Author: Broken Handmaid of the Lord

Yesterday was agony.  My brain was like a popcorn popper with thoughts bouncing around all over the place.  I was posting on Facebook, I was Christmas shopping, I was writing letters, I was doing household chores, I was caring for my three year old, I was solving the problems of the universe in my spare time……and wasn’t doing a very good job at any of them.

By the end of the night I needed to pick up my grocery order because I had nothing to make for dinner, but I was trying to get Austin’s car track to fit together.  The more I tried to fit the pieces together, the more anxious I got, and the more convinced I became that I could not leave the house and get the groceries.  That would involve driving and talking to people, and not crashing.  Then when I got home I would have to bring the groceries inside, and keep Austin inside, and face my other boys who would be playing games upstairs and wouldn’t want to help me with groceries.  Then I would have to make dinner, and no one would want to eat it…….I pushed and pushed and I got the groceries and then I sat in the driveway outside my house.  I called Ben.

“I can’t go inside.  I’m in the driveway.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Ben pulled up to the house a few minutes later and he gave me a long hug.  We brought the groceries in and I made dinner.  We got the kids in bed.  We even read scriptures and I read Austin a bedtime story.  It was hard, but I did it.  We did it.

Today Ben was leaving for work.  “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.  “I don’t know,” I replied half dead and still in bed.  I had taken a sedative the night before because I was over the top anxious.  It had helped me have a wonderful restful night, but now I needed to get Austin to preschool.  That would involve showering, dressing, dressing Austin, packing his lunch, driving to the school, dropping him off.  It might involve toddler tantrums.  We would be late.  There would be shame to fight off.  Then I would need to pick up Devin from school and take him to the Neurologist in Ft. Worth.  Then Layne and Wesley have Orthodontist appointments and I’ll have to bring Austin and he won’t get his afternoon nap.  Then I have choir rehearsal tonight for the concert Saturday that I’m not ready for.  Then next week Ben is going out of town for work for a week.  Then my Wesley turns nine years old.  Then it’s Christmas break and the kids will be home all day!!!  AGGGHHHHHH!!!  The anxiety will kill me.  Except it won’t.  I take it one crazy step at a time.

Today I spent most of the day driving in the van.  At a stoplight there was a homeless guy with a sign.  We don’t get a lot of homeless in Mansfield.  I never carry cash, so there was nothing to give him.  I thought of one of my blogger friends on here who passes homeless people every day on his way to work.  He has made friends with a few.  I thought of my fear of homeless people.  Once Ben and I were almost ambushed by a group of them at gas station in a bad part of town.  Ever since, I have felt a combination of awkward, sympathy, and fear when I see them.  They are so vulnerable.  They are broken and they know it.  They are like me that way.  They reach out for help and they are ignored by humanity who avoid their gaze and deny their existence.  I call myself the handmaid of the Lord.  What would my Lord have me do?  I faced my fears.  I rolled down my window and said hello to the man.  I told him I had no cash to give him, but asked the Lord’s blessing upon him.  He had a nice smile, asked me for directions, which I gave him.  I wished him a Merry Christmas and he was gone.  He’s gone from view, but he’s been with me throughout the day, a silent reminder that Christmas will not be a joyful event full of presents, candy, and time with family for everyone this year.  The suffering live among us.  Do we see them?  Do we give them what we can, even if the best we can do is a smile and a “God Bless?”

The Pharisees were trying to trap the Savior when he told them to “love thy neighbor as thyself.”  They asked him who was their neighbor.  Who is my neighbor?  Do I know his name?  Do I know his pain?  Does he stand on a street corner with a cardboard sign?  Is her skin a different color?  Does he speak a different language?  Was she born in a foreign land?  I decide who I will be neighbor to, and today I choose to be a better one; a better disciple of Him whom I adore.

It will be hard to love them.  I can’t take away their suffering.  I am only broken me, but through his grace, I can do every needful thing, even the hard ones.  Every day I do hard things.  I get out of bed.  I face the day.  I face the shame.  I say I’m sorry.  I pick myself up.  I breathe.  I pray.

