Sometimes Mothers Get Crushed – A Very Non-Traditional, Somber and Almost Dark Mother’s Day Post

I was pulling up in our driveway one morning when I saw her. A large box turtle. Since we all enjoy the ‘wild kingdom’ vibe of our yard, I got out to take a photo of her to show the kids for later.  As I got close I noticed. The left corner of her shell had been crushed. Either Jeff or I had run over her on our way out in the darkness of morning. She was now dead.

To make matters worse, several almost-done, but still intact turtle eggs had spilled out.

It was an accident and accidents happen. Nature is cruel. Things die all the time and it is a part of life. I try to guard my heart with these truths whenever I’m faced with the reality of suffering and death – almost always unsuccessfully, as in this case. I was moved. And so sad. I took some time that morning to talk with God about what I’d seen and why I knew it was important for me to stop and pay attention.

I don’t know how turtles do motherhood. Because they are reptiles, I suspect they aren’t too attentive or affectionate. But this mother, because of events beyond her control, would not be there for her babies. She’d been crushed.

And from what I know of people, this happens to us all the time. Oh, the mother may not literally die, but because of an accident, because of events beyond her control, because of sin – either hers or the effects of someone else’s on her life – she’s had a weight land on her that was too heavy to bear. It left her wounded. Damaged. Unable to fully do what her babies needed her to do. And those babies had to learn to fend for themselves way too early, perpetuating the line of wounded mothers into the next generation.

Surely you’ve seen this. Probably experienced it. A mother… in a painful, loveless or soul-killing marriage. Broken in the separation from a destructive man. Supporting something very unhealthy, addictive or secret, and not knowing any alternative. Enduring a life burden that is too much for one person to hold. Carrying pain in verbal silence but screaming it within the quality of her relationships. Suffering from a crippling depression or physical struggle. Damaged by her mother, who was damaged also. Wearing soul wounds from abuse, words, disappointment, neglect, trauma and all the other things that were never meant to happen to us in Eden.

The children of mothers like this know. Because the weight of it has crushed them too.

We so rarely get the mother we want. We only get the mother we’ve got. Making peace with that is a major passage of life. It is a passage many never make.

Motherhood is etched on the hearts of most women, calling to us in a visceral way we cannot fully explain. Yet it is this dynamic, how our woundedness has the capacity to wound our children, that has the potential to make a day like today, one of sorrow and not joy. Of fear. Of regret – either for our mothers, or for our children.

My greatest motherhood fear is damaging my beloved children with my own damage. If there was ever a reason for me to cling for dear life to my Healer, to my Jesus, surely this is it.

He Bends Down (Jesus pt. 27 )

Luke 5:12-14 …a man came along who was covered with leprosy. When he saw Jesus, he fell with his face to the ground and begged him, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”  Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. ”I am willing,” he said. ”Be clean!” And immediately the leprosy left him.

A leper. A man whose appearance was most likely abhorrent. An outcast. He begged Jesus to make him clean. He fell – how must that have hurt with exposed nerve endings – or not if they were already rotted away. On his face, assuming his rightful place before Jesus. Bowed low. Even his request is humble. “…if you are willing…” He gave Jesus an easy out to say no if He wanted.

Jesus, God in flesh, which was exactly what the man lacked. Jesus said yes. He was indeed willing.  How sad that the leper missed what Jesus looked like at that moment because his face was buried in the ground. He didn’t see what was coming next.

Jesus touched him. A leper, who no one touched. Jesus touched him before He healed him, putting holy hands on leprous skin. He touched him who probably hadn’t been touched for years. Did Jesus wait till he wasn’t looking so he couldn’t recoil away?

But for Jesus to touch the man, He had to bend down. Jesus, who should bow to no one, bowed in love towards one who had nothing to offer. To one in desperate need. To one rejected and wounded. Disfigured. As low as one can go.

Jesus changed His whole body posture to meet this man where he was.

What to do with a God who bends down to meet us?

“I’m Not Unaffected By This” (Being Human pt. 9)

Recently I was in a conversation with an acquaintance and something happened that caught me off guard. A little background… This person isn’t a long time friend. Our relationship is a relatively new one, so when I talk with him, I am more of an unknown quantity than with y’all who have known me for years, either in person or via blog. And it was a situation where the content of the conversation wasn’t really up to me. It was one of those sort-of-forced-sharing times, where a topic that is deeper than normal small talk comes up.

