Redemption

It's been a day.

I'm worn at the edges. My heart aches with loneliness. I am being slowly pulled under by exhaustion.

I am feeling tugged from all directions. Pulled.

I am worn.

Ragged.

Done.

Laundry. Carpool. Watering the garden. Pulling weeds. Chasing the dog.

There's no me in this day, only...them.

A meeting. A room with three faces. My son sitting next to me, pushing cars as the labels ride over his head on the wall. Projected there in black and white.



Severe delay.

Failure.

Intervention.

Therapy.



All these words. Next to his name.

And him below it. With his eyes. His face. The face that looked up at me just minutes from my body. The face I caressed as he nursed. The eyes I have watched drift shut as I rocked, rocked.

His voice echoes across the sterile table. He says words only I can understand. I translate for him, watching his face.

I look down to hide tears I don't want anyone to see.

They ask- what do you want for him?

What do I see him doing 5 years from now?

And I say- I just want him to be able to speak.

But it's more.

I want him to be UNDERSTOOD.

And how, when the words are not there?

And will he be made fun of....and will he be lonely...and will he be sad. And god forbid any of these things because I WILL MOVE OCEANS TO SAVE HIM FROM THAT. Oceans. Mountains. I will NOT let him be lonely. I will not let him be mocked.

God help me. I will not.

The tears were swift. Hot coursing rivers. I did not let him see. He rode his scooter as I watched his joy and I thought -oh god how long will he feel this way? How long before he knows he is different?

My sweet sweet boy. My big eyed angel.

I put the kids to bed. Lily came out of her room with nonsense. I sent her back, harshly.

God told me to go to her. To make it right.

So I did. And it was back rubs and whispers and talking.

And then...



Mama?

Yes?

I stood up for somebody today.

Tell me.



And she does. Of the boy, the special boy, in her class. The one without many words. The one with big expressive eyes that look at you with such soul. Eyes like that don't need words.

She tells me of the boy who was laughing at her special friend. And how she told him to stop. Because it isn't nice.

My heart turned over. My eyes filled with tears as my heart filled with grace.

Because just as much as I have a sweet quiet special boy, I also have my kind compassionate loving Lily.

And there are many people like my daughter. Who see the soul, not just the body. That hear the unsaid words. That see the human beneath the diagnosis.

That hear the words that cannot come from the lips.

I looked into her eyes, so much like her brothers. And through tears I told her of how beautiful her soul is, how good she is, how treasured by God and by me.



Mama, it was nothing. I will always stand up for my friends.



I kissed her goodnight, whispering in her ear of how proud Jesus is of her amazing heart.

Redemption doesn't always come like lightning from the sky. Comfort is not always engulfing. Sometimes it can be the small voice of one heart, speaking for someone who cannot.

I thank God for the silence, and for the words.

Both have given me more than I could ever say.

It is enough

Dear mom,

Thougts of you come to me now like waves, rolling over my mind like the ocean does the sand. I see your face in my dreams, feel your hand on my shoulder as I sit and think. When I am alone you sometimes fill the space with your presence.

You don't like me to be lonely. You don't like me to be sad. The irony of this care now when you have been gone so many years is not lost on me. We share such a past.

You are at once my compass, and my example of who I don't want to be. Your mistakes haunt me.

But as I go further along this path of motherhood, I understand you so much more than I ever could. And as I battle my own demons of anxiety, I understand the struggles you must have gone through.

How lonely you must have been. I was right there, and you could not love me or hold me for fear of your madness breaking me.

I understand that now. You kept me at bay to save me. You held your love back, because with your love came your madness, and with that madness came destruction.

God. I get it mom. I get it.

For the first time in this life, I understand you. For the first time ever I can truly say that I have such pity for you. Because you tried to be normal. And you tried to be good. And you tried so hard not to wound me.

But your illness crept around the edges of your wall. And in the end the monster got us both.

I wish I could spend just one more day with you. A day in the sun. You and I. Talking about all of the things we never did. Saying all the things anger and madness kept us from saying.

I would tell you that I love you. I would tell you that you are not lost from me. I would tell you that I forgive you the scars. I forgive you the hurt. And that although I do not have many good memories of you, the ones I do have are enough.

They are enough.

And everything you tried to be, every effort you made to be more than your illness was not lost. It may have taken me 36 years to see the effort you made to be a good mother- but here it is.

