I think most of us would agree that there’s no such thing as a perfect parent, and yet so many of us struggle with mommy guilt.
Have you ever thought, said, or heard and iteration of, “she’s got it all together. She has 5 kids, her make-up is always perfect, she’s lost all her baby weight, she’s always smiling…” I often wonder if we could defeat mommy guilt by candidly sharing what happens behind the social media curtain. If we posted pictures of the tantrums or shared stories of the times our decisions resulted in a train-wreck. What if we shared our lessons learned in an effort to encourage one another, help each other grow, confirm for one another just how hard this parenting job is and how messy it gets?
If sharing more openly could validate another mom, offer her hope, give her permission to forgive herself, or help cut the cord of guilt, then count me in.
I make a lot of mistakes with my kids, and although I acknowledge that there’s no such thing as a perfect parent, I recently made a choice that caused shame to sit like a heavy stone deep in my heart. I hope this story will help you feel less alone. I hope this will encourage you to let go of mommy shame and hold onto grace.
Our son, Isaac, recently had a sleepover at his friend’s house. My husband and I understand that the term “sleep” must be held loosely in these situations, so when it came time to pick him up, we expected that he may be grouchy, and we mentally prepared ourselves for a long day of less than stellar behavior. When he climbed into the car, it was clear that our expectations were spot on. Isaac, and the dark cloud traveling above him, shifted everyone’s mood immediately. Everything was a battle. His behavior ran the gamut…from whining, to picking on his sister, to yelling “no” at every request, and as the volume in our car intensified, my frustration boiled over. In a moment of exasperation, I spun around in the passenger seat to face him, and regretfully blurted out,
“You know what!? This morning was perfectly lovely until we picked up Isaac!”
I immediately felt hot shame and regret spread over my body. I quickly turned back around in my seat and fell silent. My husband (who had managed to remain calm) jumped in and attempted to remove the sting from my hurtful words. He explained that the morning was still lovely, but that Isaac’s attitude needed to change or there would be consequences. As my husband took the lead, I sat quietly, forcing back tears, internally berating myself. I could not believe I said something so hurtful, so mean, so thoughtless to my 5 year old, and I hated myself for it. As soon as Pete finished smoothing things over and setting new boundaries, I apologized to Isaac. I sought to use my mistake as a teaching moment, admitting to him that when I’m frustrated or angry I sometimes say things I don’t mean, and that I was sorry for my hurtful words. I asked for his forgiveness and although he offered it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just wounded his precious 5 year old heart permanently. I was tearful for the remainder of the day while the critic in my head repeatedly attempted to convince me that I’m not cut out to be a mom.
Fear was telling me that my mistake (and all the others that came before and certainly would come after) would ruin our relationship and we wouldn’t recover. I began to imagine that any self-esteem issues he may deal with in the future would be because of this seed (“your presence makes things worse”), which I planted in a moment of frustration. I couldn’t let it go and I couldn’t find grace, so I texted some faithful friends and family whom I knew wouldn’t judge me. I needed to confess to those I love and trust. I shared what I had done and that I felt like there was something wrong with me…like I wasn’t meant to be a mom. I admitted to them that there are days I make so many mistakes that I begin to wonder why God trusted me with these tender-hearted kids. I shared of the fear that whispers, “you will never connect with your son the way you hope and pray for,” and the fear that attempts to convince me that every mistake creates more relational damage than I’ll be able to repair.
It was my friends and family who pulled me up and out of my shame spiral and helped me to see more clearly. I hope that there are other moms who will be as blessed as I was by these reminders from my incredible community:
Every mistake is a learning opportunity and a reminder for both the parent and their children, that no one is perfect and THAT IS OK!
Our mistakes are perfect teaching moments! They are a chance to demonstrate vulnerability, and that being a flawed human doesn’t mean we aren’t worthy of giving and receiving love.
Every moment is a new opportunity to draw closer to our kids regardless of how many times we lapse in our parenting judgment.
Every parent has said something(s) to their kid(s) that they regret.
You’re not the first or last mother to say something hurtful to a child from a place of anger or frustration, and as our children grow, these interactions will build resiliency along with a deep knowing of how to seek, offer, and receive forgiveness.
When you ask for forgiveness you’re repairing what has been broken.
When our children know they are loved, then forgiveness is abundant.
You can be a great parent AND be a human who makes mistakes again and again.
Parents who are willing to apologize are modeling a behavior we hope all of our kids will learn and demonstrate in their own lives.
Shaming ourselves when we make mistakes teaches our kids to do the same.
We must give ourselves grace…parenting is not easy!
One friend sent a beautiful prayer that brought peace to my heart, and I want to share it with you in the hopes that it will bring the same to yours. She wrote, and I now pray this for all the mamas who share in this struggle:
“Dear Lord, I pray you give [the mama reading this prayer]love and peace in her time of struggle. I pray that you guide her through the hard times we have as parents and that you hear her heart as she aches from choosing the wrong words. I pray that you protect [this mama’s son and/or daughter] and allow [him and/or her] to receive [their mama’s] love and know that through mistakes there is an unfaltering love that outlasts and overcomes any words that are said. In Jesus name I pray, Amen.”
I want to encourage you to find someone you trust and disclose to them any mom guilt you may be holding onto. Give yourself and other moms consistent reminders to offer forgiveness and grace for your blunders. Share with other moms your imperfections as a reminder that we’re all doing our best, and we all falter. I pray we’ll help each other walk in grace rather than fall into the temptation of comparison and judgment. I pray we’ll encourage each other with words of love and truth. Let us remind each other that as we learn to give our kids grace we must do the same for ourselves. As our little ones learn and grow, we are truly learning and growing right along with them.
“Old white guy.” I said the words and I didn’t like the taste they left in my mouth…a bitterness I have no desire to cultivate. I didn’t say them as an honest and simple descriptor. I said them with a twinge of disgust as I was talking about Joe Biden entering the 2020 Democratic race. I said them with a rolling of the eyes. I said them despite the fact that just 3 years ago I was hoping against all hope that he would run for President. I said, “old white guy” with the same ugly tone I hear from the talking heads day in and day out. Then, just a few days after uttering those acidic words, I went on a walk with my dad and we talked about the strength of women, the wisdom of women, the value of women. I went on a walk with an “old white guy,” and I was blessed. During our walk, I realized that I would never use those words, with that tone, in front of my dad, because he is my “old white guy,” and he is my rock, my friend, my father whom I respect and admire and love with all my being. I can’t fathom intentionally saying something that might make him feel less than or unworthy of my honor and respect. That night, I went to bed frustrated with myself for falling into the trap of binary thinking…us vs. them, either/or, in group vs. out group. I went to bed admitting that my heart hopes for life-giving conversation, but my tendency is to soak in the culture around me and thoughtlessly repeat the rhetoric I hear. I went to bed praying for the wisdom to speak up and out for those whose voices have been silenced and to do so without spreading hate or shame or fear.
