A Walk with God

I’m an introspective person, and I’ve been in counseling several times during my adulthood.  Most of the issues I have dealt with revolve around my relationship with my dad and my childhood wounds. I thought I had worked through all that. That’s why the revelations I have been having the past few days have surprised me.  I didn’t understand the five year old me I wrote about in my last blog until now.  I knew she was scared of her dad.  I didn’t know the depth of her anger, nor that it was not only towards her father but towards her mother as well. Growing up with a father I considered a “bad” parent, I needed a “good” parent.  My mother was a loving, kind woman, but she was not perfect.  She failed me in some ways that I have not wanted to acknowledge, but I must face now in order to heal.  That’s so hard for me because it feels like a betrayal of the mother who loved me the best she could, while her own life was so full of heartaches. 

The adult me understands very well the intimidation my mother must have felt and how easy it was with each incident just to say it isn’t worth the fight to stand up to him, not recognizing the that the larger picture amounted to a lifetime of abuse for her children.  She wanted to keep the peace and hold her marriage together.  But at what price?  At the price of my sister and me.  After discussing all this with my sister, she admonished me to remember that just as the little five year old Kim needed protection from Dad, so do my children.  I have been guilty of the same thinking as my mother; overlooking his treatment of my children just to keep the peace.  Of course, it is not the same treatment as I received from him; neither Phil nor I would ever allow that.  But I have tolerated his more subtle manipulations and inappropriate behavior with my children that I never should have.  Understanding what it feels like to be that unprotected child, the mother in me determined to rise to my sister’s challenge.  Better late than never, but my love for my children gives me the courage to do or say whatever it takes to give them the protection that I so needed when I was young.

Today I became re-aquainted with a little five year old girl with long blonde hair and big blue eyes.  I haven’t seen her in 40 years.  When I came on the scene, she was in her living room, happily playing with her sister and her cousins.  They were having a sleepover party. They were having a great time until her angry father walked into the room popping his belt.  In his most threatening voice, he warned the children of the thrashing they could expect if they misbehaved.  The little girl was clearly scared and embarrassed by her father’s behavior.  She was a good little girl and she tried to obey her parents and never cause trouble. The children had done nothing to warrant this threat. 

When I’m not around, she cannot express her anger to her father.  She’s too afraid, and rightly so, because she would be beat for it.  So for all this time, she’s been holding it in.  I didn’t know that. I didn’t know that she was dealing with all these feelings.  I especially didn’t know how she was feeling about her mother and how hard that was for her to admit.  I should have known.  I thought I knew this little girl very well.  You see, the little girl was me.  She’s been waiting for 40 years for me to come back and help her.  All this time, she has been afraid of her daddy.  She needed somebody to come back and protect her - to let her know that he can’t hurt her anymore.  So I did.  But she’s still hurting and I don’t think she’s done having her say.  It’s her time, so I’ll keep holding her while she lets it all out.  I’m in no hurry; she can take all the time she needs.  She’s waited a long time, so I think she is due.

I didn’t sleep much last night. I lay awake for hours feeling crushed by my burdens. I tried not to think. I tried to pray. Nothing helped. Finally, I decided to visualize handing over each of my burdens to God. I pictured myself lifting a large bundle up and God reaching down and taking it from me. But when I got to some of the bundles, they were far heavier than me and, not only could I not lift them, they were on top of me, squashing me flat. I envisioned God reaching down and lifting one off me, only to have another, even heavier one take it’s place. He lifted each one from me until, finally, they were all in His hands.

As I said, I went to church on Easter Sunday with my dad. I wasn’t expecting anything more than an opportunity to sing and have some quiet time with the Lord. Every word of the entire service at this church, as with many, was written in the program. No surprises. So I thought. But right at the start of the service, God made it clear that He could speak to me here just as well as anywhere else when He gave me the revelation I wrote about yesterday. So, I was feeling joyful and was open to anything else God might want to say to me (even in church). I had no expectations; I realized I wasn’t there to meet my needs. I was there for my dad. And I was there to worship God.

