Let me tell you about the worst day of my life.

It was a Sunday, December 29. I remember coming in from church and doing lunch and all that and then easing into my chair and thinking to myself, I will just rest for a few minutes and then I will go check on my parents.

The last few weeks had been emotionally taxing and physically draining. My dad had almost died at the beginning of November, something he had almost done a few times in the last year. He had his second leg amputated, now a double amputee, in hopes to save his life, but it hadn’t worked. Just before Thanksgiving we had brought him home on hospice and they had guessed he had about two weeks to live. We were now two weeks past that mark and every day felt uneasy, uncertain and like it might be our last. My mom was tending to his wound care and trying to get him to eat or drink. I was visiting every day and trying to give my mom breaks and do what I could to help. I was also trying to give my six-year-old a jolly magical Christmas knowing any moment my dad could pass and change the Christmas season for us forever.

I was tired in every way someone could be. So even though I tried to go help every spare minute, today I thought, I’ll just rest and enjoy a bit of downtime for a little while.

I swear I had only been in my chair for three or four minutes when my phone rang, and I looked to see that it was my dad. That was odd, so even though I grumbled internally, I answered.

“Christina, your mom has fallen, and I don’t know what’s wrong. She’s not answering me, and I can’t get to her.”

I could hear the alarm in his voice, and he used my name instead of “Punkin” my nickname that he calls me 99 percent of the time.

“Ok, I’m coming!”

I threw on my snow boots over my sweatpants because they are the easiest to get on. Shawn said he would get Kellen’s shoes on and be right behind me. We both thought she might have lost her balance and fallen and couldn’t get up, or maybe knocked herself out or something. It was hard to tell how serious it was because over the last two years, dad’s anxiety had been so high that he communicated most things at a 1 or a 10, not a lot of in between.

My parents live right behind me, so I jumped in the car and sped over. I ran inside back to my dad’s room.

I really don’t know how to explain the way it feels to turn a corner and see both of your parents in the floor. I can feel it right now as I type this. A tightness in my throat, a buzzing in my ears and a panic that wants to rise up but can’t. It took me a minute to process what was happening. Mom was in the floor, visibly swollen and making a strange noise, somewhere between conscious and unconscious. Dad was in the floor on the other side of his hospice bed, wailing and on the phone. He was just weeks out from a leg amputation, and I couldn’t figure out why he was in the floor. I got down close to mom and tried to get her to wake up. She could focus on me for just a second and then couldn’t. I ran to dad to make sure he wasn’t bleeding out and he yelled at me to go back to mom. I pulled out my phone to call 911 and noticed he was already on the phone but was crying and making no sense. So, I got on and thankfully 911 was on the line. I gave them our address and the dispatcher walked me through some basic checks.

She was breathing, and the breathing was regular. She wasn’t conscious fully, but she could hear me. He told me help was on the way and that he would stay on the phone until they got there.

I just kept yelling at mom when she would slip because I was afraid if she went unconscious I’d never get her back. Then I’d run to dad to make sure he wasn’t injured. At some point Shawn and Kellen ran in and I quickly told Shawn to get our son out of there, he didn’t need to see this. They waited outside to flag down the ambulance.

I’m sure it was minutes, but it felt like an eternity later, I heard the sirens and a fire truck arrived first. Shawn guided them in and then took Kellen to the back porch.

The firemen kept asking me what happened and I kept saying I didn’t know. They asked me several times what had been wrong with her and I kept saying nothing, she’s been fine. It didn’t occur to me until later that they couldn’t see my dad in the floor, they could only see the hospice bed and equipment and of course assumed it was for her. I’m sure they thought I was crazy just like I thought they were crazy for continuing to ask me those same questions.

Once that clicked, I pointed out my dad and one of the firemen hoisted him back into the bed, quite impressively actually. The ambulance arrived and they started working on mom. By this point, she was coming to a little and trying to answer some of their questions. I called my aunt and told her what was happening and that I might need her. I didn’t know how I was going to care for my mom, my dad and a little boy all at the same time.

They finally  loaded my mom on a stretcher and told me they were taking her to the local hospital. I went to tell Shawn we were headed to the hospital and to please stay with my dad, who was in hysterics and feeling so helpless because he couldn’t do anything to help.

I ran to my vehicle and waited for the ambulance to take off. It sat there for so long in the driveway that I started panicking we were already too late. Why weren’t they rushing to the hospital? I sent a few texts to my people to be praying. I called my best friend and told her what was happening. She talked me off the ledge and calmed me down. Up to this point I had remained fairly calm, but the longer that ambulance sat in their driveway not moving, the closer to panic I got. She coached me to breathe and FINALLY the ambulance started moving.

I threw on my flashers and followed behind it as it wailed down the road. I lost it at the main light in town because I was too scared to go through the red light behind it. The last thing we needed was for me to have a car accident too.

I pulled into the Emergency Room parking lot and rushed to the ambulance as they were unloading my mom. The EMT mouthed to me, “She’s having a heart attack.”

What?! How could that be? My mom was so healthy, this felt so out of the blue! I ran over to my mom, she was conscious now and that was a relief. She told me she was ok and not to worry.

Yeah. Right.

They took her back to keep working on her and I called my aunt back and told her what was happening. I called my husband and told him. I texted my people. I decided not to tell dad yet until I knew more of what the situation really was. They let me back to see mom and told me they were taking her up for surgery.

She was alert and assuring me she was fine, such a stark difference from how I had seen her 20 minutes earlier.

They took her to surgery and one of my good friends showed up to wait with me. It was only then that I calmed down enough to even think about what was happening. I looked at myself and the ratty sweatpants, dirty pullover and snow boots I was wearing and thinking how crazy I must look. I called my aunt again and she told me she was on her way.

After surgery, the doctor came out and told me a bunch of things I don’t remember. The gist being, she was lucky to be alive and there didn’t seem to be lasting damage. She would need meds and to start taking better care of herself, but she would be ok.