I do understand that when people say, “old white guy,” they aren’t actually referring to ALL older white men. In context, this phrase is usually being directed towards 1 person, 1 small group of people (i.e. congress), or 1 specific situation. I also understand that this is said to express the idea that the majority has been in charge long enough, and in order for much needed change to take place, others MUST be promoted to positions of decision-making power. I agree whole-heartedly with this notion. I desperately want to see women and people of color given equal opportunities to succeed and lead. I want to see them as the heroes in movies, the leads in shows, the CEOs in Fortune 500 companies, the headliners at conferences, the owners of booming business, the Presidents of universities, and on and on. I want to see an America that honors and respects minorities and embraces diversity. I want to see equality and equity for the marginalized. I want to see all people treated with reverence and regarded as equally worthy of life and liberty. I want to speak out and stand up for the rights of minorities while continuing to honor and respect the individuals within the majority who have earned that honor and respect. I don’t want to perpetuate the false dichotomy that insists we have to be hateful towards one group to love another, dishonoring to one group to honor another, tear one group down to lift up another, ostracize one group to include another.
Let me be clear. When there is an “old white guy” who is racist, minsogynst, homophobic, power hungry, discriminatory, arrogant, intolerant, etc., I will hold him accountable in the same way I would any individual with toxic beliefs and behaviors that poison our culture. If there is a “boy’s club,” such as the hundreds of cops across the country who shared racist sentiments on social media, I do and always will strongly advocate for real and felt consequences for their bigotry and corruption. Beyond holding individuals responsible for their overt prejudice, I also see the crucial need for the privileged to understand implicit bias and to do the internal work required to break free from this damaging unconscious attitude towards others. I believe it is immensely important for white men to step up and be an ally, an advocate, a champion for women and people of color. I want to see them admit their privilege and then use that privilege for good. I want them to acknowledge their position(s) of power and then seek equality and equity for the under-privileged. I want them to thicken their skin and consider not taking every comment about white men personally. I want them to make a noble effort to hold a deeply intimate perspective of what it means to be a white man versus a woman or person of color in this country. I believe the majority has a responsibility to LISTEN to the outnumbered and the oppressed and to deeply consider the effects of historical trauma and systemic racism in our society. I believe the majority has a moral responsibility to sit with the discomfort of deeply understanding the roots of white supremacy and how white people, as a collective group, have benefitted from structural racism. I believe white men have a responsibility to bring diverse participants to the table, to build bridges of multiculturalism, to open their minds and hearts to the inherent struggles that touch the lives of minorities before they’re even born. I believe these efforts should be a daily exercise. I do not feel sorry for white men. I do believe that some white men are part of the problem, however, I do not believe that speaking about them as a collective whole in a disparaging way will lead us to the loving and lasting change many of us seek.
I am holding onto hope that we can stand for diversity and equality without tearing others down. I’m hopeful that we can carve out those who divide us while holding close to those who unite us regardless of their race, religion, gender, ethnicity, age, and so on. I believe I can tell my dad, (my “old white guy”) that his wisdom is priceless and that I have much to learn from him while also demanding more diversity, equality, and equity in our government, our companies, our universities, our churches, our media…our country!
The Changes I Plan on Making:
Instead of using the term “old white men” as if they’re disposable and should be ignored or discarded, I will say: “I want more diversity…others deserve and need to be at the table…I want to hear from someone who represents women and people of color…I desire a fresh perspective around this issue…I would like to see change, and I believe that said change would be best lead by (enter name of woman or person of color here).” I’ve decided that I do not have to say, “old white guy” or “old white men” in a tone of disgust to make the point that I would like to see very different faces and hear from very different people.
I will honor the gifts of individuals in any and all groups. I’m thankful for the wisdom my dad has to share due to his years of life experience and education. I’m also thankful for the varying perspectives and knowledge that individual women and people of color bring to the conversation. I will continue to advocate for equal and respectful treatment of minorities while avoiding disparaging the majority as a whole.
I will object to certain individuals and their behavior without objecting to the entire group of people that those individuals demographically belong to.
I will encourage white men and women to do the work of understanding implicit bias, white privilege, systemic racism, and white supremacy without attaching a shaming message, and I will continue to do this work myself.
I will avoid divisive language and over-generalizations to pursue conversations that are unifying, kind, loving, candid, and inviting. As I seek change, I want my words to welcome others to the table. I want my words to summon others to join me in my pursuit for social justice and I want Love to be the leader.
I aspire to find a firm foundation in standing up for the marginalized while protecting my heart from the destructiveness of hate. I yearn to speak up and out for what’s right while being careful not to treat an entire demographic as if they are wholly responsible for every individual or small group of bad actors. I don’t want to overgeneralize in a way that labels the many older white men in my life as obstacles to a better America because they were born white and lived too long. I don’t want them feeling belittled or devalued because we’ve decided there’s no longer room for them at the table. I want to lift minorities up while maintaining respectful language for those who deserve respect. Our words carry weight. Our words matter. I pray the small changes I’m dedicated to making will bring light to my small circle of influence, and that eventually it will be easier for me to resist the temptation of using language that produces hurt rather than healing. I pray for life-giving dialogue around hard issues and grace when I get it wrong.
If you have other ideas on how we can have hard conversations without shame and blame, or maybe there’s something you’ve said that’s kept you up at night, and you’ve decided to change your approach, I would love to hear from you!
Mom, you recently asked a dear friend about your value and belonging now that you have Parkinson’s. You wondered about your purpose as you struggle with no longer being able to serve others in the ways you always have. I am here to tell you on behalf of everyone that has ever known you, that your value and belonging have never been defined by what you could do for others. Your value and belonging have ALWAYS been defined by who you are and whose you are.
You are the most Godly, loving, kind, generous of spirit, selfless, peace-giving, and gracious person I’ve ever known. Parkinson’s will NEVER take away all the lovely and life-giving qualities that make you who you are!
What you’ve always given and continue to pour into your family is an everlasting love…a grace that surpasses a lifetime…an agape love that has wrapped itself around each of us for eternity…a kindness that is warm and unconditional…an endless lesson of how to care for others with compassion and servanthood.
My hope has always been and will always be that I could grow each day to be more like you. This prayer doesn’t change as you struggle with the symptoms of Parkinson’s. Parkinson’s can’t steal your value…nothing can! Mom, your value isn’t in how much you can do…how many hours you can help…how many “yes’s” you can say…how many brownies you can bake (although those are amazing!). Your value has and always will be the beautiful fruit of the spirit that you display every day of your life. Your value has and always will be the heart and spirit that God created in order for you to love others in ways they’ve never been loved. Your value has and always will be from a Father who loves you as mightily now as he did the day you were born.
