The River

Mother’s Day is always a difficult day. There is always a subtle ache just beyond my peace. I think about what Nathan would be making me in school to celebrate the Holiday. I think about what He and Daddy would cook me for Mother’s Day breakfast. I think about all the moments that could have been.  But honestly, I don’t think about Him any more or less on any given day. The ache is the same no matter what day it is, but Mother’s Day can hold a particular sting for me.

 I have been blessed by adoption on my journey. Through it, I have been able to bring a child home and experience all of the little moments I dreamed for. My heart overflows with gratitude that I have been blessed with such a miracle. I sometimes feel guilty that I ache at all. I have been beyond blessed and provided for on my grief journey. How dare I complain when so many others are not as fortunate? But then I remember that unrest is the human condition and quite normal. It does not negate my gratitude, and I should not feel guilty for my moments of grief. The LORD understands, forgives, and restores.

On Mother’s day and Father’s day , I often think about parent’s that have to choose to let their children go. This always makes me reflect on how fortunate I am. I did not have to choose. The decision was made for me by the LORD. I could focus on that fact and begrudge Him. However, I choose to see it as mercy. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have to choose to let go of your child. Parents have to make this heartbreaking decision every day. They have to watch their children suffer. I was spared this anguish, and the mercy of that is not lost on me. I lift these parents up every day. I pray that they be comforted and covered in peace with their decisions. Why was I spared, and they are not? I will never understand this, but perhaps it is so I can minister to them.

I wonder a lot about parents over the ages. So many have lost children. So many have had to let them go. One story that resonated over the years is Moses’s Mother, Jochebed. She set Him afloat to preserve His life. Many are familiar with the story of Moses. Here is my take on His Mother's courage and strength.

    1. The reigning Pharaoh, at the time, was determined to stamp out the threat of the Hebrew people; and issued his command to the Hebrew midwives, that they should destroy all the newborn sons of the Hebrews.

      2.    Moses, was born during this time, and was hid  for three months by his parents.

This means that Moses and his parents bonded for three months. His Mother nursed Him, sang to Him, and cuddled him for 3 months. The cry, and giggles of a healthy child would have betrayed his whereabouts, and the day arrived when she could hide him no longer. So after probably much anguish, and prayer she set him afloat on a carefully made vessel. When the water was calm, the little vessel might ride safely, but any flood or even rise of the water might float it to the mid‐current, and carry Him off course, and into danger.

Can you imagine? The fear during the time of hiding Him? Then deciding to set him afloat? No matter how big Jochebed’s faith was, she had to have fear and doubt. She was entrusting Her son to the safety of a physically unseen God.

     3.  The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe in the river, and her maidens walked along by the river side. Probably some movement of the child, or some cry, may have drawn her attention to the vessel. She decides to take the child as her own.

     4. Moses’s sister Miriam had been watching, and then said to Pharaoh's daughter,

 “Shall I go and call a nurse for you from the Hebrew women that she may nurse the child for you?” 

Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Go ahead.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother.”

I imagine Moses’s Mother, Jochebed, was at home in anguish. Undoubtedly sick with worry.

Beside herself. Wondering if she had done the right thing. Questioning her Faith. And then here comes her daughter summoning her to the Pharaoh’s daughter. She probably approaches seeing her holding her baby. She probably had to restrain herself from reaching for Him. Because to do so would be the final proclamation that He was, in fact, a Hebrew male, and feared He would be slaughtered.

5.  Then Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child away and nurse him for me and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed him.  The child grew, and she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter and he became her son. And she named him Moses, and said, “Because I drew him out of the water.”

This is the part that really sticks with me. Back then a baby was nursed anywhere from 3-5 years of age. The lack of nourishment in foods made nursing crucial to infant and toddler survival.

So Jochebed, continued to raise her son for at least 3-5 more years. She continued to care for him, teach him, comfort him, and all that exists in the journey of motherhood. All the while knowing that she had to again let him go. If she denied the Pharaoh’s daughter her son, then He would have been slaughtered. He would have at that point simply remained a Hebrew Male. And his very existence was forbidden.

Can you imagine all the years of caring for Him, knowing that their time together was limited?  She rocked him and nursed him over the years, knowing that one day they would be separated.

Jochebed, to me, must have been a Mother of extreme faith. It is the only explanation for her strength.

Can you imagine the day she held his little hand, and took him back to Pharaoh’s daughter? I imagine she bathed him, and sweetly whispered in his ear, all the things she prayed He would remember. Would he remember being called a different name by his birth parents? (seeing as they did not name Him Moses) Would He remember her face? Would He always know how much she cherished him, from the very beginning? As she hands him over, I stop and wonder, did she hesitate. Was she crying? Was Moses afraid? Was she allowed to comfort him? Can you imagine the pain in this second transaction? To let him go not once, but twice?

When I read this story I am filled with so many questions about Jochebed.   I am overwhelmed by her strength and resolve. As a mother I cannot fathom what it took to travel this particular journey. At the end of her life, I wonder if she was at peace with her decision so many years prior. I wonder if she had peace beyond understanding.

Perspective can change through the years. Since Nathan’s passing, when I feel torn between gratitude and grumbling, I turn to this particular Bible story. I look at the grey areas of it, and find reflection.  I always walk away in awe.

To choose, to let your child go, does not diminish parenthood. If anything it makes the light of parenthood shine brighter. Whether it be physical or metaphorical, all parents of lost children must at some point let go. That is not to forget. We never move on. We always hold on to them in our hearts. But we let go of the physical. We let go of the tangible. We hold on to the spirit. We hold on to the song that their lives played in our hearts. Letting go, makes breathing possible. Letting go does not make us less of a parent. Letting go, comes from a place of faith. Letting go simply liberates our hearts. Sometimes the faith is big. Sometimes it is as small as a mustard seed.