When time came for the sermon, I listened carefully and kept my heart open. I’m not a big fan of sermons, but wisdom has come from stranger places. Imagine my shock when the minister began to preach about the very ideas God has been showing me. He said (and I quote), “Freedom is found when you let go of expectations.” He talked about letting go of our expectations - of God, of others, of our circumstances, the past. He spoke of forgiving. I had to smile as I listened. It seems when God wants to get a point across to me, there is no limit to the resources He will use. He can speak to me anywhere. Even in “church”.

I went to “church” today. My dad just arrived yesterday for a visit without an end date (which means he will never leave, but that’s another story). He wanted me to go to church with him and I decided I didn’t mind since it was Easter Sunday. I thought I might enjoy dressing up, singing Easter songs, and taking communion to celebrate the best holiday of the year. So I went with a good attitude.

As the service began, a revelation struck me so powerfully that my heart beat faster and swelled with emotion. It occurred to me out of the blue that I am at peace with God. For the first time in life, I believe I honestly am at peace with God. My emotions threatened to get the better of me and I feared I would start sobbing in the middle of this quiet room full of strangers. I’m certainly not at peace with my circumstances or my relationships. But I have finally come to recognize that there is no connection between my problems and God’s love for me. I find that I am no longer wavering in my trust in God, depending on how well life is going for me. How much He loves me is not determined by how happy I am! This is not an easy time in my life. My burdens keep me up at night and at times overwhelm me. But I’m not blaming God anymore or expecting Him to make it all better. I am trusting that He will use all these things for His glory and my good. I am believing that He loves me through it all. I am at peace with God! How amazing is that?

After crying myself to sleep, I didn’t think I had any tears left and yet I practically woke up crying the next morning. I poured my heart out to God and asked Him for comfort. It felt like my heart was breaking - again. In a way, I have been grieving lately. And on this morning, I felt too much despair to face the world. Before I even got out of bed, a little voice in my head told me to pick up “He Loves Me”, the book I’ve been struggling to get thru for months now. Could that really be God? I wondered. Or did I just want it to be? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard that voice without doubting it was truly Him. I brushed it aside, but the voice was very persistent. I figured I was in no hurry to get up and get on with my day, so I might as well give it a try. I warned God before I opened the book that I might not be able to handle the disappointment if I started reading and discovered nothing profound there.

So, I am blessed. It may not feel good. I may not like it. But I am blessed. And it’s a comfort to know that I am right where He wants me…at the end of my rope.

My attitude was bad, I have to admit. A whole month had gone by already and it was time to meet with Paul and Kristin again. After our last meeting, I was not feeling very enthusiastic. It had left me feeling confused and not a little rejected. Their hesitancy about the whole thing made me unsure why they even wanted to meet with us and whether anything would ever come of it. Phil made the plan, which is unusual, and I stayed out of it completely, which is even more unusual. All I asked him was to make plans for after noon. So when he told me they were coming at 11am on Sunday morning, I was not too happy. I was even less happy when they didn’t show up for 3 more hours. It appears that Phil got the time wrong - surprise! By the time they arrived, I was in a very foul mood and had decided that I didn’t have much to say to anyone. They brought a friend - Danny. It was a little awkward at first, but my hostess instincts and desire to make people to feel comfortable in my home kicked in. I began asking Danny questions and snapping out of my funk. Before I knew it, I couldn’t help myself, I was participating and really enjoying the conversation. I felt the presence of God in our time together (imagine that - God would even “show up” when Kim has a wrong attitude - not at all like the judgemental God I used to “know”). The addition of Danny seemed to make a big difference in our ability to move forward with our little group, and I sensed he and I were on the same page. We made plans to get together in April for a picnic and decided to invite anyone else that we know who might be interested. Everyone agreed that it was wise to use our gifts and, since my strength is organization, I was the better choice to coordinate our plans.

