Breaking the Silence

I prefer talking over silence. Considering I have 5 kids who speak volumes, maybe that’s surprising. It’s not that I don’t like a needed peace. Who am I kidding? I long for it almost daily. But if you had a glimpse into my every day, you would probably find me with an Air Pod in one ear while I’m working. Or maybe see me jamming to a good tune in the car, simply because it can be soul soothing. My fan buzzes before I hit the sheets, because, well, for some reason it helps me find sleep. Maybe you would catch me saying, “I love you” to my husband 3 times each night. Because once we are silent, I know there will be no words exchanged until morning. And I want him to know, need him to understand, that even though I don’t show him perfectly- he is a good man…one worth loving. Silence, on the other hand, can make me uncomfortable. It can be lonely and terrifying. There have been seasons where its billows have drowned me unapologetically, leaving me gasping for more than feelings of unworthy. Its winds have wrapped around my joy, choking me with past regrets, present mistakes, and promises of future inadequacies. I guess there’s a reason they say it’s deafening.

Over the past months, the quiet has often accused me. Told me that for someone who longs for transparency, I have mostly shut myself up like a dam, afraid to be seen. And it wouldn’t be wrong. I haven’t been able to find adequate words to describe all that’s been stored in me. At the same time, the words have been so innumerable, that to breathe them out has been intimidating. Even when my beliefs, fears, and all that I hold dear has gushed out to a confidant, I have heard it rush out like a river raging. Sometimes it has left me feeling like too much. And no one likes feeling like they are too much of a thing. Quiet has often seemed like the easiest remedy.

But I have missed writing. Missed forming words from nothing. Missed gathering post-it notes scribbled with thoughts I knew were fleeting. I’ve ached for words to string themselves together in the car, before church begins, or as my children speak. I think it’s because something in me understands that when I send my thoughts to ink, something grows in me. And I miss that feeling.

But this morning, I find myself staring at the laptop pillow my sisters gifted for my birthday this past spring. The birthday I couldn’t stop crying. Not because I turned the dreaded 30, but because at the time, life had been so overwhelming, that every time someone showed me love, my emotions dropped unexpectedly. I pick up the pillow, and set it neatly over my lap, realizing it’s never been used. It sends a tear down my cheek. It’s peaceful in this moment-this kind of silence is not overbearing. I grab the laptop. I smile. I type. And I breathe.

My three-year-old colors at my feet. She is using fresh markers. The crisp hues are exciting. It’s a chance to shade vibrancy into what was once lacking. She looks up at me large. She has the biggest eyes. They speak to me. She is waiting to be told her picture of Cinderella is praiseworthy. That she is praiseworthy. I nod at her, tell her orange is pretty. She is confident in her choice. And she squiggles away. We all just want to be told we are doing the right thing. That we are ok. That we are doing what is good and praiseworthy. I want this child of mine to grow up strong and assured in who God has made her to be. For my children I can do this. For their future trials and achings. I can do this…I can bring authenticity.

I open my prayer journal and glance through past petitions I have released. My eyes trace over the words I gave to God when we were at the peak of our struggling. There are verses of yearning and praise I had written when we were by the ocean as a couple, trying to find refreshment and peace. I close my eyes-trying to recall the crash of waves kissing sand at dawn’s break. But I can’t fully evoke a sound so great. I just remember that life had slowed. And as the horizon stared back at me on those precious mornings, the gospel had felt simple in the most wonderful of ways. For just a sliver in time, God’s handiwork singing through the sun, wind, and sea seemed to overpower so much questioning. And I had never wanted to leave.

I allow myself to remember those months. Back when my husband had a breakdown and I followed suit. When I thought I was holding life together, but the reality was, my emotions were simply bulging at the seams, waiting to escape. Back when I felt alone, as if my faith was being taken from me. My finger lingers over tear-stained pages-breaths of prayer, that were then so very weak.

…“The burden is heavy, the unknowns are great. The sorrows bend me Lord, and I don’t know how much more I can take.”

… “Be with Erik, Lord…”

… “Father in heaven, give me grace to fight against worse case scenarios. To protect myself with Thy faithfulness instead of projecting fear onto today.”

…“You are a Father to the fatherless, a Provider for the weak. This is the heart of the gospel. It means You care that the church protects Your sheep…”

… “Dear God in heaven, I lift my soul to Thee, knowing You can provide. You are a God of truth, justice, and safety. I am scared Lord…yet here we are, so I must trust these are mountains You will move.”

… “You are not a do-nothing God. I had reminded Erik of that, Lord. And today, when he preached, he knew I needed that reminder too.”

…“Help us to live what we preach…”

…“We judge so quickly Lord. Instead of drawing unity from what makes us unique, we tend to back away from what doesn’t fit into the boxes that we make.”

…“Give clarity and healing…”

…“I just want to be done with so many things…”

And then the prayers stopped for a time. Because where silence can be refreshing, it can also be stifling. Can be either a prison or a sanctuary…all depending on the voices you are hearing behind its scenes. And as the struggles of our breakdown continued, my self-condemnation increased. It seemed as if everything that made me rare and worthy wasn’t ok to be…and it was crushing. I fell into old habits of thinking that I never imagined would again find me to so high a degree. The silence…it was slowly suffocating me. Even when I worked up the courage to share some of my feelings, I didn’t dare trust advice from those around me. It was scary and made me feel weak. They may not have understood “my way” of coping, but it at least made sense to me. And in my pride, I wanted to run away from anything that might make things worse or give others occasion to judge me. It took months of hearing truth from others and using different means for pieces of my fragile heart to hold more securely.