You must know, and more importantly, believe that your family values you as much today, in this moment, as we did when you fixed breakfast every morning, sang us to sleep every night, attended every choir concert and ball game, took us school shopping, and helped raise our children. It has never been what you do for us…it has always been about how you love us. The love that pours from your soul has not changed with Parkinson’s, and no disease could ever steal our love from you. You belong. You are valued.
There truly are not words to describe how proud I am to call you mom. Jesus is Love and so are you! The love you share shines bright into the hearts of those who know you and that light is passed from person to person eventually touching people you’ve never met. The light you have imparted in other’s lives will never extinguish, nor will the legacy of your life.
I’m about to get real about my sinful nature, so please be kind.
The election of Donald J. Trump has thrust me into a battle of flesh versus grace like I have never experienced before. At no time in my life have I felt more convicted yet lessprepared to live out the message of Jesus, to love our enemies.
“…I say to you, love your enemy…respond to the very ones who persecute you by praying for them. What reward do you deserve if you only love the loveable? How are you any different from others if you limit your kindness only to your friends?” Matthew 5:43-47
I’ve read this scripture, and the many like it countless times, but it’s never called out to me like it does now. I’ve always considered myself a loving, forgiving, and tolerant person, but the emotions that have risen up in me the past 18 months have been remarkably ugly and uncharacteristic. I loathe the shadow that seems to be rising within me, the bitterness swelling inside. I fear a dangerous reunion with depression and anxiety lurking for me every night, and I realize that this way of living…this swimming in an ocean of toxicity is not sustainable. There’s a quickening in my heart every time I react to our President with disgust, fury, and despair, and I recognize this quickening as a challenge I’m woefully unequipped to sufficiently manage.
I desire to have the heart of Jesus towards Trump, not because I want to be a “good Christian” or because I have something to prove, or want to “appear” holy and faithful, but because I believe that love heals and hate destroys. I feel the tremor of the voice of Jesus deep in my soul saying, “this is your Mount Everest Renee’. This is your purpose, right here, right now. This is who I’ve made you to be…a voice of light and love in this moment, a peacemaker, a woman who learns to wholeheartedly give and receive grace because she fully grasps that every one of my creations is worthy. Your life can be a testament to how I love you and every other human on this earth without conditions, without reservations. If you will allow me to transform your heart so that you can love who you’ve deemed unlovable, then you will break this destructive cycle and breathe in the freshness of my tender spirit in a way you’ve never experienced.” I want to respond to this persistent rumbling in my core, but my human nature cannot summon it. Sealing the goal for grace in my mind has not translated to action in my heart. I pray for the Lord’s heart towards a man I believe is undeserving of grace and then I scoff at myself as I reflect on the knowledge that grace IS exactly that… undeserved favor! If he could earn it then it wouldn’t be grace.
Grace for Trump is not the only place I struggle.
I yearn to have the heart of Jesus towards myself. I intend to offer myself love and forgiveness, but every time I respond to others from a place of judgment and exasperation, my heart sinks in shame. There has been a heaviness, a sadness, a separateness that isolates me from the love I used to sense in my daily life. I fear there’s no place for me anymore. I wonder if the wilderness has swallowed me whole. I scold myself for lacking the heart of Jesus, even while I’m consciously seeking it out. My internal dialogue is not one of compassion or hope as I continually disappoint myself in the journey towards becoming love. I am dispirited by my grave inability to create a gentleness in my heart when I so badly want to be an example of the love of Jesus. This year, I have teetered between healthy accountability and severe self-shaming. I pray for the Lord’s heart towards myself knowing that no amount of good deeds could ever earn His blessings. If I could earn it, then it wouldn’t be grace.
This journey for grace is more wearisome than I expected.
I dedicated this year to grace and I am persistently tested, consistently repenting, consciously aware of every ungracious thought and action. I have hit my knees begging for the Lord’s heart towards those I don’t understand, those I vehemently disagree with, those I fear. I have grappled over how to love my enemies..truly, radically love them. It’s seemingly effortless to flippantly say, “I will love my enemies.” It’s a different endeavor altogether to react from a place of benevolence when I come face to face with an adversary’s hostile shouts, venomous words, and furious eyes. I want to behold myself and others with generosity. I want a lens of redemption to filter out the world’s perspective so that visions of love, grace and mercy are all that remain. I want an agape love to spill out of me in a life-giving stream. I want to feel the strength of God’s love lifting me up in my weakest moments so that I may lift the burden of lovelessness and isolation from those who are wounded and lonely.
I am starving for a grace that glides naturally from my being, but the war of words raging inside my head has done nothing to encourage the love of God in my heart, and so I repent. I repent for making it about me. I repent of my bitterness. I repent of my judgment. I repent of my anger. I repent of my need to be right. My flesh reminds me every day that I am incapable of transforming my heart without supernatural intervention.
Below is a visual of the candid and often unpleasant inner workings of my daily thought life. Beware that it is brutal. I am not proud of where I’m at, but I am hopeful, as I believe The Lord is working on me every second of every day. I rarely make it to column 3 (The Truth), and even when I do, it isn’t without kicking and screaming. God’s wisdom has yet to take root in my heart, but that is my constant prayer.
My Flesh = My Worldly Response = My Knee Jerk Reaction = My Sin
My Human Struggle for Grace = My Self Talk
God’s Wisdom = The Truth
Trump is evil and there’s little to no explanation for supporting a man who bullies and disparages war heroes, immigrants, refugees, minorities, women, the disabled, the dying, leaders of ally countries, literally anyone who disagrees with him!
Ugh! I hate this sin…this tendency to judge others that lives and thrives within me. I am not blameless. I am also guilty of making fun of others, laughing at jokes that are in poor taste, thinking less of certain people when I feel justified. In fact, I do this to Trump and feel TOTALLY justified! BUT, at least I’m willing to reflect on my faults and ask for forgiveness. At least I don’t live my life committing these offenses without any remorse! And, here I go again feeding the sin that enjoys its lofty place in my heart. Why can’t I get this grace thing right?! Why am I always making excuses for my lack of grace? Why can’t I will myself to love the way God loves? I’m so bad at this! I’ll never figure out how to love those my flesh has deemed unlovable!
Everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God’s glorious standard…His gift of love and favor now cascades over us, all because Jesus, the Anointed One, has liberated us from guilt… Romans 3:23-24
I am physically ill as I observe how Trump fuels the fire of hatred! I literally can’t think of another person who can stir the malignant brew of animosity more effectively than our current President.
And yet I give myself a pass as I fuel the fire of hatred with name-calling, negative social media posts, and fruitless conversations regarding my disgust for him! I cannot fight hate with hate, so why do I keep ending up here?! Shame on me, shame on me, shame on me!
You are forgiven and so is he.
How is it possible that Trump’s Christian supporters can’t see how he capitalizes on fear to win their support and that fear is NOT from The Lord?!?!