I got back to her room and knew she was going to be ok when she asked me to bring her a cup of hot tea the next morning.

At some point I went back to their house and told dad what was going on. I took a picture of mom for proof for him that she was ok. I stayed the night there and took care of getting him dinner and cleaning him up. It’s a whole other level of life when you have to wipe your dad’s butt.

I didn’t sleep that night. I just kept replaying all that happened and thinking how quickly everything can change.

Mom came home New Year’s Eve and we rang in the new year with everyone together and alive. It truly felt like a miracle for both of my parents to be there.

I was grumbling to God a few weeks later. My dad was still alive, barely. Hanging on, in so much pain. My aunt had stayed to help take care of him while mom recovered. I came and did what I could in between working and taking care of my family. I just didn’t understand why God wasn’t taking my dad. He could barely eat, he was stuck in his bed all day, most of the time too weak to even get up and in his wheelchair. I told God, “I don’t understand why you are leaving him in this misery, leaving us all in the misery of watching him slowly die.”

And I heard, calmly and gently, a soft whisper, “Because if I had taken him when everyone thought it was time, you wouldn’t have either of your parents right now.”

That stopped me. The harsh truth that I could have become an orphan in a month’s time hit me square in the face and broke me.

So, now, let me tell you about one of the most beautiful days of my life.

My mom had been having indigestion and thought she was coming down with the flu, so she didn’t go to church that Sunday. We now know those are the most common symptoms of heart attack in women, but we didn’t know that then.

So she stayed home and fixed my dad a little breakfast. She set his coffee down and turned to walk out when she fell. She fell in the only place in the house that dad would have seen her. If she had fallen anywhere else, he wouldn’t have known and I wouldn’t have known until I had gone by, probably an hour later, and it would have been too late. I would have found her dead.

Dad’s phone was charging on his desk, which he can’t reach. Remember, he was recovering from a leg amputation and is now a double amputee. He tossed himself out of bed and crawled to the desk so he could call me and then thankfully had the wherewithal to call 911 too. He didn’t have enough strength to eat on his own most days, but found the strength to crawl to the desk.

If dad had passed away within two weeks like they said, he wouldn’t have been there to see her and she would have died. If he wasn’t brave enough to toss himself out of bed, she would have died because he had no other way to call for help. Instead, my dad, who had been feeling worthless and useless for the past year as he lost one leg and then the other, was able to save my mom.

While I had been at the hospital, my sweet boy had climbed up in his Pawpa’s bed and held him while he cried and then told his Pawpa they would pray to God and then Granny would be ok. What beautiful, sweet, innocent faith of a child, just exactly what my dad needed in those moments.

I immediately had about 10 people I could call or text for prayer and support. My best friend answered and calmed me down even though she was still in deep grief from losing her dad just a few months before. Prayers started going up immediately and my friend showed up at the hospital without me having to ask. My sister-in-law showed up the next day to take Kellen on a day out to the movies and playing so he didn’t have to stress and worry.

I’m blown away by the absolute goodness of God. I know it was Him that allowed the pieces to fall into place for my mom to be saved, and for my dad, a new believer, to witness a miracle. I know it was Him and His love in the hearts of others that pulled them to surround us almost immediately.

Only God could take something as traumatic and awful as a heart attack and bring something beautiful out of it. Mom takes better care of herself now. Dad has been able to believe that he has value and worth beyond what he can physically do. And I have seen, first-hand, that God’s timing is better. He showed me that even when I was feeling run down and forgotten by Him, that He was working. That there was purpose in not taking my dad quickly, even though there is suffering in the lingering

Hard things have purpose, not because God wants us to suffer, but because it’s one of the places He really gets to show out. When it can’t be about anything other than the power and beauty of God we get to experience just how much He loves us.

I don’t know why the miracle came for my mom and doesn’t come for everyone. I know we had all been crying out for something to change for almost two years. I can’t say I wanted that change to come through a heart attack, but when it happened, God used it

I’ve learned more about God over the last three years than any other time in my life. His goodness is all that keeps me going most days and the deep gut truth that He loves us patiently and perfectly.

It’s been a year since that awful, beautiful day. Both of my parents are still here, we celebrated another Christmas together. That’s two more now than what we thought we had. I don’t know if we will get another one all together. I have a feeling 2026 is going to bring a different kind of hard than what the last three have been. I know there will be ugly parts, hard parts, tears and pain. I also know there will be beauty, there will be love and there will be miracles – because that’s just the kind of God He is.

This kid wouldn’t break. He was locked up emotionally and I was a brand-new therapist, still a kid myself in so many ways, unsure of my abilities, my gut or what I was doing. We were walking through the woods to a more secluded spot at the treatment center I was working at. I can’t tell you what time of year it was, what it felt like outside, all I can remember is the banging of my heart in my chest and the crunching of sticks and gravel as we walked along the trail. He carried the giant punching bag while I carried the baseball bat. I was staff, but he wouldn’t let me carry the heavy part because I was a girl. He was only 18, and a drug addict, but he was a gentleman and so good and kind. Life had thrown him a crappy deal and heroin had been the only way he had found to cope. I felt the weight of his recovery, his healing and his freedom on my shoulders as we walked. It would have been nothing to carry the punching bag compared to that. I had no idea if this was going to work. He was my first solo resident, his treatment solely on my shoulders and this exercise, oddly called “Beat the Dummy,” was my Hail Mary pass to help him to feel what he needed to.

My personal experience with substances was severely limited. I went to a conservative Christian university in the same town I was working in now, and the rules were pretty strict about drugs and alcohol and…..everything really. I remember reading the list before I ever got to campus and noting where we couldn’t have “rock and roll” posters on our walls. I went that moment to Wal-mart and bought a Blink 182 and Green Day poster and they became the first things I packed for college. I’ve always been a rule follower, but some rules are just begging to be broken. When I turned 21 at college, two of my three roommates and I snuck alcohol into the dorm, made daiquiris and watched the Notebook. The third roommate was not invited because she would have told and gotten us kicked out of school. When she came in at curfew (yep….. curfew in college) we were furiously scrubbing the blender and the butter tub we had poured the rum into to get into the dorm, cheeks red and giggling. The alcohol didn’t capture me that day, the way it does some, but my body held on to the feeling of doing something that was “wrong” simply because I knew it wasn’t.

