Going For The Jugular

Let me tell you a story. I’ll warn you, it’s a long story, it defies the whole ‘no more then 200 words to one blog post’ rule. So grab a cup of coffee and open your heart. It’s a story about an enemy, a real mean guy. And no, I’m not joking. It’s also a story about me. The real me. Not a facade, not the “me” you’d see in any business meeting, presentation, or let’s face it any social event with any other human being. Because being that vulnerable? It’s just not how I roll. But it is something I’m working on (obviously) and I will tell you, to push “publish” sometimes hurts, a real risky move in my eyes.

But back to our story…

This guy is a thief, he comes to “steal, kill, and destroy”. And he does so effectively. He sneaks in and rarely leaves a scent. So often you wouldn’t even know it was him. He’s not obvious, not most of the time. He also rarely comes with guns blazing, or a bulldozer as his method of destruction. No, not this one. This one comes with whispers that work their way into your soul. And instead of a bulldozer he has a hammer and an anvil and just chips away, little by little until you find yourself broken. You didn’t even see it coming.

And then there’s me. Want to know my absolute-no-doubt-about-it number one? My family. They’re my number one. I’ve learned when something is your number one it can also be your number one weakness. And the enemy knows it.

I can remember finally feeling like maybe I was getting the hang of this parenting stuff. Work was going okay. I was enjoying what I was doing and even being recruited by some other organizations and thinking strongly about making a move, a new adventure. At one point in 2009 I had even verbally committed to an organization of a January 2010 start date. Raymonn and I were doing well as a couple – we all have our ups and downs and this was an up. We were getting involved in our church. Life was calm.

A friend of our family’s had passed away, lost a well fought battle against cancer. I had just watched her dance with her kids at a wedding reception. Knowing what she had been through, knowing the Dr’s never predicted she’d make it this far, I took note as I watched her smiling, dancing, and having a good time with her babies. A few weeks later I visited her in the hospital after an amazing surgery in which her heart had to be rebuilt b/c the tumor they had taken out of her heart was so big (seriously, in the pictures the surgeon was holding it with both hands it was so large).  And a few weeks after that I went to her funeral with my sister and Prayse. We sat across from her family. As I held my daughter, the images of her husband comforting their children and them saying good-bye to Mama are seared into my brain.

And the prayers began for a family who needed the biggest ethereal hug there was. And in the back of my mind an inkling of what loss of your family looked like – without my knowing it, a seed of fear had been planted.

I received a call on P’s 2nd birthday. A friend, a good friend, a friend who had been on my mind a lot because I did not get to say good-bye to him 10 days earlier on the 4th of July when he was visiting from Florida, a friend who I needed to call b/c we were talking about the next summer using our timeshare to go to Disney World and he knew all of the good places, good stuff, a friend had been killed. Senseless. A guy driving on a suspended license to defend his 3rd DUI in court, talking on his cell phone, driving too fast, through a red light. Made no sense to me and threw me for a loop. Standing barefoot on a beach in Florida watching a family say good-bye to Daddy, best friend, Grandpa are images forever imprinted on my heart.

And the fear intensified…

Anything can happen at any time. We only have today. My daughter needed me. I need my daughter. Watching P sleep in her crib at night I would pray for her and pray for these families and the tears would fall. As the tears fell, the fear rose. And I’d end up on the floor. Yes, the actual floor praying for my family, for others. Those prayers would turn into visions of life without my family, my family’s life without me, and at times that fear became paralyzing.

A friend who’s Mom was diagnosed with cancer, an Uncle who suddenly without warning diagnosed with cancer and gone in a matter of weeks, a miscarriage – nothing directly happening to my family, but to those I loved, those surrounding me that I invested in.

I always have been empathetic. I care for those around me and when they hurt, I hurt. All around me people were hurting. And soon, on those nights, I was on the floor in fear and not in prayer. Hurting for those I knew and realizing the truth about this world, that we are not guaranteed anything – including our family. But I couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t let anyone know what I was feeling, the nights sneaking out of bed in tears. It was my burden to bear.