I see it.

I remember you sitting and watching me sleep. Your tears were running down your face. I woke and looked at you. I was too tired to be scared, still half caught in my dreams. And you said I love you. Don't forget I love you. Never forget.

I know that was you talking. The you that got hidden and buried behind sickness and drink. I know that you pushed past that sickness so far you broke your own mind trying to be what I needed.

I would tell you that I look at my own daughter and see myself. I see the potential of what I could have been, unbroken and unscarred, and in a way it is as healing as it is damning. I see her face light up when I hold her, when I read to her. I see who I might have been had the weight of your illness not broken my spirit.

And that too is enough.

Because I can live through her. Through her careless days. I can live through her unburdened soul and heal a bit of myself as I mother her precious heart. I can give her what I wasn't given.

I can give her what I know, I know, you tried to give to me. I can do it for both of us.

You just couldn't. It was beyond you. And I forgive that.

Mom, I wish we had what others have. I wish I could call you. I wish you could see my babies. I wish beyond anything that I could look into your eyes and tell you all of these things.

I wish. I wish.

But wishes build nothing. So, I have this. Words on a page. Tears on my face. Love and forgiveness in my heart for the person who broke me.

And that, too, is enough.

We are enough. You and I together here and now. In what we can be.

And someday I will see you, and hug you. I will touch your face and cry. And in that day your eyes and mind will be uncaged. I will see who you are, without the bipolar monster staring back.

In that day you will love me. And I will love you.

Until then, this is enough. I am your daughter. With all of the weight and loss and hurt and love and pain that brings.

I am your daughter. I carry the memories. I carry the pain. I carry you, always.

Love,

Me

Call

I got into the car today, after loading Sammy up, going back inside 3 times for cups and snacks, and once to retrieve a lovey.

Can I get a holla from my mamas for the 8 trips back inside for stuff before getting to actually drive off? It's cardio right?

Anywho. Whenever I get still and quiet, my worries invade. All of everything that I have been super busy running away from sits in the passenger seat and decided to chat.

It began 2 minutes into my drive, as I was getting on the highway. Worry, worry. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Rushing of adrenaline. Tears. Hands gripping the wheel. Nausea.

I turned up KLOVE. I tried to redirect my mind. I tried talking to Sammy.

And then I hear it.

"Daughter, why don't you call my name?"

Clear as day.

"You are entitled to call my name. It is your birthright."

Honestly, I almost ran off the road. Because I rarely hear this clearly from my dear sweet Savior.

And my oh so eloquent response?

"Ummm well I don't want to bug you."

Ohmagoodness.

Really?

Really, Bella???

Yes really. That's what I said.

Anyway, let's move along shall we? Ahem.

So I opened my mouth and called on the name of Jesus. Nothing more. Just His name.

And I smiled. And was flooded with goodness.

It's kinda like the first bite of cake after dieting for years.

Delicious, lovely, wonderful, satisfying.

And I simply drove and spoke and talked. About it all. All of my hurts and worries and pain and....it simply turned into glory.

It turned into praise. It turned into worship. It turned into a song falling from my lips with tears from my eyes.

I sat at a stoplight and dried my eyes. And laughed.

And then again.

"Call on my name."

And I did.

"Now tell me why you don't believe I will help you."

Ouch.

But it's true. This is where I fall from my walk. I don't have a hard time wanting to be like Jesus. I don't have trouble with the commandments. I don't have a problem with giving.

I have a problem with believing I am WORTHY OF HIS LOVE.

This is where the cliff begins for me. Where thejumping off point becomes too high. And where I watch others soar from the ground.

It is in my own beliefs about myself.

And my own belief in the lies I have been told to keep me from loving God like I should.

And from trusting.

I am afraid. That as I am, I am not enough.

Oh I love Him. With a fierceness that I cannot explain. And I carry his love with me. And I give His love freely.

But my own worth just gets lost.

And if you don't believe in your worthiness to be loved by someone, how can they fully love you in return?

AND, AND, how painful it must be for Him to watch me struggle and not call for Him.

Because, people, let me tell you. He is REAL. He has SAVED ME. I would be lost if not for His love.

So it's time. To call for Him. To trust His word, that I am His. That I am HIS. That I am loved.

And that I am worthy of all of it.

Because half of any relationship is allowing the other half to care for YOU, to give to YOU, to love YOU. To be vulnerable. And to allow yourself to be deeply known.