As our company left, I felt much more optimistic about our potential fellowship group. I thought about the years that I longed and pleaded with God for something like this - for fellowship with other believers. Phil and I have always been hesitant to initiate anything, realizing that if it was of God, He would accomplish it. As I pondered the possibility that He might finally be doing just that, I realized that it didn’t matter to me anymore. I have long wanted fellowship in order to meet my own needs - just another place I’ve looked instead of God. As I recognized that God has been meeting my needs for fellowship all along (in His way, not mine), I began to understand that it wasn’t until I could truly let this go that I would be ready for it. And I believe I finally have. During our meeting, Danny commented that the purpose of our fellowship is not to meet our needs, but to accomplish God’s purposes in us. How freeing it is to come to the place where I am open to becoming part of a group of believers not to meet my needs but to follow God’s will in my life. There’s no disappointment because my only expectation is whatever God wants! And whatever that may be, I know it is what I need.

I had a very interesting experience today. We went to Philip’s Cub Scout banquet this afternoon. Most of the tables were at least partly occupied when we arrived, so we sat across from another family that we didn’t know. I was directly across from the grandparents. I began to make small talk with them and discovered they had driven over from Charlottesville. As we chatted, I heard their son say something to Phil about Pensacola. Of course, since that is where I am from, I immediately tuned in. I commented that I was from Pensacola, to which he replied that his mother was also. I turned back to her in delight. How close I came to never even knowing this woman across the table from me was from Pensacola. We began to eagerly reminisce about our original hometown and our families. As the conversation progressed, she asked me if my mother went to Pensacola High School and what year she graduated. I actually wasn’t sure. Shortly after, she asked my mother’s first name and I said it was Eleanor. She then beamed at me and said, “I graduated with your mother.” Wow! The expression “it’s a small world” has never had more meaning to me. What are the odds?? I wanted to ask a million questions about my mom, but I knew her answers would be limited. It has been over fifty years, and she didn’t know my mother well. It didn’t really matter though. It was enough that she knew my mom and, in some strange way I can’t explain, it made me feel like I had been touched by Mom’s presence. I like to think it wasn’t a coincidence. I like to think Mom and God were smiling at me from heaven, happy to know that I’d felt their love that day. Maybe that isn’t great theology, but I don’t care. It was still a gift.

This morning it occurred to me that for the past 9 years I have been constantly bombarded by the negativity of teenage daughters. And it has taken its toll on me. This realization came in the midst of one daughter’s particularly negative phase, after listening for days to complaints of her miserable life. This is a regular part of my life and I hate it with a passion. It has only served to feed the discouragement and sense of failure that has plagued me. I know that it doesn’t matter what I say in response; it will be wrong, and they are sure that I have no idea what it is like to suffer the way they do. Somehow, whatever the problem, I am at least partly to blame and I am supposed to fix it. And I have tried. For too many years, I have attempted to spare my children pain; tried to accomplish their happiness. But I never could; I never can. And actually, it’s not my job.

As in so many aspects of mothering, I recognize the parallel between my grief for my children and God’s grief for His. How much of my relationship with Him is centered on listening to me complain and gripe about my misery! I know just how He feels. And, though He is not powerless as I am, if He has truly given me a free will, He must allow me to make my choices, good or bad, and live with the consequences, not only of my own choices, but those of others as well. I’m beginning to understand how hard that must be. And there is much to be learned from His style of parenting. I turn to Him in my despair over my own children and He reminds me that they are His children first. I recognize that their wellbeing in life is a load that I cannot handle and I understand that it is not too big for Him. It is His to carry and He doesn’t expect me to try. Once again, I see the need to trust Him; that, as great as my love is for my children, His love is far beyond what I have to offer them. I’ll probably take it back a thousand times, but for now I give my burden to Him. I know that’s where it belongs. That doesn’t make it any easier. They are part of me and they always will be. But I guess He knows that.

In the book I’m reading, “The Shack”, I recently read this conversation between the main character and “Jesus” that spoke to me in a powerful way and I recognized myself in his description.

My feelings sometimes tell me I can’t trust God, He doesn’t love me, He isn’t good. But I know it isn’t true and, whatever my lying heart may tell me at times, I can’t agree with those lies anymore. God is slowly whittling away at my doubts in Him. And that is the only way my fearful heart will ever find rest.