Yet, I’m full of fear too! My reaction to his policies and vicious rhetoric sends me into a whirlwind of fitful nights and dark days envisioning nightmarish outcomes. I’m guilty of allowing fear to rule my heart, as I fear his presidency will bring us to war and/or tear our country apart. I provide fear with a playground as I watch the news, read his tweets, participate in relationships that serve as an echo chamber. I am once again doing the very thing I claim to hate so much! If my faith is in The Lord, then there would be no fear!
God will never give us the spirit of fearing men or others. The Holy Spirit gives us mighty power, love, and self-control…the light of revelation. 2 Timothy 1:7
I have yet to observe any behavior from Trump that exemplifies the love of Jesus, so why do so many “Christians” support him? Maybe I no longer identify as being a Christian when the reputation of some seems to be that of hypocrisy, intolerance, racism, nationalism, pridefulness, dishonesty, fear-mongering, hatefulness, bitterness, intimidation, un-forgiveness, belligerence, sexism…
I have not been appointed judge of moral character. Who am I to act as if I have everything figured out and anyone who disagrees is blind? Who do I think I am?!?! How many times have I encouraged others to dial back their compulsion to be right? How many times have I prayed for the softening of hearts and the opening of ears and the healing of relationships? Yet, here I am dialing into the rage and digging in my heels. HOWEVER, he has admitted he’s never had to ask for forgiveness. At the very least I have the insight to know when I’ve sinned and the ability to feel remorse. At least I’m looking for a way to show love even when I REALLY don’t want to. And here I go again with my righteous anger, my rationalization of denying grace. Once again I’ve failed!
God did not send his Son into the world to judge and condemn the world, but to be its Savior and rescue it! John 3:17
Trump’s narcissism, pride, and lack of any humility whatsoever makes it substantially difficult for me to look at his face, hear his voice, read his words. I look at him and feel evil, see evil, hear evil. He stands for everything my parents taught me to avoid: dishonesty, bullying, disrespect, dishonor, selfishness, vanity, anger, cruelty, hubris, and the list goes on and on. He represents the opposite of every quality I want modeled for my children. He is everything I was taught not to be. The things he is praised for are the very same things I’ve been punished for.
This posture of knowing all there is to know about a man I’ve never met shines a light on the sin of pride and superiority that lives inside of me too. My acidic reaction to Trump is not a seed planted by my Father. This is not a root that bears the fruit of love. This visceral reverberation spreads a twilight over my circle of influence when my desire is to bring the sunrise. So, why is this so damn hard?!?! If I want something SO badly, why can’t I just make it happen? Why can’t I turn myself into the loving and gracious human being I know the Lord desires me to be? I’m so frustrated with this journey. I feel like giving up on my search for grace. Lord, I cannot love the way you love without your heart. Please transform me! Please impart in me the Spirit of Love over the spirit of rightness!
We are both struggling sinners and yet “Christ proved God’s passionate love for us by dying in our place while we were still lost and ungodly!”
If I’m supposed to give Trump grace, then he and every one of his defenders need to give (fill in the blank) grace! I can’t wrap my head around the people who stand up for his abhorrent behavior and then get defensive when someone reacts with anger in return. Trump started the racist and outlandish birther conspiracy against Obama, yet his supporters are up in arms over the Russian investigation. I hear people belaboring how upset they are with Robert De Niro for yelling an obscenity at an award show, yet these same people cheer when Trump calls NFL players “sons of bitches” and join in the chanting, “lock her up,” and applaud when he mercilessly picks on John McCain, and rallies around him when he encourages his supporters to physically harm protesters. I’m stunned and sickened that he can talk about grabbing women’s pussy’s and how easy it is to take advantage of them because he’s powerful and rich, but yet his base continues to talk about Bill Clinton. It feels to me as if deceit and sexual assault and misconduct are completely forgivable as long as you’re on the “right” side. The false virtues I’ve witnessed makes me definitively unwell. The double standard is outrageous! What is this hypocrisy?!?!
Again, grace is undeserved favor and I need it too! Grace does not wait for the person to get everything right before it shows up. It’s not even waiting for us to get one thing right. If I insist on Trump changing his modus operandi before I change my heart towards him, then I will continue to run low on peace and I will exhaust myself chasing grace. There is no positive change that can come from my despondency. Hope is is not ignited by a fire of vindictiveness. Redemption and reconciliation will never grow from a place of hostility. I must find a way to allow the permanent station of grace to take camp in my heart, but I’m finding it nearly impossible and therefore I’m afraid I’m failing at being Love.
“The Son of Man has come to seek out and to give life to those who are lost.” Luke 19:10
He is seeking us out even while we head in the wrong direction. Jesus views us through the eyes of love because we are made in His image and we have been reconciled to Him through the sacrifice of the savior. He does not withhold his love based on our behavior…He loves us in despite of it. The truth is that His transformative love is available to every one of us, and He will love me through my journey no matter how many wrong turns I take.
If you are offended for him, standing up for him, defending him, I feel like screaming, “he’s not the one that needs protecting! It’s those he oppresses and bullies and demeans and flippantly disregards that need protection!” If you can’t see the hurt he has caused, the hate he has stirred, the fear-mongering tactics he’s forced down the throats of anyone who will listen, then I don’t know how it is we are living on the same planet.
There are so many things I can do to fight injustice, protect the oppressed, love the hurting, care for the poor, and none of those things require vitriol. I only make my heart-sick and the divisions in my circle of influence more polarized when I engage in shaming, finger-pointing, blaming, outrage, and resentment. Sometimes I witness myself expending more energy on being againstsomeone than being for those who need me to stand with them. I am so disappointed that I have come to a place where my knee-jerk reaction is to occupy a space of indignation rather than a space of love and grace. I am terrified that I will never escape this murky water I’m drowning in. Where are you God?! I beg you to lift the heaviness of this contempt that has made its home in my heart the past 18 months. I cannot move forward bearing beautiful fruit without your transformative power! This all feels impossible!
“Looking straight into their eyes, Jesus replied, Humanly speaking…no one can save himself. But what seems impossible to you is never impossible to God!” Matthew 19:26
I’m exhausted from this struggle. I’m exhausted just writing and reading about this struggle. Even while I seek His heart, strive to love the way He calls us to love, attempt to offer grace in all situations to all people, I feel abandoned to blindly feel my way through this chaos on my own. I don’t know how to give grace to Trump or to those who support him no matter what he says or does, but I do know that the Lord loves him and every single one of His creations regardless of our misdeeds and shortcomings. I know that as much as I focus on Trump’s need for forgiveness and grace, I need the very same things! I’m tempted to berate myself for my lack of love, but I know that’s not God’s desire for me. I know He is inviting me to rely on Him. Today, I feel alone. Today, I feel lost. Today, I wonder what road lies ahead. Today, I feel fatigue setting in as I relentlessly beg for a transformation. Today, my spirit is waning as I fruitlessly search for a heart I can’t create on my own. Today, I ask the creator to breathe new life into me. Today, I meditate on The Word that says, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” – Psalm 34:18.