And that includes asking for and accepting help.

Once again, God has shown me that I can go another step deeper into Him. That I can lean into His arms when I am lost, overwhelmed, or in need of shelter.

Jer 33:3......... "Call to Me, and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things..."

Jer 29:12........ "Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you."

Isa 65:24........ "It shall come to pass that before they call, I will answer, and while they are speaking I will hear."

Given

She stood, in a dress with feathers. Smiling at those in the room around her. My heart was filled with love for this dear sweet friend as we celebrated her birthday.

Her daddy spoke. How proud he was. How much he loved her. Her mom spoke. How she treasured her.

And a little place in my heart that stays out of the light opened. It's a deep place. Full of sadness. The despair of a forgotten little girl lingers there. She longs for someone, anyone to choose her. To love her. To be proud of her. She longs for her mother and father to give her the things the world does not- safety, acceptance, and peace.

This place is one that stays hidden, closed away by a Savior that washed it clean and set it aside.

But sometimes the door opens. And stays that way for a while. I know in these times that this pain is important to sit with.

Some people believe that God washes away pain, and that it stays away forever- that it is forever healed. That is not true for me. In my case, the anger and sadness come back from time to time. But like everything else in my life, the pain is an amazing teacher.

I am sad that I have never had what so many others have. I am angry that I was cheated of these things. I am angry that I spent so much time feeling unsafe that even now as an adult I have to work through issues of debilitating anxiety and depression.

I am disappointed that God did not save me from these things.

And I also have a God that is not intimidated by the anger or sadness that keeps others away. He isn't put off by tears. He isn't fooled by the facade I put on for others.

He is not angered by my disappointment. He is not vengeful at my questioning of his plan.

I don't know the answers to why some have love and some do not. I don't know why some have childhoods of safety and sunshine while others have to fight tooth and nail for scraps of happiness.

I used to be envious of these other people. I used to be jealous. Ugly ugly emotions that can trap you into a cycle of feeling sorry for yourself. A cycle of questioning your own worth. Of validating yourself by how others have valued you.

The truth is, I was not treasured by my parents. I was not kept safe. At times, I doubt if I was loved.

But.

When I feel this way, I remember this: I am cherished by a Savior that died for me. He has walked with me every single step. He has followed when I turned away. He has waited when I strayed. He has welcomed me back when I ran to Him, desperate for love.

And I also remember what He has given to me:

Panic

You are driving the speed limit.

The windows are down.

It's a beautiful day.

Your children are in the back of your car chatting to each other.

You drive through an intersection, look to your left and see a semi just yards away, getting ready to slam into you and your family.

Close your eyes.

Can you feel that? That rush of adrenaline, the sweaty palms, churning stomach, swirling head? Can you feel the racing heart and the weakness in your body?

That feeling right there is what an anxiety is.

I know. Because I've been having an ongoing dance with anxiety for the past month.

This isn't the first time I've gone 10 rounds with panic. I've done my fair share of time fighting this particular demon.

However, this time it is prolonged. It is severe. And it is debilitating.

I am still functioning. I can get up, take care of my kids, and appear to be my normal self. But underneath the exterior I show everyone else, I am in an almost constant state of panic.

It comes from nowhere, slams me down and holds me there. A wave of panic so severe that I want to run far far away.

Ive tried everything to stop it. I've hidden it from almost everyone.

I've been ashamed. After all, it seems so self indulgent. So selfish. So petty and small.

I'm a seasoned pro at pretending everything is okay. And I've hidden it well.

But hiding it makes it worse. Imagine being in a room full of people you love where you are safe...and yet feeling like you are drowning. Lonely is not the word for that feeling.

This didn't come out of nowhere.

There are life changes behind this anxiety. Tough times. There is alot I have buried that my writing has begun to dig up.

As with anything hard, I have learned that God teaches through it.

I'm just waiting to learn.

(hint hint, God. Go ahead and school me, already!)

I am also a pro at never ever wanting to burden anyone. And never ever wanting to accept help.

But I am learning that I can't do that anymore. The people I have been given in my life are there for a reason. For me to serve.

And also, at times like these, to be served in turn.

So. In the past few days I have been saying- "I am scared. I need help. I don't know what to do."

And you know what? Nobody has rolled their eyes. Nobody has sighed and thought me dramatic. Nobody has acted as if I was being foolish.