I realize that just as our breakdown came over months and years, while we were least expecting, so those days have changed me unexpectedly. In some ways, it’s scary, because as the saying goes, change isn’t easy. But in many ways, I have found it invigorating. Because for the first time in a long time, the miracle of the gospel has struck me anew. And when the love story that Jesus came to save the nothingness of me plays like a melody I’ve never heard before, it can sing on repeat. It never gets old hearing, “You’re worth everything. Not because of your wealth or belongings. Not because of the church you attend, as if its name alone can make you worth something. You don’t mean something to Me based on your works and failings. No, your worth is found in the wounds of the cross…that is your healing…that makes you worth everything.”

In some ways it has been a bleak midwinter, but as we tread through, sunshine has also peaked through the snow. Where the winter of our souls has come and gone, it can still get chilly. When the winds blow, it reminds us of our frailty. Healing from mental burnout, like anything, I’m understanding, is a continual thing. This past year has taken many twists and turns. We have seen God rain down His promises through different people, decisions, and means. We have learned in a very personal way that mental health matters, and that we aren’t too strong to break. God’s tender hands have uprooted us in different ways, planting us in deeper soil than before. Where we fell apart is simply where He cultivated us, and a new beginning began to grow.

My Ally girl pages through coloring books. It’s simple right now to be who she is called to be. I hope as my children grow, the gospel burrows deeper and deeper into their souls. That they will hold fast to the things I didn’t hold onto right early.

My dear son and daughters, there are so many things I pray over you. The list is unending, but I’ll just start-

-I pray you will learn from the winter wanderings we attempted to cross openly. That you will remember when you don’t feel ok, that that’s ok. You’ll forget because you’re human, but that frailty is exactly where God showcases His mercy. Sometimes, it just takes breaking to once again know. -I pray you don’t hide in the silence, thinking you are too dark for God to love unconditionally. We fool ourselves into thinking we are “too much” to be called worthy. He doesn’t want you to dwell alone in the questions and doubts. It’s too lonely a place to be. He gives friends as a tool to walk through life’s journey. It’s a necessity. It serves as a reminder He’s with you. Jesus knew what companionship was all about. He needed it too… but He even gave that up to pay for friendship with you.

-Emotions aren't a bad thing. The Bible is covered with emotion from start to finish. Pour them out for God's glory.

-Me time? A lot of people don’t like that phrase. But without times of “aloneness” when shopping, running, or going out for coffee with a friend, I don’t know if I would have survived the journey. They helped reorientate me. Remember Jesus went alone to the mountain to pray.

-I pray you find joy in what makes you unique. There isn’t a cookie cutter way for the Christian life. It might not always feel comfortable, but just because one person walks “this way”, doesn’t mean that with guided prayer, you can’t walk “that.”

-I pray you use your opinions for God’s glory. This is something I am still learning. The voice you herald for Jesus matters too much to go unseen. Whether man or woman, if God bought you with blood, you hold the office of believer, and that is a prize. Son-I pray you speak up for your Savior. That you wear the gospel on your sleeve. That someday you nurture and love your wife in such a way that she sees Jesus in you. That she knows her voice matters to God, so it matters to you. And dear daughters, I pray you aren’t afraid to speak up for what’s true. I pray you find men who flourish you as descendants of the King. Really, I pray you marry someone like your father. You are worth nothing less.

-I pray you come to appreciate God uses different tools. There are the more obvious ones like friends, family, the Bible, prayer, the preaching, and church. But things such as Christian liberty, medication, and professional counseling can also be used in His gardening too. I think perhaps, there are times we can come off as judgmental of these things. We forget how intricately God has formed us both mind and body. I have been there before- the one judging silently. And all the while, there probably have been brothers and sisters benefiting from tools I just didn’t appreciate. Maybe they hid what has helped them for fear it would bring shame. Sadly, it has taken walking with others and traveling our own wanderings to shape our thinking. You have seen us talk openly about our personal use of these different means. I pray that aids you in your coming days.

-Not everyone will agree with what you think. But I pray you rest in God’s opinion of you. His opinion is lasting. Jesus wasn’t understood either. And that is strangely comforting for me.

-May you be kept from self-condemning. As a counselor told me, “You already have an accuser. You don’t need to add to his railings.”

-May God give you grace to know that it’s ok to struggle. To have seasons where prayer is tiring. Where perhaps all you can do is read a devotional others might label as “fluff.” I had one of those books bring light on some of my loneliest days. I knew as I read it, I wouldn’t agree with every point. But from the first time it opened, I read between the lines, “It’s ok to not be ok…you’re going to be ok.” I had felt God’s Spirit comforting me.

-I pray you know how to set boundaries. That you know how to set aside time for family. We have learned slow. May you learn more quickly.

-I pray that you remember God is good at being God. I forget it often. But no one does it like Him.

- May you take time to dance on sorrow, but never lose sight that light always comes in the morning.

-I pray you don’t identity yourself by your success or mistakes. By your church or affiliations. That you remember that God saves from all peoples and denominations, not just those “most like you.” That you find that humbling. It took time for me understand in this season of change, and God knows I’m prone to forget. But I now identify slightly different than before. It is simple- I am a Christian…not my own, but Christ in me. Pegging myself there alone has been liberating.

-My dear children, I pray as you walk through the dark silences, that you hear God’s voice break through above Satan’s. I hope His voice assures you of who you are. You are just a speck my wee ones. Just a dot in His sky. But the wondrous thing? You are one He broke through night to rescue. Let that speak to you. Amaze you through and through. Let it be the light that breaks through the terrifying silences to give you peace. Let the song you repeat be,“Jesus came to save me.”