Grief can be subtle. You think it’s far from your mind and then it takes ten minutes to decide corn or beans for supper. As a young mom, I didn’t know how to express it. I knew my baby girl long before anyone else did. We shared hiccups and kicks and ice cream. Could anyone understand? It’s often a lonely walk. I needed someone to see it, see me. And the day I almost tumbled over a box on our porch, I believe someone did.

Two years earlier, my husband and I were ecstatic to bring Ashley Nicole home to our fifteen-month-old son, Justin. We were barely twenty years old when I swaddled her in pink and Jeff carried her out of the Army hospital.  Spring was new and the robin’s “cheerily-cheeriup” a fitting song.

But our baby girl was only home two days. She was hospitalized for a week, fighting a rare cold virus. Those lying spring robins still sang as my days grayed and a chill settled into my soul. When Ashley died, I hurled anger at God and spiraled deep into drugs and alcohol. They offered me false courage and a carefree, altered reality.

Two years passed and the joy of my third pregnancy began to heal my grief. I still thought God was distant and punishing so shame of past choices harassed me. Though defining myself by my failures, I wanted someone to see past them and into my pain. But the only balm I knew was escape. Stuffing everything, I hid.

So, that winter morning on the icy porch, I steadied my pregnant self to see what almost tripped me. My next breath stopped, halting the vapors that moistened the tip of my nose. Now three years old, Justin tugged on my shirt. “Mommy, what is it?”

Ice crunched and scraped under the box as we shimmied it into the apartment. My son wasn’t the only kid, wide-eyed and smiling, as we lifted out each item: a roasting chicken, corn bread mix, carrots, gravy, potatoes, and apples. Justin, bouncing and giggling, grabbed the last treat from the box: a crinkly bag of ribbon candy. The kind I used to find at the bottom of my Christmas stocking, sticky and covered in red fuzz. Hugging him to my chest, I closed my eyes, breathless again. The candy wasn’t a staple for a family in need. It was an added treat for my little boy.

Someone did see me. My silent tears rolled into sobs.

The overseer of my soul looked past my failure and into grief’s pain. By prompting someone to drop a food basket onto my porch, He placed a stepping stone to begin my healing journey. Now, many years later, I’m unshackled from my past and my Comforter eases my grief. I greet spring with joy again and welcome the robin’s song. No longer angry or ashamed, I can say “I have now seen the One who sees me.” (Genesis 16:13b)

 

“You are the God who sees me.”-Genesis 16:13a

Where’s the line, that thin line, between free speech and slander? Truth & injurious remarks? Don’t let your freedom trample people. We, the people.
We, yes, in the “Land of the Free”, but don’t forget who makes you free, truly free.
It’s not the founding fathers.
It’s the Father of the Fatherless.
The Father of all creation.
The Great I AM
Who is the same yesterday, today and for all tomorrows.
Before you were born, He was.
Before this country was born, He was.
Before your next breath, if you get one, He is.
When you breathe your last, He’s there too.
After our civilization wheezes its last … He will be.
Not George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, not fallible man.
America is not our forever home. We are citizens of a greater country.
Our hope is in a king.
The King of kings, of patriots, of presidents.
So disagree, respectfully.
Speak, courageously.
Lobby passionately.
But do it all without malice or fear.
Remember, we’ve already won 🙂

 

 

 

Please, choose carefully the words you speak. My child trusts you and needs care, not criticism. As the world tears at him, he expects to be uplifted by you—not trampled under condemning remarks veiled in sarcasm. Maybe you think you’re funny. Perhaps you’re intimidated, fearful of investing in him. You seem more comfortable with those like you. Shunning and shaming those who aren’t.

Avoidance may be your way. So, please, be mindful of your body language. How clearly it communicates with up-turned nose and brow. Handshakes and hugs are withheld as you claim love, joy and peace. Yet, you frown, fret and reject those who don’t fit your perfect, pious picture as you imagine your children do.

Beware of those who seem a snug fit. Your gushing doesn’t go unnoticed. Remember, he sees his peers in their true light—with masks off, guards down. And you play the fool charmed by their facades.  Those you praise are often in disguise, not as honest as those you snub.

“Judgment looms under every steeple. Lofty glances from lofty people. They can’t see past the scarlet letter…”* or attitude, or tattoos, or piercings. Have you forgotten that which will devour your soul with a slow, stinking rot if you are not vigilant?

Please remember, he’s your fellow traveler. He struggles to walk a narrow path with boundary lines ever-blurring. Have your own battles, cloaked in shifty justifications, become so subtle—they appear trivial, even nonexistent? Please don’t plead ignorance. Arrogance will do. Our enemy’s ancient habit, his downfall, is still a useful tool.

You, who tout Christ’s name, speak words of encouragement. Empower my child with firm truth motivated by love. He needs what you claim to have. Don’t you know he aches to be free from bondage? Accusations harass him before he enters your alleged safe haven. The one that bears your Savior’s name.

Outside, temptations promise hope in futility. A day will come when he won’t return if, within you, he finds the same. And you will blame the world for doing what it only knows to do. It will ravage a soul sacrificed on the alter of legalism, wounded by your sharpened tongue. Oppression reigns out there. But that’s where he expects it. By you, he is blindsided.

I count on you to be Christ to my child. Challenge him but love him. He needs acceptance and unconditional love. Is he much different than you?

“When [Jesus] saw the crowds, he had compassion on them because they were harassed and helpless like sheep without a shepherd.” –Matthew 9:36

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Friends, This was penned years ago by one angry mom. We, Christ followers, have the privilege to reflect Him to the hurting, stressed and confused. Legalism robs us and those we’re called to love. God’s law is good but without love its useless, toxic. The Pharisees of Bible times were enslaved to the strict adherence of the law. Jesus called them “white-washed tombs.” Let’s not squander Christ’s gift of freedom. May we continue to seek God’s immeasurable grace, allowing it to flow through us. Let’s kick legalism back into the pit from which it slithered.

 

*From “Does Anybody Hear Her?” by Casting Crowns.

 

Dawn nearly killed me
with Light
so inspiring, yet conspiring
to take my life.

Not wanting to lose a fool to the fight,
Night’s gravity screamed,

“Own the blame, the shame
shame, shame.
It’s hopeless, you see.
Love me … love me!”

My pain was hidden.
I liked it that way.
Darkness, my friend to the end.
The End.
My bitter, lonely, pathetic end.

But Light, it coaxed,
wooing a pearl from her shell, from hell.
A living, dying, raging hell.

From within the pit, I heard a voice
with song, so subtle.

“Don’t quit.  Don’t quit.
Your strength is in knowing.
A raw choice, though not feeling
I’m enough.
I Am. Enough!”

Fear scattered on bloody claws

As grace embraced, reaching past flaws
until I surrendered to the beautiful conspiracy.

And let Morning Star bathe me, slay me
with Light,
so conspiring, yet inspiring.

I gave Him my life.

 

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