All anybody has said is- "I am here for you."

So maybe God has already taught me part of this lesson- that pride and friendship cannot go hand in hand. That asking for help is an important part of my spiritual walk. And that being humble often includes admitting you are troubled and in need of prayer and love.

I can't say when and if this will end. Will it be with new medication? Will it be when our troubles are lightened? Will it be when life settles and I can see the light again?

I just don't know.

But what I do know is that I am not alone in this darkness. I have people who love me enough to walk with me until the light shines again, until this panic subsides.

They are willing to love me even when I am not the person they knew. They are willing to wait and pray until I return to myself.

I hope that when that happens, I will have learned what God is trying to teach me.

Worn

Flags at half mast.
News stories with small faces.
Babies being laid to rest.
Mothers in terror of sending their children to school.
Conversations about gun control.
Images of candles. Stuffed animals. Shrines to the lost.

It's so much. It HURTS. My heart beats with fear and worry and pain.
And in this collective grief, over all, is a mother's wailing.
Their babies are gone. Never to return to this earth.
Why, God, why?
I don't understand.
Everyday it becomes worse. These feelings of being absolutley wrecked by this world.

But.
This is the world we have been given. This is the world we are expected to live in, to learn from, and bring light to.
Even when it seems impossible. Even when the light, to ourselves, is hard to see.
We are commanded to be light.
In the darkness, light.
And there is no time darker.
And no time better for us to rise up and light the way.
So I say this- take the burden.

Carry the pain for these other mothers like us. Pick it up. Take the pain. Feel it. Feel it with them, carry it with them, and pray for their strength.
In all times, when you think of babies being lost to evil, pray to carry some of the grief for these mothers like us.
So in the times they break, in the times they feel alone and like giving up, they may feel a piece of the light. That they may feel carried in some small way.
That they may feel Him. His presence. An onrush of grace, a peace that surpasses.

Look at your home. Your Christmas tree. Your stockings, your gifts, your wreaths. It is all celebrating this one thing- Christ came. For you, for us.
For those babies. For their mothers, their fathers. For the city of Newtown.

It is all about Him.
His life began.
His life ended.
All for us.

We are oh so weary. All of us. Weary and grieving. But there are those that are broken where we are not.
Share that light with those that have none. Carry the burden of grief for those overwhelmed.
Rise up, beloved. Rise up and fight for those that cannot. Put on the armor of Christ and carry them.
Light into darkness.

Tomorrow

I look at her face. So sweet. Big eyes, round cheeks, ready smile. I feel her heart beat as I hold her. I smell her sweet head, rub her small back. I brush her hair and I help her dress.

And I am so so sad. I am mournful. I am picturing her, and her friends. I am picturing the terror and the fear and the crying.

I am picturing the empty room. And the empty arms. And the empty heart.

Some say after a tragedy like this- dont put yourself in that place. Don't think about it as it relates to your child.

I don't have that skill. I can't not feel it or think it. I can't not grieve with those mothers. I can't.

I can't not look at the pictures of those slain little babies and NOT memorize their faces and their names. Because I am a mother. And I have a child that age. And because I am human.

I will not turn away. I will not pretend it didn't happen. Because I am in this world to learn and be taught. And things like this- horrific, horrible things- these things teach. And they move us to change ourselves. The lessons are hard and terrible. And the change can be very very difficult. But it is important to witness it and let it move you in the way God wants it to.

I am afraid. I am prayerful, but I am afraid. I don't want to send Lily to school tomorrow. I don't want to let go of her hand and let her run into a place that is beyond my control. But if I don't- if I don't do it- does evil win?

This is so so hard.

Hardest of all is what I am sure many of us parents feel- God, where were you? How could You let this happen? For that question, I have no answers. I am angry. I am angry that He did not intervene. I am angry that He didn't stop the bullets, stop the killing, and keep those percious babies with their parents.

But I also know that it is not up to me to know why. Evil exists. Evil does what evil does- it crushes. It kills. And it causes pain. Why this happens, I am not given to know.

The worst thought, the most painful thought-if it could happen there...it could happen here. It could be my child's school. Her class...it could be her.

Tomorrow will come. With it's uncertainty. With it's fear. I will drive her to school. I will walk her to the crosswalk. I will kiss her. I will let go of her hand.

And like all mothers, I will not breathe until I hold her again.

God help us.