Today I prayed for a long time.  It was a beautiful prayer.  I don’t remember what I said, but the words just tumbled out and I told him the truth about myself.  That I’m broken and weak and nobody, but that to him, I am a queen with mighty spiritual gifts.  To the world, I am of no importance, but to him, I am of infinite worth.  I know in whom I have trusted and to whom I have covenanted in his holy temple to consecrate my whole life, my talents, and all that I am to serve Him.  In the furnace of affliction have I been tried, to become his instrument, his handmaid.  And so I will sing!  I will sing in my prayers to God and they will rise above the clouds and be heard in the chambers of his mighty dwelling place.  His power surrounds me and gives me the strength to do hard things, to testify of things he has revealed to me, to testify to you that He lives.  He is no respecter of persons.  All things of the flesh will pass away.  Kingdoms, Presidents, and governments will rise and fall, armies will amass and destroy, and yet his hand is over all his creation.  All these things must be, but his judgement will not be stayed forever.  The time will come when all men shall choose, the wheat and the tares will be sorted, and then my Lord will come.

“Look at this Austin,” I showed Austin excitedly, “It’s a Cat Boy costume! Would you like it if Santa gave you that?” His toddler eyes lit up gleefully. We looked at Cat Boy costumes and Gecko costumes, but in the end he most wanted what I knew he would want, “I want Owlette costume!” Of course. Owlette is his favorite character, but she is a girl and Austin is a boy. I keep thinking that his infatuation with Owlette will fade, but it is still going strong. It just goes to show that every child is who they are! You can try to force the individual to change, or you can allow the Savior’s grace to change the family, dissolve the fear, and make it big enough to fit all the members comfortably. So, I’ll be getting Austin an Owlette costume for Christmas. I will have to tell his older brothers they are not to tease him for dressing like a girl superhero. That’s a battle I wish I didn’t have to fight, but I refuse to deny my child his right to choose his heroes and walk his path.

Why do families have such a hard time with members who step out of the family expectations? It is usually fear of the unknown, but it is also the “othering” that takes place. My dad was always adamant about covering food in the refrigerator. It wasn’t until I was older that I discovered why. Food takes on a weird flavor when it is not contained in the fridge. I’m sure there is a scientific reason for this. Anyway, Dad told me that when he was a boy, that his family had a cow. They would milk the cow and put the milk in a pan with no lid in the refrigerator. He hated the flavor of the milk. He said he tried covering the milk to make it taste better, but his step mother took great offense. Why? Because he was being “uppity.” He was too good for them in trying to improve the condition of the milk because he was implying that they were doing it wrong. The family members always behaved that way and to behave differently, even if it made you feel better, was not okay. It would make you “other.” Families can have thousands of such restrictive rules that stifle individuality and create reservoirs of resentment that fester like a fetid swamp.

Dumbledore, that illustrious wizard of wisdom, said that it is easier to forgive someone for being wrong than it is to forgive someone for being right. I think that is especially true in families. If you are wrong, there is always a chance that you will come back begging for forgiveness and be welcomed back humbled and ready to submit to the family will. If you are right, the only way for family relationships to heal is for the family to humble themselves and realize they were wrong. That is really hard to do because family members support one another in the rightness of their behavior even when it is clearly wrong.

Science is only beginning to understand the power of family. It is estimated that close to ninety percent of human behavior is controlled by our subconscious mind. Our digestive processes, our immune systems, our balance, and even much of our motor skills are mostly autonomic. The structures of the brain that perform most of the work of life are a gift to us from our parents. Only a tiny fraction, 10% or so, is thought to be conscious thought, willful action, controlled by individual decisions. Add to that, our conscious decisions are greatly impacted by the value systems passed down through our families. Both consciously and subconsciously, we are greatly influenced by our family of origin. When false traditions and sinful patterns form in a family, they can be nearly impossible to break. I have had countless times in my life that I have behaved in ways I swore I would never behave. It is like I was destined to become my parents whether I like it or not! It is almost inevitable that we will become much like the people who gave us life. We will repeat their mistakes, fall victim to their weaknesses, and pass them on to our own children.

But what if there was another way? What if life has better things for us and for our children? What if we can, with our small power to choose, tap into a power source that enables change? Like the choice to turn the key in a car can enable us to travel further and faster than our legs alone could carry us, could we make a choice that would free us from our fallen nature and empower us to rise above sin and death inherited from our mortal parents?