I imagine 2 main responses to my struggle:
If you’re responding to me with disbelief, disappointment, or even disgust that I could have so much darkness in my heart towards a man I don’t even know, then I challenge you to consider that those are the very same feelings I share in response to Trump. If you’re feeling “column 1” feelings about me, let me be the first to acknowledge that I get it. If you’re sitting in judgement about me or anyone else during this highly polarized era of “othering,” would you join me in my effort to move to “column 3?” I don’t make this request because I need you to like me, but because I want us all to live in a place of wholeness and grace. I want us all to experience one another as God experiences us. I want us all to rest in a place of peace and joy as we face our daily lives in community with one another. I want us to find a way to give each other grace in this messy, broken, imperfect world full of messy, broken, imperfect people. I want us to conquer hate with love! I could try to convince you that I’m not a terrible person, but let me just admit that I’m a sinful human being who is seeking grace and striving to have the heart of the Lord no matter how many times I fail.
If you’re responding with disbelief, disappointment or even disgust that I am making an effort to “let Trump off the hook so easily,” I want to be clear that seeking grace is not justifying, excusing, or trivializing wrong-doings. I strongly believe that lies, racism, sexism, oppression, and hate all have to be addressed and consequences are necessary. Grace can be offered without brushing anything under the rug or minimizing the ramifications of someone’s behavior. I believe that in order to be a light in this world we must be pillars of truth, which requires the courage to speak against polluting messages and the willingness to condemn untruths. We must speak up and speak out, and I believe that doing so from a place of love is the only way we can escape the cancer of “column 1.” I believe rising above the fury is the quickest path to a place of unification and healing. If you connect with my “column 1” feelings about Trump, let me be the first to acknowledge that I get it. If you’re sitting in judgement about him or anyone else during this highly polarized era of “othering,” would you join me in my effort to move to “column 3?” I believe that only love is sustainable. I believe radical love and profound forgiveness are powerfully transformative. I believe there’s a path that allows us to stand up for what is right without succumbing to despondency and animosity. I believe there’s a journey ahead that doesn’t include hate, but rather calls us to practice a communion of reconciliation so that we may avoid the death of our joy and the joy of those around us. I believe we can be breath in breathless moments rather than oxygen fueling the fire.
My life is full of choices that can move me towards grace or away. If I am to be an ambassador of redemption I cannot do so by engaging in maliciousness. I am choosing to create a community that bonds over inclusivity versus causticity. I am seeking a way to stand for justice and offer grace simultaneously. I don’t believe it has to be either/or…I want to live a life of both. I want to find a way to hold the hands of the oppressed, the vulnerable, the hurting, and claim out loud what I believe is right and worthy without pointing fingers, placing blame, screaming judgement, spreading condemnation or ostracizing. I want to love loudly and stand boldly for what’s fair, just, and good without being against anyone. I want to be an example of grace’s transformative power. I want the Lord to brand my heart with the reminder that every single one of us is His creation. I want to remember that we all require healing and that love conquers all. I cannot in good conscience continue to wallow in bitterness when I know with all my being that hate will not defeat hate and shame will not fill hearts with loving-acceptance and compassion. I want to live from a place where: Justice is necessary and Grace is transformative!
As I continue to wrestle with grace in the Trump era, I invite you to join me in reflecting on this beautiful scripture:
“Don’t let anger control you or be fuel for revenge, not for even a day…And never let ugly or hateful words come from your mouth, but instead let your words become beautiful gifts that encourage others; do this by speaking words of grace to help them. Lay aside bitter words, temper tantrums, revenge, profanity, and insults. But instead be kind and affectionate toward one another. Has God graciously forgiven you? Then graciously forgive one another in the depths of Christ’s love.” Ephesians 4:26-32
And when we fail, may we remember that we are forgiven.
Having lived in Gilbert for most of my life, we have been visited by many young, passionate, Mormon missionaries throughout the years. Recently they have been offering their help with anything we may need assistance with. These exchanges always include the typical pleasantries where I thank them for their generous offer, and add that, “no, we don’t need help with anything at this time.” After their last visit however, as the young men pedaled away, I realized that I do have a request. A request that has been bubbling beneath the surface, unspoken for quite some time now. A desire that began formulating in my grade school years and has been refined since having children of my own. The next time a Mormon missionary asks if there’s anything they can do for me, I’m going to humbly and vulnerably reply as follows:
Please teach your children to be inclusive of my non-mormon children and please guide them to carry that inclusion past grade school, into middle school, and throughout high school.
Please encourage your children to sit with mine in the lunchroom.
Please permit your kids to invite my kids to their slumber parties, birthday parties, and weekend get togethers even AFTER my child has made it clear that he or she is not interested in attending fireside, seminary, or church with your family.
Please allow your teen to go with mine to school dances, athletic events, and group dinners trusting that just like you, my husband and I have done the best we know how to raise a teenager who knows right from wrong.
Please welcome my children into your homes and permit your children to visit ours.
Please ask your kids to consider how isolating it must be on “Seminary (extra credit) Days” for those kids who do NOT come to school dressed for church.
Please reflect on the fact that adolescents spend the majority of their waking hours comparing themselves to their peers, so when they recognize that it would never be “acceptable” to date your son or daughter or be your son or daughter’s best friend, it is, at best, damaging to their delicate self-esteem.
Please call to mind your younger years when your primary objective was to be loved and accepted for who you were without having to pretend you were someone else.
Please understand that my families faith also emphasizes the importance of loving others, giving of ourselves, forgiving those who have wronged us and seeking forgiveness when we wrong others, doing what is right and turning from evil, seeking a relationship with God, spending time in prayer, and living a life inspired by Jesus.
Please support your children in having open, vulnerable, honest, transparent, loving, kind, accepting conversations with my children about what they believe and why. In fact, while our kids are having that “grown-up” conversation, I also hope to enter into this depth of sharing with you…the Mormon parent.
Please know that I hold your child in the same regard as any other child who shares my family’s faith or who prescribes to no religion at all. Your child is special, and beautiful, and worthy of my love and caring regardless of doctrine or theology.
Please believe that I see our differences as an opportunity for us to grow together in loving-acceptance. God did not call us to “tolerate” our neighbors. He called us to Love. I love and welcome you, your family, and your faith because we are all children of God made in His image. Your faith is a sizable component of who you are, and you are God’s creation with gifts and beauty and a soul that has the ability to positively transform my life with each encounter.