This particular day, it was safe and it was appropriate, so I decided to go there, to bare something of my soul and share a somewhat complicated story of how God had recently worked in my life. But this time, contrary to my normal modus operandi, I didn’t have all my storytelling ducks in a row. I missed parts and messed up the sequence of events. I talked in sort of a quiet monotone, which is very different from my large group speaking voice. I even looked at some rough notes I had scribbled down and read part of it verbatim. I wasn’t trying to wow him with my story. I wasn’t trying to teach anything. I wasn’t test driving an idea to use in a later teaching time or blog post. I was just taking the opportunity before me to release a little pressure on my soul and communicate from the heart with someone sitting right in front of me, someone who had really asked how I was doing.

After I finished, this acquaintance had a stunned look on his face. Initially, I was very concerned that he was about to reject me or my story. His response landed powerfully on my heart. He said, “Deanna, I’m not unaffected by this.”

As I thought about his meaning, I realized that he had just told me something very important. He was letting me know that my story and my life had power. Its effects were rippling across the table to where he was. It wasn’t that I was trying to do this. It wasn’t that my methods were the most effective. It was that God had inhabited my story and energized it. And when I took a chance to share it, He used it in the life of another.

As a result, I’ve spent some time thinking about the role God plays in our stories. Sometimes we throw our words around as if they aren’t really powerful, as if they were ours to own and control. Yet sometimes God claims what is His – our stories and our words, our personalities and the style in which we talk, and He gives it more power than it has on its own. He applies it to another’s heart. He uses us to affect them.

This is the part of communication that is outside of our control. We can prepare for it. We can pray for it. But we can’t command it to happen. Sometimes God makes our stories more than just OUR stories. Sometimes He reclaims them as HIS stories.

Being human means we have stories. We hear stories. And they affect us. Or not, if we choose to close our hearts down and be unaffected.

Being human means we can choose to enter into this messy part of our humanity with others – by sharing our stories and by opening ourselves up to being affected by their stories. Or not. I am thinking these days about how to allow myself to be affected. And how to be available should God choose to use me to affect others.

How Do You Not Get Emotional? (Being Human pt. 8)

Recently, I was on a tour of the CNN headquarters – a perk of hosting out-of-town guests. I got to spend time in the control room before a segment went live and briefly talk with a director of the news and some of her colleagues. She wasn’t a maker of the news, just an observer, gatekeeper and communicator of it. She has worked at CNN her entire career, doing almost every job behind the camera at one time or another. What a fascinating person! Question-asker that I am, I started with, “What was the biggest breaking story you were ever present for and got to cover?’ That was an interesting discussion, especially as one of her co-workers was present the morning of 9/11.

In light of that, the next question presented itself quite naturally. I asked, “How do you not get emotional doing what you do?”

Immediately, she and at least three different people in the control room answered emphatically, “Oh, we do!” Then, the director went on to point out something in the room I had missed. Boxes of tissue. Everywhere. She said they don’t get to look away from all the horrible things of this world. The child murders, natural disasters, injustice, tragedies… Yet they still have a job to do. Observing, gatekeeping and communicating stories. Often with tears rolling down their faces.

I’m getting a little emotional myself while writing this because…over the years I’ve ended up talking with a lot of young women. And some not-so-young. About stuff. Life. Their stories. Their pain. I wish I knew exactly how it happens. It isn’t that I want to stop this. Obviously it is a part of who I am – meeting people right where they are and walking with them a bit till they get where they are going. Wherever that is. But sometimes my life sort of feels like I’m in a great big control room, and all these screens are displaying what is going on in the world. And like the employees of CNN, I can’t look away.  I have to stay engaged, involved in the stories being played out not just before me, but in the lives of people I know and care about. And, like the employees of CNN, I am coming to the conclusion that not getting emotional isn’t an option. I just have to keep tissue nearby and handy.

Because I’m not unaffected by what I see.