Some of us are spared the choice, and others are forced to make it?  Perhaps it is so we may all come together and see from different sides of the river. Each angle of the ripple is viewed differently.  But when we minister to one another, all waters of the journey, reflect the same love and peace. 

It Is Well - Bethel Music (lyric video)

Through it all

I have endured nightmares for as long as I can remember. I have been attacked in the night for countless years. Through therapy and years of self- reflection, I have come to believe these nightmares are the result of trauma. Trauma at an early age that has followed me and plagued my dreams. Sleep is so difficult for me, but strangely enough only at night.  During the day, I can nap like a boss. There is something about the cover of night that brings about a restlessness that is difficult to overcome.

Often, I wake up in physical discomfort. My body seemingly fights the battle raging while I “sleep”.  Early this morning I woke in a sheen of sweat. My head was pounding, my hands and toes were clenched, my back was seizing, my legs and arms cramping.  My breathing erratic; as if all the air was seemingly sucked from the room.  But “grander earth has quaked before”.

This is nothing new to me; and become something even my husband has learned to comfort me through. It is simply a reality. I am blessed to have a love that seems to know just what to do. He effortlessly rubs my body, retrieves cold water, and is even learning what essential oils to bring me. He often does not speak a word.  Over the years, it has transformed into a silent dance between us.

After Nathan passed away this dance between us became more frequent. The intensity of the nightmares increased. The physical reaction, sharp and agonizing. But we soldier on. I know what you are thinking; “My God Sam!”. Yes, my God indeed. I do not endure this because I am strong. I am not a champion, nor a martyr. I consider this nothing compared to what others endure. Many of them endure while awake. This evil attacks them during waking hours.  I consider myself blessed through it all. This “bravery” does not come from within myself. It is a spiritual gift, only achieved through God.

I have also come to believe that my nightmares are a form of a spiritual attack.

Not all of my friends, loved ones, and readers are believers. You come from all walks and faiths. However, I must proclaim what I know is true. I believe in God, and subsequently, in the Devil. I know they exist because I have met them both.

 I have met with Christ in indescribable ways. The best I have been able to articulate, is His presence the night I learned of Nathan’s passing. He washed over me and covered me in a “peace blanket” of sorts. It was a supernatural experience for me. God revealed himself to me in a way that was beyond real.  He made himself physically tangible to me. I know it was Him because He is who I cried out to. I have cried out to Him countless times before, and He has come. But this particular time, He knew I needed evidence of His protection. He knew the warfare for my mind had begun, and he showed Himself in a big way.  Remembering the realness of God in this moment, is breathtaking. It is a moment that stayed with me for many, many days. It still covers me today. While the supernatural element has faded, the physical calm is ever present. I really do feel His holy spirit. It speaks to my heart without a single audible note.

Warfare of the mind is a devil in and of itself. The Devil does not appear to us with scarlett skin, and horns, but I promise you that He does indeed breath fire. He breathes it into our minds. He attacks us with a raging heat of despair. I have met the Devil. I met Him at an early age. He has been relentless in His pursuit. He has poked and prodded my mind; urging me to reconsider my faith. He has dug his proverbial talons into the flesh of my ankle, as I clawed to the top of the pit. Simply put, He is as real as you and I. He does not come to us with smoke and mirrors as there is no magical element to His existence.  He reaches into our minds because that is where we are most vulnerable. He is not a cartoon on the shoulders of society, but He does indeed whisper into our ears. He whispers a darkness more powerful than that of any physical presence. Suicide, acts of violence, hatred in its darkest of forms, is His thumbprint. And so, because He has failed to sway my faith, He attacks me while I sleep.

However, He does not have power over me. My body even know this; as it fights for me during the night. The fight is temporary even though it comes over and over and over. Eventually my body relaxes. Eventually there is reprieve. It is temporary even though He is relentless in his advances. My mind is similar to a glass of water. He attacks the glass at every angle, but He cannot penetrate. My glass mind is shaken, even tipped over at times. But not an ounce of water escapes. He has power, but is powerless all at the same time.  My faith, my God, is impenetrable. Not because of myself mind you, but because I am not my own. I am a child of God. You cannot defeat that, no matter how much you shake me. You can crack my glass, but it will not leak.  I cannot be separated from God. You would think he would have learned that by now.  This must be why He attacks me at night; because He is a clueless, coward underneath it all.

 I believe that is why I was gifted the ability to write. From an early age, I have been able to speak on paper; words that otherwise would be suppressed. What my mouth cannot utter seems to flow effortlessly onto the page. I praise God for this gift. It has no doubt been my saving grace. It is how I fight back. I write these words, and I share them with you, and you hopefully share them with others. Hopefully the raw, honesty impacts you in a way that gives you strength to fight when you are attacked.

I believe that the transparency of my inner struggles are not for nothing. My struggles and nightmares do not have power over me. God uses them to plant seeds in the lives of others. When I say “If it helps at least one person, then it is worth it”, I am sincere. If my words give even one of you the courage to fight, then I am grateful. Because, you see, they are not my words. My glass is not my own. My water does not spill because it is not my water. I find this refreshing. I am not in control, but that does not mean I do not have the power to impact lives.

Your story, your pain, your loss, can be used for great things. There can be life after pain. There is a life worth living. Losing a child is by far the most agonizing trauma of my life. There is never a moment my heart does not ache for my boy. However, the ache is temporary. One day I will be reunited. One day I will see that through it all, God had a purpose. I believe when my day comes, God will reveal all the lives changed by sharing Nathan and the journey with you. I believe because I have seen. I have seen without the human eye. I have seen through a shaken glass, that has never, ever, failed to be full. Through it all.