As these hopes for my children spill out, I realize that these are the same yearnings I had when I was too young to express them and they remain yearnings for me now. I would like to know my Mormon neighbors. I would like for us to share our celebrations and mourn our losses together. I would like to enter into deep relationships with you that allow us to celebrate our differences and lift each other up versus silently judging one another from across the street or the backyard fence. I would like us to hug and share dinners, and text jokes, and go to movies, and have pool parties, and discuss politics, and cry and laugh, and live life together. These desires have never been expressed because I never felt important enough to express them, but now that I have children there is nothing more vital than ensuring they have a deep sense of belonging to this village we chose to raise them in.
For decades now I have felt an invisible yet palpable partition between my family and our mormon neighbors…a silent criterion that has said, “we can’t be that close…we can’t walk this life together too often, we can’t be intimate friends unless we share the same faith.” I want to tear down this barricade and abolish this silent destroyer of fellowship. I fear we are forfeiting valuable friendships and life-changing communion with one another as we allow religion to segregate our lives.
We are not that different. Our children are not that different. We are all living in a beautiful yet broken world doing the best we can with what we have. With inclusion and acceptance we can lighten each other’s burdens and love each other through the brokenness. We are all damaged humans, so let’s be damaged together. As our fractured pieces are assembled together, we will transform into a magnificent and vast tapestry of vibrant hues and unity…we can weave our hearts into a community of “us”…dynamic threads of surviving souls stretching out to reach each other, love each other, understand each other….staying true to ourselves while supporting one another. Loved and loving! Fully belonging!
Renee’ (your hopeful neighbor)
P.S. I am not proposing that Mormons are the only religious group that could receive a request comparable to this one, or that this applies to every Mormon. I’m also not assuming that I wouldn’t, myself, benefit from reading the same words and applying them to my life with regards to another group or an “other,” an “outsider.” I believe every religion and every denomination could benefit from being more inclusive, but I write this letter in relation to my own experiences and memories and the concerns I have for my children. My Jewish/Agnostic husband could write an identical letter, based on his history, and just change the greeting to Dear Christians or Dear Italian Catholics. We can all admit that it feels good to belong to a group, but too often it’s at the expense of living a life void of those who are different from us, and I believe this is a tragedy. It is exhausting to correctly locate and consistently remain in the good graces of the right “club” these days. Race, ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation, gender, political affiliation, socio-economic status, neighborhood, state, coast, country, profession, and the list of ways we etch the invisible line goes on and on. I find that when I try too hard to belong to a particular group I lose sight of God’s vision for my life, which starts with loving “others” the way He loves me. We are created for community, and I believe our lives will always be richer if we truly follow God’s commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves. I pray that God will give us the courage to knock down walls, the strength to build bridges, and the grace to love with out qualifiers. I pray that my children will grow up loved and loving! Fully belonging!
You met him once in the vastness of heaven and space. His arms reaching for you, no longer stiff, no longer cold. The cosmos faded as he watched you draw near. His eyes smiled, no longer grey, no longer lifeless.
He waited for you in the stars and held you close as you journeyed through the constellations.
He whispered his love for you and kissed you gently before you entered the life from which he had just departed. He shared his ocean blue eyes and startling smile with you – those eyes and that smile that he inconceivably left by the Ty River. You touched his soul, swallowed his essence, embraced his light, and then you EXPLODED into our world.
You met our grief with healing and beauty and powerful, overwhelming life. Your first breath was a cooling and beautiful fog over our scalding trauma – a cleansing of our hearts that had festered with loss and bled with each shattering tear. Your ocean blue eyes opened and we saw him gazing back, searing hope into our souls, connecting life and loss in a circle of complete unity. Both of you permanently branded into our lives forever. Your smile illuminated the room as if he were there, holding us together in his starlight. Your vivacious cry was his voice assuring us that we can hurt and still heal. We can shudder with grief and still laugh. We can die and still live in the hearts of those who loved us and those we meet in heaven’s stars.
For 34 years, I described my faith as “inherited.” I spent a significant amount of my adult life wrestling with my convictions and whether or not my spiritual life was solely a result of my upbringing. I openly shared with other Christian friends the desire to have a faith that was my own, a faith I experienced first hand, a faith I had heard so many others enthusiastically proclaim from the pulpit after encountering a miracle in the midst of their life’s “rock bottom.” I longed for something to strengthen my spiritual walk…I longed to know The Lord in a way so real that there would be no room for doubt….I longed for a testimony that I couldn’t ignore or explain away. I always sensed deep down that to secure my faith, I would need a moment where everything changed….saved by something supernatural, something undeniably bigger than myself. I spent many years praying for that moment and that it would forever obliterate my lingering uncertainty. I prayed for a testimony that I could share with passion and authenticity.
I was 12 weeks pregnant with our first baby and it was 7am on Mother’s Day when my phone rang. I saw that it was my sister-in-law and immediately assumed she was calling to wish me my first “Happy Mother’s Day.” I answered the phone and cheerfully said, “Happy Mother’s Day Nicole,” but in a distant and shaky voice she responded by asking if I was with my husband and if she could speak to him instead. As my husband held the phone, I thought I heard her whisper, “Burt’s dead.” My mind immediately began rejecting the sights and sounds around me as I watched the color drain from my husband’s face and listened to him vehemently repeat, “that’s not funny….stop…why are you saying that?” He left the room and I watched the walls close in around me as the world disappeared. I somehow summoned the courage and the strength to walk from my bedroom to the living room as my husband returned from the porch and somehow conveyed to me that my brother had died in a tragic accident. Reality ripped through me like a jagged knife and I my heart was left severed…barely beating. Soul shattering pain has a sound. It’s deafening silence is filled with cries so raw they don’t sound human. Grief has a taste and a texture. It is sharp and unforgiving. It is bitter but necessary to survive. Tragedy alters your senses forever. I began trembling in an effort to reject the truth as I begged, “you must’ve misunderstood…that could not have happened…he’s probably hurt and in the hospital, but he’s not dead!” I insisted that my husband call the chaplain to get the correct information…information I could live with. I was absolutely convinced there had been a horrible mistake…an incomprehensible misunderstanding and that another phone call would clear up all of the confusion, loss, and darkness. With another call it was confirmed that we were now facing the most harrowing weeks of our lives. I fell to my knees in the middle of the floor, crying out in a voice I didn’t recognize, shaking and rocking as if my body was incapable of absorbing another breath. My husband placed a blanket around my shoulders as if my trembling could be rectified with physical warmth. Screams escaped the deepest part of my being, “not my family! This doesn’t happen to us! This doesn’t happen to us!! What about my mom!? Where’s my mom?! It’s Mother’s Day! Not us! Not us! Not my brother! My mom! Where’s my mom?!” Even 3 years later, when I think back to that horrifying day it’s as if I’m separated from it all and watching from a dark detached place. From afar I can see my mom at my front door trembling with disbelief. I watch my little brother kick open the front door, throw his hat across the room and embrace my mom and I with arms that would never hug our brother in this world again. The sorrow is tangible. The pain audible. I used to hear stories of loss or watch tragedy on the news and say, “I can’t imagine!” and I was right…I truly could never have imagined how horrific unexpected grief would be. Even now that I’ve lived through something traumatic, there’s a barrier my soul has created to protect me from fully re-imagining the devastation. When I let my mind wander, I still cannot conceive surviving the kind of loss my family has already survived. It’s as if what we endured that day was from a separate life…a life once removed and even though we made it to the other side I cannot fathom weathering another tragedy like the loss of my brother.
