When I cannot smooth the bumps: MY LETTING GO STORY

I stared through the windshield into the darkness as I began to relay my story. As I spoke, I could feel a familiar knot return to my stomach. I took a deep breath and swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. This is not the time for tears. I told myself. I'm not ready to feel this, yet. But as I continued sharing the details of what had occurred, I could not keep my mind from slipping back to the moment. I had been dreading it for years. And as I continued I could almost hear the words my daughter had spoken to me. The words I had always expected to hear yet prayed never would...

Libby and I

There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. And the words were barely out of her mouth before they had pierced my heart. "I don't want to go. They will think I'm weird!" Fighting back tears of my own I knelt beside her. "All of the kids will think you're great! Don't worry.", was all I could manage to say. Of course, I knew this was a lie. Not all of the children would be kind. Most would certainly at least think she looked different. Some would, no doubt, ask her questions about why her skin looked the way it did. A few might even grimace or recoil...

You see, people have been "noticing" Libby for sometime now. For the first couple of years her eczema was mostly on her lower half, sparing her most of this attention. However, about a year and a half ago it began to travel to her face. She had a severe allergic reaction that caused her moderate eczema to become severe-almost overnight. As a result, she lost the hair around her face and ears and was left with no eyebrows. Her eyes would often swell, almost shut. And she would suffer from recurrent severe chapped lips that made smiling and even talking difficult. It was about this time that I noticed people begin to stare. I remember being incredibly surprised at how bold people were. Most didn't even try to hide it-some even running into closed doors gawking. It broke my heart but I found solace in the fact that she didn't appear to notice. So, in that moment, when I realized she now knew she was different-I could no longer hide behind her obliviousness and I felt the full force of those stares.   

In the days that followed, each time I remembered her worrying what others would think of her-a new fear would surface. Would she stop being the spunky, outgoing person she had become? Would she be hurt deeply and now scarred emotionally? Would she shy away from making friends and become desperately lonely? But, mostly, I was just afraid she would be hurt. And, I worry it will hurt her forever. I worry it will crush her spirit. Her question pierces the deepest part of me because it speaks to a much greater fear. The fear that she will hurt and, though I am desperate to, I won't be able to protect her. In my head, I know I will not be able to stop her from being hurt anymore than we've been able to stop her own immune system from wreaking havoc on her body. And yet, I try so hard. I just don't want her to suffer anymore. Because, deep down I want her to be happy.

But then, maybe "happy" doesn't build character. And maybe protecting her shouldn't be my only concern. Maybe part of my job, as her mom, should be about helping her grow into the woman God has called her to be. Maybe it should be about helping her to learn how to handle these hardships and not allow them to harden her. But instead cause her to be compassionate and attentive to others. Maybe she doesn't need me to clear the road of every bump but instead help her to get back up when she falls. Of course, my job must also be about holding her when she's sad. And letting her know it's OK to be hurt. But maybe I can also be there to help her see that good can come from the bad.  

Of course, this won't be easy. In order for me to do this I will have to be strong. I mean, really strong. I'm going to need the kind of strength that comes only from being rooted and growing in Christ. I'm going to have to be able to see past her pain and circumstances to see the treasure underneath. And I'm going to have to be reminded that there is reason to have hope. That God can take even our most horrible moments and use them for good. And that even in our hurt-there's hope. True hope. The hope that comes from the love and mercy of God.

You have searched me, Lord,
and you know me.

You know when I sit and when I rise,
you perceive my thoughts from afar.

You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all of my ways.

Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord,
know it completely.

You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

And my favorite part of this Psalm:

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be. 

Psalm 139:1-6 & 13-16

Loving and praying for you all, today!