"I can't." I sat in my office one morning a few weeks ago and sobbed as my daughter rubbed my back. "I just can't."
Only one of the vehicles needed for our family of 4 adults and 2 kids was in working order. The washing machine quit. The drywall crew working on our 5-months-behind-schedule home addition had delivered more bad news.
"I just can't." I sobbed.
"You don't have to do a thing," my daughter reassured me.
Which was good. Because really and truly, I couldn't. Twelve months of pandemic life combined with 12 months of the addition construction encroaching further into our limited living space had reduced me to a blithering puddle of snot and tears.
"Are you feeling better?" my daughter asked an hour or so after my breakdown.
"No," I said, "and I may never feel better again."
"That's okay," she replied. "You don't have to."
It took me the better part of the morning to regain my equilibrium and the better part the day before I could reflect on the despair that had engulfed me. The last time I had felt so hopeless, I realized, had been almost 39 years ago when our son had been 2 months old. Though the circumstances were completely different and separated by almost four decades, the reasons for my despair were the same: uncertainty and lack of control.
Thirty-nine years ago, my 2-month-old son and I were being flown to a hospital over 700 miles by Life Flight. He needed life-saving surgery to correct complications caused by the life-saving surgery he'd had at birth. Tears streamed down my face as I peppered the doctor on board with questions. "Why did this happen? How will they fix it? What more could go wrong?"
She looked at me with tired eyes, her face drawn. "I don't know."
I lived in powerless limbo until the plane landed and an ambulance took us to the hospital. My baby was whisked off to surgery, and a nurse encouraged me to pump and save my breast milk.
Finally, the medical professionals were doing something for my boy. Finally, I could do something for him, too.
Finally, my tears abated but I was ashamed of the way I'd acted. Surely, God was angry with me for my lack of prayer. My lack of faith.
Photo credit: Christopher Catbagan on Unsplash.com
To a certain point, my trajectory a few weeks ago followed the same path. My mind swirled with questions no one could answer: Why is this delay happening? When can they work again? What else could go wrong?
I was in that powerless state of limbo until the construction crew came up with a way to circumvent the problem. My husband explained the new timeline. My tears subsided. I couldn't pray, but I craved the sound of God's voice. I took out the Bible study I'm working on and read these verses.
But God's firm foundation stands, bearing this seal: "The Lord knows those who are His..." (2 Timothy 2:19 NAS)
and
"Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28 NAS)
and
"I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued My faithfulness to you.
Thirty-nine years ago as the young mom of a gravely ill son, I felt like my reaction to the uncertainty and lack of control of our circumstances was sinful. Deserving of great guilt and shame. Utterly and unforgivably wrong.
Now, in circumstances far less dire and therefore far more prone to guilt and conviction, I felt neither.
Instead, I felt known by God.
I felt Him lift my burden.
I felt seen by the faithful One.
I felt human, and I felt loved by the God of the universe.
I felt grateful for a daughter.
She showed the same love God demonstrates to you and me and all His children. She rubbed my back. She asked good questions. She listened to my answers and gave me time and space to process my feelings.
If uncertainty and lack of control—whether as a caregiver or for a completely different reason—are sending you reeling, sit for a minute. Take some deep breaths and ask yourself this question.
"Are you feeling better?"
If your answer is "No, and I may never feel better again," please know that's okay.
Please know that you don't have to feel better. It's okay to feel the way you're feeling.
Please know that God's love for you doesn't depend on how you feel.
Please know that He knows you.
He carries your burden. He loves you. He, the God who controls the universe with a firm and omnipotent hand, loves you with an everlasting and certain love.
Jolene Philo is the author of the Different Dream series for parents of kids with special needs. She speaks at parenting and special needs conferences around the country. She's also the creator and host of the Different Dream website. Sharing Love Abundantly With Special Needs Families: The 5 Love Languages® for Parents Raising Children with Disabilities, which she co-authored with Dr. Gary Chapman, was released in August of 2019 and is available at local bookstores, their bookstore website, and at Amazon.