Five months after Burt’s passing, my little brother (Ryan) and I flew to Seattle to tour where our older brother had spent the last year of his life. We ate his favorite food at his favorite restaurants, took his favorite hikes, and visited where he had very happily worked for the year before we lost him.
It was a beautiful and gut-wrenching trip. As we waited in the airport for our flight home we reminisced about the emotional yet healing trip we had just encountered. I was flooded with emotion when I finally worked up the nerve to ask Ryan, “How do you know Burt is ok? How do you know God is real? How do you KNOW that you know?” Void of judgment, my younger brother shared with me that he knew Burt was ok because he knows The Lord is real and that his personal relationship with God our Father has made his faith strong. With the few tears I had left, I admitted to Ryan that I didn’t have this faith but that I had longed for it for years. I confessed, “I don’t know that The Lord is real. I don’t know that Burt is ok or that there’s a heaven. I have so much doubt and I want to have peace. I have no peace and I’m scared.” Ryan and I had a powerfully honest and vulnerable conversation and he promised he would be praying that I would find the assurance and peace I was seeking. There was no way for me to imagine the turn my life would take, the challenges I would face, the fear that would soon flood my heart and mind.
Shortly after our trip I became completely debilitated with a chronic migraine that stole my life for months. I wasn’t just weak or weary…I was profoundly incapacitated. After having our son, Isaac Burton, we moved in with my parents. I was unable to work, unable to drive, unable to run a simple errand or clean my house. I was unable to do most of the things we take for granted every day. The loss I experienced from no longer being able to participate in everyday tasks didn’t hold a candle to the grief I felt due to not being able to care for my one and only newborn baby boy. I couldn’t provide the basic things a mother gives her child. I couldn’t feed my son, I couldn’t bathe him or play with him or even laugh with him. I couldn’t comfort my son when he cried.I was soon on 10 different medications whose side effects made me so ill I lost 40lb in less than 2 months. I saw multiple chiropractors, acupuncturists, reflexologists, massage therapists, dentists, endodontists, 6 different neurologists, visited the ER 3 times and was finally hospitalized for infusion therapy for 3 days with zero progress. It was after this hospitalization that my husband drove his spiritless wife back to her parent’s house while she was swallowed by a dark abyss.
A day or two after my hospitalization my brother and sister-in-law brought dinner over for the whole family. My pain was too extreme and the multiple meds I was on made me too sick to eat, so I retreated to my parents room and laid down on their bed. My brother soon followed to offer me a head and shoulder massage in the hopes that he could give me a little relief from the constant pain I had been living with for months. My brother began praying over me and although I don’t remember his words, I do remember the tears of desperation and hoping with all of my being that the power of his prayer would lead to that miraculous testimony I had been longing for. I was imploring the Lord for a miracle.
The next day, as I was taking a shower, fear hopelessness and suffering poured out of me in angry and desperate cries. This moment became the darkest and most isolating time I have ever experienced. The minor physical relief I felt while in the shower magnified the emotional pain of knowing that this relief was only temporary and that my quality of life would once again disintegrate as soon as I stepped out of the shower. I began to sob so uncontrollably that my mom and dad heard me from the living room. My mom opened the bathroom door and hesitantly asked me if I was ok and I could barely choke out a “no.” She offered me an over-sized fresh towel, but I was well beyond physical comforts. Soon, my husband came into the bathroom. He pulled back the curtain and said, “Renee’ talk to me.” All I could utter, over and over and over as I held myself in the fetal position on the shower floor, was
“I can’t go on….I’m giving up…I can’t go on….I’m giving up…I can’t go on…I’m giving up.”
I explained that if this was living, then I did NOT want to live and that Isaac deserved a mommy who could care for him, play with him, laugh with him. I told him that the only future my mind’s eye held was one where I lied in a bed watching Isaac grow up while he watched me whither into nothingness. I had come to believe that I if I went on living I would do so without being a part of my son’s life and that I couldn’t bare the thought of deteriorating in front of him. I can say without any dramatization that in that moment I wanted to die and I was ready to go…begging The Lord to take me and my suffering and the suffering I was causing and would continue to cause to those who loved me. With fear and determination in his eyes, Pete said, “I will not listen to you talk like this! I will not let you give up or let go. You’re going to get dressed and we’re going for a walk right now.” We took that walk while I barely had the strength to hold myself upright but I could not be convinced there was hope so I continued to repeat,
“I can’t go on….I’m giving up.”
Before my hospitalization I had been gifted a massage with a therapist who travelled to her client’s houses. Having had no improvement from the help of some of the most prominent neurologists in the country there was nothing to lose so I called the therapist and made an appointment shortly after my discharge. Just a few hours after I had proclaimed I was giving up and could not go on, the therapist (Valerie) arrived at my parents house and we met for the first time. She set up her table in my parents room and then asked permission to pray with Pete and I. The three of us stood together in unity and Valerie prayed that the massage would be physically and most importantly emotionally healing. My eyes were almost swollen shut from crying as I laid down on her table. Thirty minutes into the massage Valerie whispered, “I’m going to say something that will probably sound really strange and I hope that’s ok. I’ve never had anything like this happen before, but I feel like I need to share something with you.” Not knowing what to think or expect I tentatively responded, “ok?”
“I feel your brother here and he’s saying that you have to keep going and you can’t give up. You have to keep going! You cannot give up! Have you been thinking of giving up?”
In that instant, I was released from the claws of darkness that had extinguished my hope. In that moment the belief that all was lost was replaced with a promise for the future. In that breath my faith was set in concrete and my doubt was destroyed. Without any knowledge that just hours before I had uttered those exact words, Valerie spoke Truth to my shattered heart. As tears soaked my face, I soaked in the certainty that I would see my brother again and that I would one day be an active and healthy mother to my son. Valerie continued, “Burt and The Lord want you to know that this is just for now. It is not forever. This trial will equip you to be there for others in a way that you would not have been able to without this experience. The Lord is preparing you to be a witness for others…to give hope to others. This is just for now. It is not forever.” She then asked me a question I never would’ve considered. She asked if I had believed the lies of hopelessness…if I had let the spirit of suicide into my thoughts. When I confirmed that I had been consumed by fear and despair she offered me the chance to repent. I had never before thought of the need to repent, but I realized then that I had spent months choosing to believe words from the enemy instead of the promises from My Father. Valerie lead me through a prayer asking for His forgiveness and for His strength and grace to keep my eyes on Him no matter how long my pain lingered. We prayed that I would never again enter that place of desolation and that He would make his plan for my life come alive.