Yeah, you know where I’m going with this! Our mortal family is not our destiny. Our mortal parents are not our only parents. The best mortal parents understand that when they bring one of his children into their fallen homes, they don’t own them, they don’t shape them, they don’t control them, they only lead them to the source of salvation. The Savior is the only one who can change our families. He’s the only one who can save our children. Sometimes we have to leave our family of origin to find the Savior.

Consider Abraham. Abraham rebelled against his father who had started worshiping idols, and it nearly cost him his life. Because he sought after the true God of his fathers, his own father delivered him to be a human sacrifice, but an angel delivered him. He left the land of his father and all his kindred in search of the great I Am, Jehovah, the One who is Mighty to Save. To be worthy to be Abraham’s children, we might be called to leave our families of origin to find Him. The Savior said, “He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.” When He calls, we must go. It has always been this way.

Going on this mental health journey has been hard. Coming to terms with the fact that my mind is not right, was very hard. Coming to terms with the roots of where those problems originated from was even harder. My family of origin is a part of me. To admit that my family of origin had problems was harder because I don’t have the power to solve those problems. Facing the denial of my parents and brother has been one of the hardest things I have had to deal with. I can’t control them any more than they can control me. My path to the Savior is mine and their path is theirs. The path of denial leads away from the Savior, not toward him, but I don’t make their path.

It would be so much easier, but for a sister. My dear sister that I love and hate. She has become a viper delivering the poison of her pain to all who dare get close. But she has not become who she is solely by choice. If I had been born first, I might be the same. She has hurt me badly, but that is not what tortures me. It is that I have hurt her. I tried to help her, but in my own denial, instead I hurt her, the way I have been hurt. I denied her the right to her feelings. I judged her unrighteously. I am guilty of inflicting the same pain that I suffer with today. I could say that the estrangement with her is not my fault, that she hurt me first. Still, I cannot deny my part and my soul cannot find rest. I want to tell her I’m sorry, but my own pain is raw and my emotional strength is limited. A viper’s poison would kill me and so I stay far away. Perhaps the day will come when we can weep together for our pain and find solace in the shared burden of being broken. She too struggles with emotional scars. We are sisters in blood and in pain.

Mental health stigma isn’t just about what society thinks about mental health, it is that families get an easy scapegoat when the people the family hurts get the diagnosis and treatment. Often we are not the people whose poor choices created the situation and yet we are blamed for it. When we try to change to be more healthy, our changes are seen as “othering” and often assumed to be part of our pathology. The stigma cuts both ways. You get blamed for being hurt and then criticized for getting help. It’s a mess.

One of the benefits of following the Savior is being relieved of the burden of judgement. I don’t have to judge my parents or other family members. All I have to do is worry about my own behavior and living true to the light that is within me. Unfortunately, their denial hurts and it reminds me that I have given my sister the same hurts. I want to heal our family. I want to be the Savior for us, but I am not. Establishing healthy patterns and new behaviors can only be done in a nurturing environment, and right now I need to put myself first. That means that many of the people I love can’t be as involved in my life as I wish they could be. I am not the Savior, I am just me. It’s hard for me to do what needs to be done to move forward.

My motivation is my children. They need me to be as healthy as I can be. They need their mother, not 50% of her, but 100%. I’ll do whatever I have to do to be the Mom that they need me to be and nothing is going to stop me. I can put me first because I am putting them first. Like Abraham, I can’t cling to the past, but walk bravely into a future the Lord has in store for me. I have been reborn and Christ alone is my father and my Lord. I can love broken. I can love my broken sister, even if she can’t be in my life. I can love my broken parents and my broken brother. Job told his wife, “Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?” He gave me my family and I am grateful for the happy and the sad. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

I was wandering around Paris in my dream last night.  I was a little girl on my old bicycle, riding around the insane streets.  They are crazy.  Go to Google Maps sometime and check them out.  Streets in the U.S. typically have intersections composed of two streets which cross at right angles.  In Paris, the intersections can have as many as six streets crossing.  Finding your way around in Paris can be intimidating.  