“Beat the Dummy” is an exercise about releasing your emotion at the addict/trauma/whatever weighs you down, and it’s usually done in a group. There is a strength that comes from several voices echoing around you, cheering you on as you wail on the bag with the bat. I had never led it, only been a witness, and it took a strong loud voice and fully committed belief that it would work, neither of which I had. We came to a clearing and he dropped the punching bag. I handed him the bat, hoping he couldn’t hear the uncertainty beating in my heart. This was either going to be amazing, or it was going to fail drastically.

Sometimes the uncertain choices, the ones you make with your gut and not your brain are the most important ones. When I was 19, my best guy friend visited home with me to support me as I said goodbye to an older woman in my church I had been close to. He was the Dawson to my Joey. The Ross to my Rachel. Will they? Won’t they? In the living room of my childhood home, sitting on the familiar scratchy carpet, MTV playing in the background, we both made a choice to lean in and with a few kisses went a direction we could never come back from. Heart pounding with certainty it was right. And it was right, but not in the way my rom-com heart wanted it to be. It was not a fairytale, but a short story of fireworks and fires that ended our relationship, friendship and my unwavering belief that every story has a happy ending.

I stepped back from my resident and the punching bag and began slowly and softly speaking of the hard things in his story; the loss, the pain, things he had no control over and the mistakes he had made. He half-heartedly hit the bag with the bat. My voice grew stronger because it had to. The wind picked up and blew through the trees, nature bearing witness to this young man’s journey. And slowly, this left-brained, highly logical, tightly wound boy, stepped into his own and began releasing. The loud crack of the bat reverberated through the trees, his sobs and wails caressed by the breeze to be held, finally, by someone other than him. He collapsed into a squat on the ground sobbing, and I broke another rule when I walked over and put my arms around him while he cried.

But, it was right, even though they tell you in grad school not to hug your clients, because sometimes the gut knows better than the brain. We both emerged from the woods that day, different. We had released uncertainties that had kept us bound by chains, different chains, but binding all the same. It was not a tidy, happy ending, because there was still a lot of hard left to come, but the beginning of living differently.

For me, it was the beginning of recognizing the strength of my own voice. And even though I don’t always use it well, I am certain that I have one now. It’s where I began to learn that sometimes you have to risk that something is a colossal mistake because it’s the only way you can learn what you need to grow.

My brilliant supervisor told me when I was a young therapist that “everything is useful” and I have found that to be true in every layer of life. When it works, it’s useful. When it blows up in your face? It’s still useful.

Rules are useful. Sometimes breaking them is too.

When you don’t get the happy ending it’s not always because you wrecked it, it may be because it’s not actually your story. Sometimes the failure is more important than the fairytale.

I’m a supervisor now, and Itell all my supervisees that everything is useful and my biggest goal is to help them not be afraid to mess up, to try something new and let it fall flat with a client. Or let it work beyond what they thought it would. Either way, it tells you something you need to know.

That kid in the woods has kids of his own now. I hope that day comes to his mind sometimes and reminds him that it’s ok to let go. I hope it is still a gift for him. I know that day was for me.

Spring Break was a couple of weeks ago, and while many were taking trips, our family decided to stick close to home. We did some fun things, but I wanted K to have something special since a lot of his friends were taking trips. So, I decided to have a “Yes Day.”

This idea comes from a super cute movie starring Jennifer Garner that came out a few years ago. If you haven’t seen it, go watch it! It’s fun, clean and JG is precious in all things. In the movie, the kids are complaining because they get told “no” all the time, so mom devises a yes day where she has to say yes to the kids’ requests. There are some ground rules, and the ones we decided to follow were:

1 – Nothing that alters our life. We can’t be adopting all the puppies or tearing down any walls or committing any crimes.

2- There is a money limit. I still need to be able to say yes to paying bills when this day is over. Once the money is gone for the day it’s gone, and the rest of the “yes” activities have to be free.

I told K about Yes Day several days before school let out and he was beyond excited! He spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out how to make Yes Day happen sooner, and thinking about all the things he wanted to do.

Finally, the big day arrived. He tested the truth of the “yes” by asking for ice cream for breakfast and was shaking with giddiness when I did, in fact, say yes, and started scooping.

The day was a lot of fun! We went to the park and played, read books at the library, watched Mario cartoons, painted and did crafts, had a family movie night with pizza and ended with a sleepover in the big bed.

K had a great time and is already asking when we can do another one. I enjoyed the day too. It felt good to say yes! However, he also didn’t ask for anything I wouldn’t have said yes to anyway, except maybe the ice cream for breakfast and the amount of Mario cartoons he watched.

He only spent a single dollar of the money I had set aside and that was on a bubble wand I probably would have gotten him anyway. I was anticipating trampoline parks and bounce houses and toy aisles at Wal-Mart, donut runs and giant bottomless bowls of ice cream.

I commented the next day how surprised I was that he didn’t ask for these things and he said, “I didn’t really think about it.”

K was happy to just to feel like he had control over his world. Kids get told what to do and when to do it so often I’m sure a day of yeses, even if they are easy ones, feels like the best day ever.

I think there is some beauty in the fact that my kid didn’t want big things, that he was happy and content with simple things.

K asked me what I would do with a yes day and the first things that came to mind were a leisurely cup of coffee, a nap and some quiet space to read. Also, not big things. All things I could probably make happen if I really tried.

I was telling a friend about the Yes Day and how surprised my husband and I were at the underwhelming nature of the day, so different from the movie, ha!

I told her, “I guess he just didn’t know he could ask for big things.”

And then God cleared his throat at me, the way he does sometimes when the Holy Spirit is talking to me and I’m about to miss it.