I need to be clear that this supernatural experience didn’t come with physical healing. My pain did not go away. I did not start taking care of my son. I did not go back to work. This was a mental, spiritual, and emotional healing that could be physically felt by those around me. My mom later shared that after my massage she felt a dark cloud lift from our home. My husband agreed that he felt a peace in me he hadn’t had a glimpse of in months. I was a new woman inside. I had a gripping faith. My heart and mind were filled with radiant hope. I had experienced the Lord in a way I never had before and I knew I would one day be whole again. I knew my brother was with our Lord and that he was with me…with us and that one day I would see him, laugh with him, embrace him again.
Shortly after this life-changing event I shared my story with a dear friend. We both cried as I recounted the supernatural change that had taken place in me and then she told me something that made my encounter with The Lord even more genuine and powerful. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she had been at my parent’s house the night my brother prayed over me. She had stopped by to drop off groceries and was told I was in my parent’s room laying down. I recalled someone had been holding my hand while my brother prayed and at the time I assumed it was my mother. My friend shared with me that when she walked into the room there was a wall of suffocating darkness and that it felt like she had walked into my funeral. She said the oppression was palpable and in that moment she knew I was fighting a spiritual battle as well as a physical one. When she left the house she told her husband, “we have to pray for Renee’. She is in a fight for her life.” That night, my friend sensed the destruction I was succumbing to. She had a glimpse of my desire to give up. As she told me her experience I was overcome with awe at the realization that her visit that night and the desperate prayers that followed were a spiritual intervention that literally lifted me from the cold shadows my heart and mind had staggered through for months. It was the very next day that my life was changed forever and I was saved from fear, wariness, and death. When I didn’t have the fortitude to pray there were so many others interceding for me and I will always be grateful for their faithfulness because it was their belief that saved me from my disbelief. It was their conviction that lifted me up to meet and know my God and Savior in a way that transformed me from the inside out.
Even with my heart and soul altered forever I was still living with constant pain and In mid-February, I received a dreaded call from my employer telling me that if I didn’t return to work in 1 week then my job would no longer be protected. As I heard those words from HR, I had 2 thoughts: “This is it, the life I’ve known is over” and then, “Renee’, this is it, God has a plan for your life and you are not in control.” I don’t memorize Bible verses, but my massage therapist later quoted Jeremiah 29:11, “for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” I didn’t realize it at the time, but that verse came alive for me and was branded on my soul the split second I heard that I was days away from losing my job. I finally embraced the realization that if I could will myself well it would’ve happened months ago. I acknowledged that I was not in control of what life doled out, but that I could choose how I reacted to the hand I was dealt. I had a choice…I could crumble, lose all hope once again, and accept that the life I dreamed of was over, or I could let it all go, step away from the helm and TRUST that God had a plan for my life and that His plan is always good. Again I felt that supernatural peace and strength wash over me. I realized during that phone call that I truly had no authority over how my life would proceed, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was surrounded by love, and that no matter what happened to my health or my job, The Lord had a plan and he would give me the strength and grace to see that plan through. I felt this truth (Jeremiah 29:11) in my inner core…a truth that gave me a peace so real that I can only describe it as being from God. I spent the rest of the day struggling with how I would tell my husband that I would most likely be unemployed soon, but when I finally gained the courage to say the words out loud, he also sensed that same inexplicable, “crazy” peace. We just KNEW that we KNEW that we would be okay. My husband and I decided that I would attempt to go back to work the following week and we remained prepared to accept that this probably would not be a successful endeavor. The day before my return was like every other day had been. I had the same level of pain and found it difficult to imagine that the next day of waking up early, getting ready, driving myself into work and starting a brand new job would be any degree of manageable. The night before, I took my regular handful of sedating drugs and my nightly bath, but then something different happened. I went to bed with more peace than I had felt in 5 months. As I fell asleep I said a prayer of gratitude. I was thankful that I no longer felt the urge to control what happened to me and that I could unreservedly rest in The Lord and His plans for my life. I could see that He had used my brokenness for something good. He had used this chapter in my life to deliver me from the prison of worry and fear. Releasing apprehension and anxiety from my daily routine was a freedom I had never had in my life. Roman 5:3-4 says, “we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” I was nowhere near rejoicing, but I could finally see how He was using this time in my life to transform me, and I could finally lean into my faith with confidence, because He had made himself so real to me through this trial. The weight of worry had been lifted and I felt lighter.
When I woke up the next morning I was pain free for the first time in 159 days!
I arrived at my new job and although the familiar pain visited me throughout the day, it never came close to what I had withstood day in and day out for 5 months. February 28th, 2014 was the day I finally saw a glimpse of the goodness God had in store for me and I believed God wasn’t just going to give me the strength to live through the pain…He was going to see me through to the other side, and all the while I would be made stronger through the journey. On my way home that day I called the same friend who had been my prayer warrior for so many months and I cried as soon as I heard her voice. I was so overwhelmed with disbelief that I could barely get the words out, “it’s a miracle! There’s no other way to explain it. It’s a miracle! My pain level is manageable! I’m going to be ok! I worked….I can’t believe it…I worked! God is so faithful!” It had been so long since I had been capable of functioning at this level, that I couldn’t stop repeating, “I can’t believe this!” When I walked through my parent’s front door I saw them standing in the foyer anxiously waiting for me to return. I don’t think I was able to get a word out before we were tightly holding onto each other. I realize now that they were there because they knew I would either be ready to celebrate or in urgent need of comforting. I was finally able to tell my parents that I had turned a corner and that one day I would be myself again. The gratefulness, relief and joy we all felt stunned us into silence. The following 7-8 months, I continued to have significant daily pain, but NEVER resembling those previous distressing months. I continued with medications that made me feel terrible and injections in my head to help control the pain, but none of that weighed me down because I was ecstatic to be living again and to be walking with The Lord. We moved back home and began to see our little family develop the way we had always envisioned. I felt nothing but gratitude on the days I would work long hours and then arrive home to take care of my son, because this was far more life than I thought I would ever be capable of living. Even with chronic pain, I was finally in a place where I could be a mother, I could spend time with my family and friends, I could work again!
With several years passing it has become easier to forget how far I’ve come and how much has changed. I must remember what I’ve survived. In 2017 and for every year hereafter, it is my desire to use these lessons in life to shift my perspective to what really matters and avoid complaining about the things that don’t. I also want to use these lessons to remain mindful of the many priceless yet mundane experiences that make up this crazy life. I want to BE PRESENT. I must always remember that right here, right now is precious and beautiful and should never be taken for granted. And, when dark times visit again (which they most certainly will in this damaged world), I must remember that no matter how torn I feel or how dark the clouds around me, The Lord has a plan for my life and it is always good. I am thankful for a testimony I can share with passion and authenticity!