I sometimes meet Vulcans out there – those people who try to disengage from their feelings. They have all sorts of reasons why their life-strategy is best: controlling their emotions lest they control them, leaning into rational analysis, embracing logic and rejecting the inner world of the heart, both in themselves and others. There most certainly is a place for some of this – and I’m speaking as a recovering Vulcan myself.

Yet…

Our humanity, where God chooses to meet us, is intricately connected to our emotions. Yes, it is messy. Yes, it is at times uncontrollable. Yes, it can make us vulnerable to pain, to the whims of others…to our human-ness. But to deny our inner world is to deny a basic part of our humanity… which denies Jesus a powerful place to meet us. 

Like the CNN employees, I am coming to realize that not getting emotional is not an option. Not a healthy one anyway.

He Uses People – (Jesus pt. 26 )

When we ask God to use us, most of the time I don’t think we don’t really mean it. Or at least, we have preconceived and pretty narrow ideas of how we want Him to use us.

We want to be used like a paintbrush by a master artist.  Or a violin used by a musician. We want Him to use us in prominent ways, positively in front of other people, in ways that make us jump for joy and celebrate at how successful or respected or accomplished He has made us appear. And even if our wishes aren’t that elaborate, we mostly want Him to use us within the parameters of what we are willing to give. “God, I’ve got an hour on Sunday, so I’ll help out with the kids at church.” “Ok Jesus, I’ll give some money to the missionary/ministry over there…(just don’t ask me to go myself…)”

But you know, there are lots of ways to be used.  We use asphalt to pave our roads – so people can drive on them. We use deodorant on our arm pits to keep from smelling bad. We use toilet paper to wipe our bottoms. If you’ve ever been used by another, I suspect it didn’t feel very good.

God uses people – sometimes like Abraham, to found a nation. Or Moses, to deliver His people. Or David, as a king and poet. Or Paul, as an apostle and messenger. We like the sound of this really well.

Then there is Job, used by God to settle a heavenly dispute with Satan. (Job 1) Or Isaac, bound and placed on an altar to prove Abraham’s devotion to God. (Gen. 22:12) Or Lazarus, who died so that Jesus would have the opportunity to raise him from the dead for God’s glory. (Jn. 11:4) Or Lazarus’ sisters, who had to grieve their brother’s death, waiting for Jesus to show up. Or John the Baptist who got his head cut off for doing exactly what God asked him to do. (Matt. 14)

I find it hard to believe, if we are honest, that any of those people were saying in the middle of their trial, “Yay! Look how God is using me!”

And yet…

When God uses us, even when it doesn’t end good for us, it is in the service of that which is always good for us. It is to bring about His plans, His will, His kingdom on this earth. It is to speed his return, when He will right all wrongs, heal all wounds, dry all tears and end all suffering.

I don’t claim to know how all this works itself out in the details. I don’t know why some people are used by God on stages, to write books, in big houses and with full bank accounts while others get used in their suffering and grief and poverty and sadness.

Somehow in it all, Jesus is good. As I am walking with Him and towards Him, on the discipleship road that leads to sanctification, as He uses me, whether it feels good or not,  I begin to resemble something of His character here on earth. I begin to see something of who He is and why I love Him so much, even when on the surface it appears He is messing up my life. He allows me to be a part of what He is doing in the lives of others, sometimes on a micro scale and sometimes globally.

Jesus uses people. It isn’t always a comfortable truth, but somehow it is always good.

Looking For The Holes (Being Human pt. 7)

I was using my sanctified imagination a few days ago, trying to go beyond just a cognitive understanding of the words on the page of my Bible. I wanted to experience something of the emotional impact I would have felt if I were actually there, seeing the events unfold before me, seeing Jesus do His thing in person. It is a wonderful spiritual discipline of the ancients of the faith that takes Bible study to a completely different level of understanding. Specifically, I was trying to visualize Jesus’ face and search it for something…something that might be important for me to know about Him.

And I was transfixed by the holes across his brow. Jesus has holes, you know. Deep wounds that all can see. I spent quite a bit of time thinking this over.

Those holes were rammed into place by thorns. And where else do thorns appear in Scripture? When Adam is receiving the curse for his sin, he is told he will work the ground, but it will only produce thorns and thistles for him. (Gen. 3:18) No matter how hard he works on his own, things will not turn out as they were supposed to. Thorns represent curse. Effort leads to frustration. Intended plans produce disappointing outcomes. Sin has consequences, seen front and center when a thorn presents itself instead of a fruit or flower, like it was supposed to be.