His children don’t know they can ask for big things.

God wants to give his children big Yeses, but often we don’t ask because we don’t know we can, or maybe we are afraid.

I’m sure you’ve heard or read the verse in Matthew chapter 7 that says “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened.”

The Message version says it well with, “Don’t bargain with God. Be direct. Ask for what you need.”

The church I grew up in talked a lot about asking for things that are within God’s will, and yes, obviously we want the things we are asking for to be things in line with what God wants for us. But, I think as a kid, and into adulthood, this translated into me just saying, “Whatever your will is God, let that be done.” And never really thinking about what I really wanted or desired.

It also turns out I wasn’t really thinking about what God really wanted or desired either. It was just a cop out prayer because it felt better to say that than to ask for something not in His will and disappoint him.

But, I also know as a parent, that if K had defaulted his Yes Day to me it wouldn’t have been any fun. I was delighted to give him yeses. I have to believe that God, who is the perfect parent, would delight even more.

But God never asked me to just blindly yield to His will without thought or consideration. If that’s what He wanted there was no point in creation, the Garden….. there was no point in Jesus.

I mean, if I think about it, I was a little disappointed K didn’t ask for some big things on our Yes Day. I was grateful to not have to haul myself to the expensive, over-stimulating, anxiety-producing trampoline park, but I also missed how excited he would have been to ask for that and get to go right then, not next week or some other time, but the immediate yes.

God desires relationship and it’s in that relationship that we get to know Him and get better at discernment. In relationship, our will more naturally begins to line up with His. We don’t have to try as hard to live in His will because it happens as we get closer to Him. Our dreams and desires begin to more readily match up to his.

AND, we are still humans and have our individual hopes and dreams. He created us to have these and loves it when we live in them, and ask for them.

And I think He loves it when we ask big.

Maybe that’s another reason I don’t ask for big things. When the yes is not immediate, it feels like a no. It’s hard when the Creator exists in a space with no time and the creation exists in a place ruled by time.

I can feel God nudging me going, “It’s ok, go ahead and ask me for the big thing.”

Thinking about that makes me squirm and feel weird though. It’s easier to default to the “whatever your will is” prayer.

There is beauty and intimacy in the simple yeses. K’s day centered around things we could do together and as a family, that’s what he really wants. The Lord wants that from us too. And, He never asked us to play it safe. He doesn’t just want the simple requests. He wants the vulnerability and depth of relationship that comes from the BIG ASKS. He wants to give BIG YESES.

I think we will do another yes day this summer. This time, I may give K the gentle reminder that the Lord gave me:

It’s ok to ask for big things. Better yet, it’s desired.

At church Sunday, I asked K if he wanted Daddy to walk him back to “little church” and he said yes. This has been the routine for a bit now, Daddy walks him back to class and I go get seats for worship.

Apparently, after I had walked away, K changed his mind and wanted me to walk him back and called out my name. But, I didn’t hear him in all the noise in the lobby and walked on in. This immediately broke his heart and he started crying. My husband tried to console him, but ended up texting me and telling me what happened. I, of course, came out there and hugged K real big and walked him to class. I apologized for not hearing him and reminded him that I always love him.

I was happy to meet that need for him, but I can’t meet a need I don’t know about. And can we just talk about the speed at which a toddler’s needs, be they real or imagined, can change? It’s like parental whiplash! One day, he eats three bananas and the next day he hates them and is offended I even offered him one.

Before he could talk, I remember thinking how much easier it would be when he could tell me what was wrong or what he wanted. Ha! First time parent rookie mistake. It doesn’t matter that he can talk because his mind changes too fast for me to keep up.

Honestly, I zoned out for part of the sermon last Sunday because I was thinking about how K must have felt when he called out to me and I didn’t turn around. He absolutely knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that I love him, but in that moment he didn’t know that, he questioned it. He was confused and for a few minutes, thought I had ignored him and must not care. He’s also going through a phase (can it still be a phase if it’s been going on for a year?) where he can’t stand to be alone. He has this weird fear that if we are not in the room with him then he is alone and we have somehow left him. I’m not sure where this came from, we have never left him anywhere. Even if I tell him exactly where I’m going, like “Hey Bud, I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick, I’ll be right back,” he will come busting into the bathroom 30 seconds later because he didn’t know where I was or wanted to make sure I didn’t leave him. I’ve been so confused how this developed in him and wondering if it’s normal, or if I have somehow given my child an anxious attachment style (being a therapist can really make you overthink).

So, I was thinking about all of this during church, trying to make sense of it and feeling bad for the way Kellen must have felt, but then also a little frustrated that he couldn’t trust that I wouldn’t willingly ignore him and leave him.

And then, dang it, I realized that’s what I do with God all the time.

God is perfect love. I know that from a Biblical place and I know that from a personal place. I have personally felt the love of God.

And still, sometimes it feels like He is ignoring me. Like, maybe he didn’t hear me, or doesn’t care. I feel alone, rejected. It’s a guttural pain, a visceral response to feel like God has turned his back on you, and the feelings are real even if the act isn’t. God never turns his back on us AND sometimes, it feels like he has.

And in those moments we are broken children, we are 4 sobbing in the lobby. I wonder if Jesus felt like he was 4 when God turned his face away as he hung on the cross? And now that I’m a parent, I know how excruciating that must have also been for God. He chose to turn his face away from his son because He loves us so much. I was devastated to think I had accidentally hurt my son, I can’t imagine choosing it.

I wonder what the reunion was like 3 days later between Father and Son…. Did they run and embrace and hold each other tight? Did God wrap his arms around Jesus and pull him on his lap and tell him how loved he is? Did he take his hand and walk with him around heaven?

God is the perfect parent, way more perfect than I could ever dream of being. He loves perfectly. And so, when we are broken, when we can’t see him anymore and want to rush into the bathroom to check if He’s there, He will find a way to reassure us. The situation may not change, we may still be broken and feel lost, but know more solidly that we are not alone. Until we forget an hour later and He has to find ways to remind us again.