At our Connect Group one evening I remember giving a prayer request for a friend and their family, I can’t even remember what it was about. I do remember commenting wearily, “This year just needs to be over.” During prayer our pastor came and put his hands on me and instead of hearing encouragement for my friend I suddenly had someone praying for me and depression. Can I just say, I was livid? Livid, embarrassed, and petrified. I don’t like to be the center of attention, rarely do I ask for prayer for myself (that whole vulnerability thing you know) – and the more I thought about it… I hated that he was right. Funny enough, it still was over a year later that I would come clean with the one person I should have let be by my side the entire time – my husband. It was a rough conversation, one that prompted more questions than it answered really, but it was a start to truth, to letting him see me.

As mad as I was, it was also eye opening. I realized that I had let things go too far. My own emotions and emotional reaction, that fear had risenup and was choking me. Valid fear? Yes. We live in a fallen world and bad things happen. It still was not until recently that I was given a clearer picture. I was under attack. The inkling of fear, the thought of losing my family, well it was like raw meat to a hungry bear. The thief had sneaked in, disguised as empathy and prayer even and got a good grip and squeezed. Do I take responsibility? Yes. But knowing the truth that this bad guy finds our weaknesses to prey on, the truth really can set us free. And it did. It took time, but it did.

Just when you think you’re safe…

This past weekend I was at my parents with my children. Xavier is really starting to become a genuine joy as he grows and loves to interact. Toys – bleh, but a human face? He comes alive with chatter and smiles. I think I fell even deeper in love. There were points in the weekend that were extremely hard emotionally as I learned about two good HS friends whose son had been stillborn. A cord wrapped around his neck during birth. The second I was told tears flooded my eyes, I was heartbroken for them. I looked at my son, “So many questions Jesus.” I thought. “So many questions we won’t get answered.” The next day I heard my parents talking about something and tuned in – friends of theirs from college, their son had fallen while hiking a steep incline and was killed.

Later that evening I was visiting a long time friend and her husband. I hadn’t seen them in two years as we live in different states, it was wonderful that the timing worked out. As we were talking her husband received a phone call from his boss at 11:15 pm. A former football player of his was dead at 17 years of age. He had drowned in a reservoir. His parents would be devastated, he was their only child, their son. Sunday I saw my Mom reading a Caring Bridge site. An acquaintance of mine from high school wrote on her son’s site. It had been a year to the day she found out her infant son was incredibly sick with heart problems. They had already lost him within that year, and she was reflecting on the day her nightmare began.

Their son.

Their son.

Their son.

Their son.

“Your son.”

Yes, my newborn son. My son who I love more than I thought possible. Four wonderful families, four losses of their sons. Heartbreak, prayer… fear.

Clearing the tears from my eyes on the drive home I thought, “Going for the jugular huh? You sure don’t pull any punches.” The enemy had indeed arrived.

I’m not special. As parents I think we all have a bit of fear for our children, for our spouses. The love we have for them is so great, so encompassing that seeing the loss of others reminds us of the reality of our world – and seeing and feeling the sensation of loss takes our breath away in the worse possible sense.

For me, in my faith, I had never until this year been able to truly come to grips with the fact that my family is not mine. They are indeed the Lord’s. Honestly, in prayer I’d think – “I can’t truly give them to you, if I say all I have is yours including my children, my husband – then it might open a door for you to take them away.” I could never quite grasp the concept that He loved them more than me, thus He wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to them – ever. Never could anyone love these three people more, I’d think. And so in my way of what I thought was protection, but really just stopping myself from moving forward, I would cover them in prayer – but in prayer driven by fear instead of boldness.

This time however, this time I remembered that still small voice spoken to me just a few months ago, “Do you not think I love them more?” That one question had rocked me, rocked my world. I remembered this blog post from Micca Campbell about the loss of her husband and God’s dramatic message to her that He has her son in His arms, His protection (please click on it, we all need to hear this).

And I recognized the enemy. There he was, sneaking in like the ultimate coward he is, in like a thief, hammer and anvil in hand, ready to start chipping. He was taking circumstances to spin them as an attack. But this time I fought back, fought with Truth he could not deny.

There is still hurt for those who are hurting. There are tears with the prayers (b/c not only am I empathetic, I’m also a natural born crier). But I refuse to let fear have a foothold in my life, my faith, or my family.

So as I conclude this story, which has taken almost a week to write as internet was down, a computer that wasn’t working, children who wake up unnaturally early, or who wake up more often creating a fatigued Mama… it is fitting that I am holding my son, wrapping this up with the near perfected one-handed typing – a symbol of victory. This is one battle that will be won. The bad guy is going down. A challenge perhaps? Yes, but I’ve got pretty good back up. The good guys will win.