Jesus wore the curse on His head. And it left holes.

We all have holes too, you know. Ours may not be on our head. Sometimes ours are in our heart.  Sin has left its mark on us just as deeply and profoundly as on Jesus’ skin.

This is part of what it means to be human. To have holes. Empty places. Wounds that leave no area of our lives unscathed. To bear the imprint of the curse of sin on our very bodies. We feel it when sin masters us or when the consequences of our sin or others’ sin lands in our lives with devastating force. We feel it when the sadness of what life on earth means for us and those we love breaks over us. We feel it when loneliness overwhelms or when we realize our present reality is such a far cry from the Eden we were created to inhabit.

And Jesus meets us here, wherever our holes are. By wearing our crown of thorns, He enables us to meet Him in the deepest, darkest places of our humanity. Our sin. The consequences of our sin. And He overcomes it. He beats back the thorns and allows our souls to bloom and blossom as they were created to do. Flowers instead of thorns. He gives us the freedom to be who we were created to be, humans in all our humanity, transformed into His likeness. 

Yes, His divinity is never more apparent than when He meets us in our humanity.

Permission To Come Undone (Being Human pt. 6)

I was talking with a friend of mine recently and she is one of ‘those’ kinds of friends. You know the type. She knows how to ask the right question, how to listen intently and wait as long as it takes to get the real answer, the right answer and to make you feel safe enough that if you wanted to…you could cry with her. And it would totally be ok.

Unfortunately, those sorts of people are few and far between.

At the start of our conversation I decided to throw out a test question, to see if I had read her correctly and if she was indeed as safe as I thought. I asked it with some context that isn’t important here and also in a genuinely light-hearted manner, so it wasn’t quite as awkward as it will seem. “So… if I come undone today during our time together, that’s ok, right?” Without batting an eye,  with a smile and gentle chuckle even, she replied, “You have complete permission to come undone.”

As I reflected on our conversation that day, I wondered why her words stuck with me. Could it have been her comfort with whatever form of emotion I chose to express? Her invitation for me to be as real or as vulnerable as I wanted? Maybe it was how she managed to create a safe place for us to talk and exchange more than just information. And I thought about how few places there are in my life where I have permission to come undone.

I found it sort of sad that somehow our emotions aren’t always as welcome into a conversation as our intellect or humor. What does it say about my normal conversational style and rhythms that I felt I needed permission from another person to express how I felt? Aren’t my emotions a valid and important part of who I am? And why is it that I am not always comfortable with this part of me or this part of others when it is their turn to come undone?

Jesus meets us in our humanity. This is the main thesis of the series entitled Being Human. There are things in our most fleshly, most earthly, most human parts that Jesus loves to inhabit, to speak to, to heal, to change, to redeem, to restore, to love. Jesus made us humans and He made us human. This includes our tears.

There are times we come undone and it is very much ok. Natural. Healthy. Those times when emotion bubbles and pours out of us. And while I can’t fully explain it, sometimes part of the undoing process must involve others – being with those who know how to guide us into and out of our undoing. Then we learn, when it is our turn, to walk others into and out of their undoing. While there is certainly a time for crying alone, I’m not sure that is how God planned it. It seems to me that when we learn to weep together, and this part of our humanity becomes ok in community, something powerful happens.

We connect. We learn to trust someone else with our pain. Shame dissipates. We humble ourselves with each other, cracking the door to greater relational depth. We learn to open our hearts in the presence of others, making peace with who God has made us to be, even when it is a bit messy. Or a lot messy. Jesus shows up and inhabits those moments, using us in each others lives to begin the process of ‘undoing’ what sin has done – and to begin the process of ‘re-doing’ us in His image.

So I’ve been wondering, when people are talking with me, am I a safe person? Am I comfortable enough in my own skin and with my own emotional health to invite others to be as real as they choose, to express whatever they feel with no fear of rejection or shame? Am I a good enough conversationalist that I can lead and/or follow people to talk about things that are important enough, where we get beyond just the head and maybe, just maybe, delve into the arena of the heart?

And am I willing to go first when appropriate?