I spend a lot of time being the four year old in the church lobby, thinking that this is the time God has left for sure and I better figure it out on my own. Fear is such a liar.

I seem to think that control is the antidote to fear, but it’s not. It really just creates more fear. I just kid myself into feeling better for a little while.

You know what the Bible says the antidote to fear is?

Love.

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.”

1 John 4:18

I’ve been having this conversation with a few clients recently too. We seem to be a fear-based people and there are some churches that have not done well to combat fear but have instead used it as a manipulation tool.

Satan will take every chance he can to invoke fear. He will whisper, “He doesn’t really love you. You aren’t enough. You’re too broken.”

We have to keep looking, we have to keep calling out to Him, and we have to remember that Satan is the author of lies and we are loveable, no matter what. God is perfect love and only He can drive out fear.

The world is heavy. Sometimes the weight of it is just too great and I am overwhelmed by the number of hard things people are walking through.

I just found out about a friend whose husband beat her up and she took him back. This week another dear friend took her husband to the oncologist and talked about life expectancy. And as far as cancer goes, I know way too many people walking through that right now. COVID numbers are going back up. My family is walking through job uncertainty. I saw a news article yesterday about a young man who killed his small children and wife. Pain and evil seem to be everywhere in large amounts.

I realize that because I’m a trauma therapist my sample size might be a little skewed, but everything just feels HEAVY. Literally. Because I’m an empath, I carry a little bit of everything else. I work on boundaries, but I can’t help but feel things to some level with people. It’s why I don’t read the news very often, because I will feel the weight of what I read for days. I have been so exhausted, and for the last week or so, my body literally feels heavy. It is hard to walk and move and all I want to do is lay down. I’m just so tired. I look around and I think, Jesus, please come.

Aren’t we all tired?

There is just so much grief, and we as a society do not grieve well. Most work places offer 3 days bereavement and then you’re back. Generally, by that point, the reality of loss has not even set in yet. And bereavement is usually only offered for death of an immediate family member, it doesn’t even take into account all the other people, things, situations, feelings, ideas and experiences we all grieve.

So we hold it. And it gets bigger and heavier.

So we mask it. And it becomes other things: anger, depression, apathy….

Unresolved grief changes us. It effects how we feel, how we think, how we hear and how we see.

I’m thinking about Mary Magdalene when the resurrected Jesus appeared to her. I love the fact that Jesus appears first to a woman. His birth and His resurrection were first told to a woman, and I think this just shows the value that God places on women. I love the story of the resurrection for so many reasons, obviously, it’s the basis of my faith.

But there is one part that has always bothered me.

How the heck did she not recognize Jesus??

¹¹ Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb ¹² and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.

¹³ They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” ¹⁴ At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.

¹⁵ He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

¹⁶ Jesus said to her, “Mary.”

She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”).

¹⁷ Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”¹⁸ Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her

John 20:11-18

First off, Mary Magdalene sees two angels, all white, sitting in the empty tomb and it’s like it doesn’t phase her. Nothing about that seemed weird, and I don’t think angels showed up all the time. And then, she sees Jesus and he speaks to her and she doesn’t react. Mary has a significant history with Jesus. He cast demons out of her, she has followed him and dedicated her life to Him. He literally saved her in every way a person can be saved. Meeting Jesus was undeniably life changing for her. And so, this man, whom she loved and who had so greatly changed the course of her life, speaks to her and she doesn’t have a clue it’s him.

I have always been bewildered by this. And I’ve heard the devotionals about how we can miss God in some really obvious ways because we are focusing on the wrong things, I just don’t think that’s what is happening here. After reading this story post 2020, I think Mary Magdalene is so consumed by her grief, that she can’t see or hear Jesus.

Grief distorted everything. She thinks she has lost the only person who has ever truly seen her as a person. She is grieving one of her best friends, her savior, and grieving him not just from death, but  from a traumatic and tragic death. This grief is like nothing she has ever known before, and Mary was very familiar with grief and loss. But now, not only has she lost the man, but she is probably thinking that all she had been living for is lost too. No one understood that Jesus’ kingdom was heavenly, so when he was crucified, most of Jesus’ followers were confused and unsure of where to go. They had pledged their life to this man, who they think is dead.

Here’s my favorite part though. Mary Magdalene totally misses that the man talking to her is Jesus. She thinks he’s a gardener. And Jesus doesn’t rebuke her for not recognizing him. He doesn’t tell her to dry her tears and get over it because he’s alive. He doesn’t tell her that she should be happy in times of hardship because God is working for her good. He doesn’t tell her to have more faith.

HE CALLS HER BY NAME.

“Mary.”

Y’all, I have goosebumps and tears as I type this and as I think about it. Jesus saw her pain, He saw her grief and while he knew it wasn’t necessary because He knew the big picture, He didn’t try to take it away from her. She needed to feel it and He let her. He was simply with her and reminded her of who she was in the midst of it all.

“Mary.”

And when her savior called her by name, Mary Magdalene felt it. The scales of grief fell and she recognized Him. She was able to see clearly again. And then He entrusted her with probably the greatest message of all time: I am risen and returning to my Father.

There is healing power in being called by name. There is healing power in being seen for who we are, not how we feel or how we act in certain circumstances. Even in her immense grief, Jesus trusted Mary to deliver the greatest and most important message of all time. Even in brokenness and grief we are useful. This was not the first time Jesus saw who Mary was through her emotions or her actions. He had seen her before, when He cast out the 7 demons. This is just how God always sees us, as the child He created. And even though He sees us through the pain and mistakes, He does not dismiss our pain or our humanness. He does not expect us to not be human. It seems He just expects us to still answer when He calls.

And so, as we are a grieving world, for so many reasons, we must do the same. We must call each other by name. We must look to see each other. And we must look up when God calls our name, even if we are looking up with tears in our eyes. We will be met with compassion. We will be met with understanding. And we will most certainly be met by Someone who knows our name.