I had two bags, one on each shoulder.  First I noticed that one bag was missing.  I retraced my steps and found the missing bag and got back on my bike again.  A few minutes later, I noticed that I had lost my other bag.  This may seem an incredibly chaotic situation to you, but this is not all that unusual for me.  My life has always been a never ending game of hide and seek, retracing my steps to find the materials I am missing.  Usually strangers and acquaintances are very helpful in providing information and helping me track down my misplaced world.  Paris can be a lonely place.  The French seem to be very sociable in Paris.  They sit around in outdoor cafe tables under colorful umbrellas and awnings with rapt attention focused on the other person, not a phone screen in sight.  Of course, they are usually speaking in French, so I feel like a strange kind of spectator, outside looking in at this intimate world as though I am invisible.  

In this lonely place, my little girl was starting to panic.  That swirling vortex of terror, surrounded by strange words I didn’t understand and strange people I didn’t know, I started to fall into that dark place that people with anxiety disorders know too well.  At the back of my subconscious mind I knew that even though I was a little girl, there were four precious little boys somewhere that needed me.  I knew that they were being cared for, but I suddenly felt desperate to find them.  Like my lost bag, they were lost somewhere and I would never be okay again until I had them in my arms, safe and found.

The morning came with delighted shouts from Austin, “Momma!  Momma!  The tree!!  the Christmas tree!!”  I had told him last night at bedtime that the tree would still be there in the morning, and he was bursting to tell me that I had been right.  Momma is always right.  The dream Paris evaporated in the delight of his little voice.  My boys were safe.  I was a big strong woman again, ready to mother my little angel/devils.  

Eva is my middle name, so when I was little I was Little Eva or Little E. 
My dad used to call me that.  Little E is my core self, my authentic self, my inner child.  She is called my many names in therapy, but lives inside my psyche.  She is the child that Jesus loves and I have to become again to enter his kingdom.  She is vulnerable and soft and loving.  I found her in my counselor’s office many years ago and she is still afraid as evidenced in my dream.  When I was little I used to carry around a small yellow memo book.  In my childish hand I had added the letters -ry to Memo to make it a memory book.  I thought it might help me to remember where my lost things were.  I thought it was a marvelous idea.  If I had found my memory book, perhaps she would have been found sooner.  Once I found my Little E, afraid, ashamed, and neglected six years ago, I fell in love with her.  She is precious and I am her mother.  I am a rather protective mother, but sometimes neglectful.  I’m working on it and Cathy, my counselor, helped me.  She doesn’t pop up in my dreams very often.  In fact, I can’t remember another dream she was in.  As her Momma I have a message for her in Paris.

Little E, you are in Paris!  There are beautiful things here that you will love.  Ride your bike and feel the Parisian air whip past your face.  It is magical!  It is the city of love and you are in the middle of it.  Go to the Seine and watch the tourist boats.  Watch the students.  See the blossoms on the trees.  Go to the park and see the queens in their stone glory, magnificent women even with pigeon poop in their hair.  Dance in the flowers, find the butterflies, take a selfie, laugh at yourself, and practice saying “Bonjour!” to anyone when you catch their eye.  Your children are safe in their beds in Texas and nothing can hurt them.  Your bag is your baggage and it deserves to be lost.  In fact, drop the other bag.  You don’t need it.  Bags don’t belong in dreams anyway.  Paris will love you because how could they not?  You’re a flower and an artist and everything they love and want to have around.  Life is your garden and I want you to bloom wherever you find yourself in the world. 

Most of all, know that I love you and I believe in you.  Your throat is too small for vegetables, and your brain is too busy for unimportant things, and your hands clutch your memory book.  Often you sit in the hall at school with your shame and your unfinished work, and that’s wrong because you’re smart and I know it.  You’re enough and your Savior has you in his caring hands.   He is Mighty to Save, and he loves you!  He sees you and goes with you wherever you are.  He is a prayer away and his angels guard you.  There is nothing to fear, for faith in Him is all you need.  Tough times will come.  It will be okay, just never forget that the One who sees the sparrow fall sees you.  His love is like the sun and it will never change even when sin and darkness seem to swallow everything.  Find his love and his light, become his handmaid, his broken handmaid…..his Little E.