first of many welcoming inhalings of oxygen to this set of weary lungs.

Throughout my younger formative years, I had drawn assumptions about various vocations and professions. A number of these notions got shown over time to be things falling far short of reality.

My religious upbringing had (with no actual intention I’m sure) conditioned me in some instances to ways of thinking that weren’t often helpful. This developed, for example, attitudes that diminished or even discarded any notion that the social sciences could – or should – be considered useful. Particularly in relation to believers, i.e. the Church.

The infusion of a transformative life, I was discovering, can come to us packaged (as with the natural element we call oxygen) inside a curious hodgepodge of vessels. Stepping from the counseling session I drew in a deep breath. The gait in my walk seemed quickened.

November 16, 2023November 16, 2023

Sliver of Light

My sister, visiting the Okmulgee Cemetery prior to our father’s passing, had spied a lone leafy tree standing poised like a sentry keeping watch over her modest collection of ‘final resting places’ nearby.

“We want a spot near a shady tree”. Betty’s voice was resolute. Decades have passed at this writing. The same sentry remains faithful at her post, casting summertime shade over the added headstone marked, Clyde and Thelma Lout.

Oklahoma towns are known for their distinctive names. Ann and I selected a home in Broken Arrow, a community sitting a stone’s throw from Tulsa. Several colleges dotted the nearby urban landscape. We still had no specific ministry roadmap in place yet were drawn to locate at a spot in easy reach of international students.

Amy, our Africa-born, fish-out-of-water nine-year-old, assumed her stateside academic career in a virtually foreign environment – a region called the Sooner State.

We linked up with a church pastored by a brother of our missionary friend, Jon Stern. It was here, in a nondescript office adjacent to a hallway water fountain, I would take my first halting steps beyond emotional trauma traced back to early childhood. The layers of crippling secrecy would start getting peeled away.

My unhappy experience stretching back to pre-adolescent childhood days had featured a much older boy. The dark-of-night violation carried memories too distressing for a kid’s mind to process – much less to manage. Thus, the matter had been left undisclosed, its attending confusion and trauma kept under wraps. No one knew.

The secret would one day, through my own telling and to my immeasurable relief, come to light. Waves of hope would follow. But not just yet. It seems that God – his understanding and compassion, deep beyond measure – chooses to postpone bringing some things out of the shadows until a preferred time. The right time.

“Hi”. The gentleman’s smile was kind, disarming. He stood poised but relaxed at the entrance of the room whose doorway stood open, “I’m Steve”.

Until that day I had never drawn on the professional skills of a clinical Counsellor. Steve Blahut was the right pick.