God knows who you are, even when you don’t. Listen to Him.

The other day, driving to church, K was talking about his tummy hurting. I don’t remember the whole conversation now, but he ended up saying something like, “just my tummy is hurt but my whole me is ok.”

And that stuck with me. His whole me.

I had to write that down and keep going back to it. That saying about “out of the mouth of babes” is really true. Sometimes the way K phrases things just stops me in my tracks, and this was one of those times. I couldn’t really figure out what it was that struck me but I knew I needed to spend some time sitting in it.

Last month, I got to speak in church about the important of addressing mental health in the church. It was incredible on a lot of levels and healing for me in a lot of ways as I have spent most of my life doubting the importance of my voice.

The theme behind the mental health focus came from Matthew 22:37-40

37 Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. 38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. 40 All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

The basis of the goodness of all things working together is rooted in loving God with our whole heart, soul and mind. So, why does the importance of the mind get so overlooked, and even condemned or intentionally neglected in some Christian areas? I have a whole lot to say about all that…..another day.

So, all of that was floating around in my head as I sat with K’s words about his “whole me” being ok even though his tummy hurt.

It made me think of Paul in Romans where he talks about being joyful in his suffering. Paul also talks about a burden that he continually asked God to remove but He never did. And yet, he remains grateful. Maybe his tummy hurt, but his whole me was ok?

So then….. I’m thinking my son just nailed the age old dilemma of a loving God allowing awful tragedy to happen, or bad things happening to good people, or not removing certain pains and traumas that we ask him to. And in this, I think the church has done a poor job of discussing what being grateful in times of turmoil really means. It doesn’t mean we laugh and ignore pain, it doesn’t mean we dismiss the hurt or the heaviness of what we carry. We can cry and be angry and feel hopeless, while we also acknowledge that God is good and is walking with us.

It’s in this tension that I think real, deep, martyr level faith exists. To be able to trust God enough to yell and scream at Him, and also trust Him enough to keep going. To trust that God is working and God is bigger, even when our human eyes can’t see it or feel it.

Faith based upon intimate relationship allows us to hold that difficult and often painful tension, to both validate that our tummy hurts while also holding onto the truth that our “whole me” is ok.

As I continue to think about this dichotomy, I am also struck with the truth that in my darkest times, my whole me did not feel ok. And when things bigger than a tummy ache happen, the “whole me” can feel pretty broken, discarded, used up and empty.

As western Christians, well, western people in general, we seem to operate most naturally as a disintegrated system. We go to different specialist for different areas of our body. We take different meds to control various symptoms, and then more meds to control the side effects of those. We work to shut parts of ourselves down to fit in or to move on. There is not a lot of integration. We even work really hard to define ourselves by all the things that make us different and spend very little time focusing on the things we all share.

If we as a Christian people really put into practice that our “whole me” needed to be loving God, and working in tandem to do so, I wonder if it would be easier to feel like I’m broken in the context of knowledge that my God is a mighty healer. And then would it be easier to take my brokenness to Him, or to the other whole body followers around me, and find true acceptance and healing? Isn’t this how creation was supposed to be, walking naked with each other, AND WITH God, in the garden of His creation? That seems to be a perfect visual of being fully present with our whole me….. no shame.

Our whole me, body, heart, mind and soul, was created by God intimately. We were not created for this world, but for relationship with our Creator. The refiners fire process we are in on this earth is full of pain, growth and discomfort. Satan prowls like a roaring lion to devour us. But our whole me is destined for glory; Wholeness and reunification with God in Heaven. When we keep in mind the whole me, the whole picture of who we are, we can keep that in tension with the pain of this world.

Honestly, when I think about it too much, I get overwhelmed. It’s such a simple concept and also seems to contain depth and richness that my soul needs. It was so easy for K to know that while his tummy hurt, his whole me was ok and he was going to be fine. He also didn’t dismiss that his tummy hurt. He brought both to me, a parent he trusts and knows he is loved by.

Maybe I can take both to my God, that I trust and know I am loved by? I can rest in the knowledge that the things that have broken me do not define me. My whole me is defined by Him, and he calls me perfect.

I remember end of February 2020 when Dr. Wornock told the staff we needed to prepare to be able to be at home for about two weeks. My family had just made a Sam’s run and luckily toilet paper had been on the list (remember when that was a thing??). I went to dollar tree and bought some crafts and puzzles to entertain my toddler. We didn’t really have a clue what was about to happen.

It feels like it changed overnight. Everything started to shut down. My clients that are college students couldn’t come back after spring break and I had to figure out how to get them taken care of. Everything moved to telehealth for a while and I hated it. I was glad for the opportunity to keep continuity with clients, but I was missing the bones of therapy: the human interaction.

I had the same conversations with clients, hour after hour, everyone feeling fear, anxiety, hopelessness. I also felt like I needed to be sitting on the couch next to them because I was walking through the same confusion and trauma they were.

One of the hardest things for me was watching helplessly as my PrimeCare team moved from determined grit to sheer exhaustion as every wave of Covid came. I thought omicron was going to do us all in. I watched them put one exhausted foot in front of the other, and show up day after day, tired and short staffed, seeing numbers of patients 2 or 3 times the norm.

Personal & Vicarious Trauma 

It doesn’t matter what your personal experience was with Covid, we all experienced trauma in some way through the pandemic. Loss, sickness, grief are just a few examples.

Vicarious trauma is what happens to your brain and body when you watch someone go through something traumatic, but you aren’t actually involved. It’s what we experience when we see Ukrainian children crossing Polish borders by themselves. It’s what we felt when we watched the daily Covid number update at the height of the pandemic. It’s what happened when we watched the video of George Floyd, the riots, the trial. Covid wasn’t the only huge thing that happened over the last two years. 

But, what did happen, is Covid forced us to isolate- to hold all that on our own. We were separated from friends and family for varying lengths of time. We watched the news and didn’t know who to trust.

Suicide and suicide attempts increased exponentially. Child abuse increased exponentially. Anxiety. Depression. Fear. It’s all increased exponentially. And we had to hold it all in our 6 foot bubble behind a mask.

The Societal Effect 

Our society will feel the mental health effects of the pandemic for generations. Just like the Great Depression altered the mental health trajectory of the country, so will Covid. 

As we move out of the medical emergency part of the pandemic, we are seeing an epidemic of mental health. I am busier and fuller than I’ve ever been, and therapists across the board are saying this. I turn down referrals daily, but have no one with an opening to refer to. Everyone is traumatized, grieving, and angry…. I think the anger is the thing I’m seeing most because anger is way easier to feel than grief. Mental health clinicians are now feeling the pace our medical friends felt over the last two years. We are exhausted and overwhelmed for the same reasons I saw my PrimeCare team struggle: There are so many people that need help and we aren’t sure how to help everyone. We don’t feel equipped to meet the need we see, and deal with our own trauma from the last two years. As a profession, we are going to have to get creative because what worked pre-pandemic, won’t get the job done in a post Covid world. 

Beauty from Ashes

And yet, I am not worried. The Bible talks about the idea of beauty from ashes, where God brings great beauty out of great sorrow. I think that we can all agree that a world where Will Smith punches Chris Rock at the Oscars is a world that’s been in a lot of ash. And while it is easy to look around and only notice or feel the ash, it is not the only truth out there. I also recently watched our community come together to take care of strangers last month when the apartment complex in Searcy burned down.

And honestly, when I think back to the craziness of 2020, I don’t remember the fear. I remember the slow mornings with my son picking flowers (weeds) in the front yard, making pinecone birdfeeders, coloring pictures, reading stories – all things that I wouldn’t have been able to do as much of if the world had been normal and I had been at work. I remember locals rallying behind small businesses and ordering takeout so they didn’t have to close. I remember nurses using their cell phones to call family members of patients so they could talk. I remember Lisa Douglas from Rise and Grind walking around PrimeCARE praying over us, and then dropping off free coffee.

Even though it was the most isolated time I can recall in my life, the pieces that stick out to me the most were the little moments of connection. Because connection really does foster healing. The whole reason therapy works at its core is because of connection. And while it is going to take a long time to heal, if we lean into the discomfort, if we face the fear and pain, and hold onto each other while we do it, we really can come out stronger and more beautiful on the other side.

If you find yourself struggling, you are not alone. These last two years, and the years to come, have not been hard because we are weak, they have been hard because they were HARD. I encourage you to reach out. You don’t have to do it alone anymore. Find a friend, find a professional, whoever you need, and let’s keep healing.

My son turned 4 today. In some ways it seems like he was just born yesterday and in some ways it seems he has always been a part of my life, a part of me.

I think my favorite thing about him turning 4, other than I’ve heard 4 is infinitely better than threenager, is just how much he LOVED everything that happened. He loved every single person that came to his party. He was EXCITED about every present he opened, even the clothes. He played and grinned and giggled and laughed and said thank you a thousand times. I put up blue christmas lights, his favorite color, and he ran to them and showed them to his Granny.

He. Was. SO. Excited. Everything filled him with awe! And that filled my heart with joy.

And then I wondered….. when did that stop for me? When did everything stop being the BEST THING EVER and become work and movement and longing for the next break.

One of my favorite shows as a kid was Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood. I still vividly remember the episode where they toured the crayon factory. I was mesmerized! Mr. Rogers continues to be a source of wisdom and light for me and one of his quotes recently stopped me in my tracks.

“Remember that you were a child once, too.”

-Fred Rogers

I struggle with patience, it’s no secret. It’s partly because my brain is always going 90 to nothing and thinking about 200 things. I am always needing to do something, be somewhere or figure something out. And if I’m not doing those things then I want to be asleep. So, I struggle when K needs to tell me a story and keeps repeating himself, or won’t buckle his car seat until he’s finished, but definitely WONT let me buckle it while he talks. I struggle to stay present while we are playing pretend, my brain wanders to what I need to cook for dinner, or the thing I need to do at work. I have tried to be very intentional with being present, but it is something I have to consciously do. I have to will myself to be interested every time K points out a school bus while we are driving. And he finds them all!

Why has so much changed since I was a kid? What has been lost? What has been gained? When did passing school busses on the way home lose all it’s magic?

To be honest, I’m a little jealous of my son. I don’t remember the last time I felt that much joy in one day that wasn’t experienced through watching him. Worry and anxiety can take root so easily. Thinking ahead, not being present in the moment.

I think this must be what Jesus means when he talks about the faith of a child. K is most often present in the moment. Unless he has been promised a popsicle and is waiting on it, he is thinking about what is happening in the moment. It’s why some moments are SO BIG. It’s what he has. It’s all consuming.

And he fully trusts. I know not all kids have the safety and security K has. And I really know I am not perfect. But I am sure that K is well loved and secure. He literally doesn’t have to worry about a thing. We make sure he is fed, clothed, clean (mostly), comforted, taught, given experiences…. He is able to be fully present in the moment because he doesn’t have to worry about the next moment…..unless that next moment is supposed to have a popsicle in it.

Somewhere along the way, life teaches you that it really isn’t safe and we start worrying…. lose ability to be present, fully engaged in the beauty that God has set before us. We start to take back control from Him, the perfect parent, and worry about whether we will be taken care of, maybe even worry if we are loved.

Now, I know everyone’s story is different. For most, the world has not been safe in one way or another, or they have not been loved well. They don’t know they are loved. But for me, today, I know I am loved. I know it just as much as my son knows it. I may not know fully how secure the future is, especially given the war currently waging, but I know the author of security is in control.

And here’s the paradox: My ability to be present in each moment, is to also have my sights set on the future. My ability to have childlike joy, bouncy houses and cupcakes joy, is to focus on the future. But not the future of this world, there is no guarantee there. Eternal future. Heaven. This world is not our home and when I forget to have eternal focus, and focus only on my temporary home, anxiety slips in and joy dissipates.

I need to look to my Father God the way K looks to me, trust He is in control even when I don’t like what He’s doing. When my focus is on Him, joy seems to slip back in. I was once a child too, and in all the best ways, I still am. I’m a child of God.

And, so are you.

I love a good Christmas Hallmark movie.

Alright, term “good” used loosely. I will freely admit most of them are not cinematic masterpieces. There are rarely plot twists and you know exactly how it’s going to end. But that ending is ALWAYS happy and I love it. Sometimes you need some happy predictability in your life. Especially if you are a mental health clinician, medical worker, teacher, parent or human alive during 2020/1.

I love that the small town dog walker who is full of Christmas joy, lives in a cute cottage decked out in decorations but is afraid to pursue their real dreams of opening a doggy day care/coffee shop, is almost run over by the big city corporate guy who is only focused on money and had some tragedy around Christmas as a child and is coming back to his hometown to negotiate the sell of the building the dog walker wants for her dream. And they are forced to work together and end up falling in love by Christmas but neither one will admit it until they have talked to their charming and supportive best friend and the guy ends up cancelling his flight home and buying the property for the girl and they live happily ever after. Cue music and pan out while they kiss.

(If this ends up on hallmark next year, I want credit or a walk on part or something.)

That scenario would NEVER happen in real life. For one, a dog walker can’t afford a cottage and all those decorations. And two, people over think things way too much to actually change their whole world that quickly. And love is a choice not just a feeling….

But none of that matters because I turn off my therapist brain when I watch hallmark and just enjoy unexpected love win. It shouldn’t be so surprising or odd, but there is a comfort in my soul when love is unexpected, not obvious (like the plot line) and it works.

It’s because those are the easiest place for me to see God. Hear me out, I didn’t just equate God with Hallmark.

“Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. 8Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. 9This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son ^[2] into the world that we might live through him.” – 1 John 4:8-10

God IS Love. And God is for sure unexpected. The places in my life where I have seen God or felt love the clearest, has been very unexpected.

The cocky, angry drug addicted boy at Capstone who giggles and coos when you hand him a puppy. The drug addicted boy who stole from his grandma when he was high, but passionately defends the autistic resident in treatment. The stranger in Dollar Tree. My husband….

Y’all. Shawn and I couldn’t be more different on paper, and we are both well aware that if we had met at different phases in our life we wouldn’t have taken a second glance at each other. He’s spreadsheets and black and white. I’m feelings and all the grey. He’s orange and red and loud. I’m blue and green and quiet. He’s a yankee. I’m a Texan. Our religious backgrounds are on opposite ends of the spectrum. It really shouldn’t work between us, but it does. He’s my person and we were meant to find each other. He’s the love I didn’t know I needed, which is part of why it works so well.

Mia. The fluffy orange four-legged angel that God sent to me. I had no idea love could exist so strongly with a pet. I have always loved animals deeply. If I had a ranch, I’d rescue ALL the animals.

But, Mia was different. I was depressed and lost when I found her. She was doing flips in her cage at the humane society and I just knew she was mine. I wasn’t even committed to taking on a pet, depression told me it would be too much, until I saw her. I had all these plans of her not being in my bedroom because I am allergic, but about 2 days in she was sleeping on my chest or my head. She was spastic and silly and made me laugh constantly. She was cuddly and loving, greeted me every day at the door. She was connection and affection when I couldn’t find it anywhere else.

When I got Mia, I wasn’t on the best terms with God. I was mad at him, unsure about faith and what it really means… lost in every way you could be. And God saw me, and He came to me in a way I could handle, in a way that was safe in my brokenness…. God showed up in my life as a fluffy, silly, cuddly, demanding, protective, loyal orange cat.

She refused to leave my side when I had surgery. She would sit on the bathtub and drink my bath water. She was with me the first Christmas I was alone. She grew with me from apartment, to house, to bigger house. From singleness to married to mom. She laid behind me in bed with her paw on my shoulder all night after a particularly stupid and painful breakup. She always came when I needed her most. She just knew.

I told God that He could never take Mia or my mom from me or we were all going to have to go together. And I thought we had a deal…. until she passed away back in May. I slept in the floor with her the last night and she very slowly made her way to me and snuggled in the crook between my stomach and my knees- exactly where she slept as a kitten. I let her in the yard the next day and later went to check on her. She was convulsing on the back deck. Where most cats disappear to die by themselves, my baby crawled her way back to me. I held her while she passed. I watched the life leave her eyes.

In the throes of grief (which is just the painful part of love) over the next week, I asked God why he would take her already. The response simply being: You will be ok. Look at all the places you see Me. Look how easy it is to find Me now. I am safe for you now. It’s ok to let her go.

Unexpected love really is the most powerful. Because it can only come from an almighty Creator who loves intentionally, fully, perfectly. In love that doesn’t make sense, God is more clearly seen as the author, the embodiment, of love.

And isn’t that how perfect love came to be? Unexpectedly in a manger, surrounded by the animals, the feces, the poor. God (love) comes unexpectedly, and it didn’t change even for his son. A poor carpenter’s son from the poorest town, birthed to a virgin in a stable.

A humble man sacrificed brutally for all to see.

Love shouldn’t look like torture, blood, nails, screams of pain and death.

But, It did. In the most unexpected and most powerful of ways. Love at it’s most pure, seems to always be unexpected. From a cat to a cross, love transforms the basic to a miracle.

I love when God confirms something. I was already working on this blog piece, and last Sunday in church, our youth pastor, Ben, was preaching on a kind of similar topic. And in talking about some of the unexpected ways God can work, he said God is telling us, “This is what you expect, but this is who I Am.”

When we put parameters on God, we miss Him. He shows up most powerfully in the unexpected places. He shows up in the expected places too, because He is everywhere. But, the fullness of His power, glory and love show up where you least expect them. Keep your eyes, and hearts open.

Merry Christimas!