“Just one more! Lift that bar high above your head. I know it’s heavy, but do it one more time!”
“Are you kidding me?” I thought to myself. I didn’t think I had it in me. I legitimately thought that if I tried to lift that nine pound bar over my head, that it would slip out of my hands and knock me right out. This was easily the hardest workout I had ever endured in my almost 30 years of life, and I felt like I was at my max. I looked up from the floor, not sure where my motivation was going to come from to finish. Everyone else had the same look on their faces. I dropped my eyes to my shoes, feeling defeated. That was until I heard, a still, strong voice say “Look up, sweet girl.”
___________________________________________________________________________
I wasn’t like other kids, at least, that’s the conclusion I came to. Instead of sports after school, going to friends houses, or taking part in some club, I went home to a quiet house. I did my homework, made a batch of ramen for dinner, and wondered when somebody would be home. I’d often fall asleep with the TV on, or reading a book, dreaming of a life that wasn’t mine. The next day at school, I’d hear of the athlete who got another goal during one of their soccer games, or their solo during a band concert. They talked of how the crowd would applaud, how they’d look out and see their parent’s beaming faces. It wasn’t necessarily the activities I felt like I had missed out on, it was the parental involvement, the fact that these kids were doing something that captivated their mom and dad. They had parents who showed up.
My parents divorced before I was even in Kindergarten. My childhood was riddled with a drawn out custody battle, back and forth trips between my dad and my mom, and a whole heck of a lot of uncertainty. I spent the school year with one and the summer time with the other in a different part of the state. I had two Christmas’, and it was always a battle where I was going to be for any of the big holidays. I had friends in both places, but having any sort of steady, healthy hobbies or activities was nearly impossible. I had tried soccer for a season in Elementary school, but I missed practices all the time. I missed my first game, and the second game I caught a ride to with a friend, and nobody showed up to watch me play. I kept scanning the sidelines, hoping I’d have a familiar face out there cheering me on. I was a broken hearted 5th grader, and I quit. It was easier to stick to the routine that didn’t involve having to make it anywhere on time or any kind of parent participation. It was easier to avoid being disappointed.
__________________________________________________________________________
When I sat down in the counseling room with my prayer minister, and we started in on another Holy Spirit led session, our conversation turned to a vision of me as a child, part of the group of children but separate. I thought back on all the times, even as an adult where I FELT that separation, deep in my bones. We dove in to prayer and asked God to reveal what decisions I made that came as a result of this particular aspect of my childhood. He revealed very deep roots of loneliness and uncertainty. Among those feelings, He showed me that I had held on to the thought that “this is all there is ever going to be for me”, “I’m not like the others”, and finally “nobody is going to show up for me.”
These decisions weren’t even the most surprising part. The part that shook me up the most was the realization that these decisions and bitterroot judgements were ones that I carried in to every aspect of my life. I came to EXPECT these feelings and experiences to be present in my marriage, motherhood, my relationships with my family and friends, my job, my livelihood. The enemy sunk his claws DEEP in to those childhood decisions, and continued to hold them over my head. They roamed around my life, just waiting for the opportunity to operate, and boy- did I LET them. Those decisions showed up in the form of arguments with my husband that didn’t make sense, failed business attempts and hobby jumping because I didn’t feel like I “fit”, isolation from my friends and in-laws because I just felt like I wasn’t like them, that there wasn’t anything about me that they would like. Most of all, I let the enemy run away with my joy.
On the surface, I was mad at my parents. I was mad they divorced when I was so young. I was mad that my dad lived in another part of the state and had a new family. I was mad that my mom worked a job that kept her at work long hours of the day, that she didn’t have the time or energy to show up for me. I was mad that I wasn’t encouraged to do much outside of a daily routine that an adult would have taken on. I was mad that I wasn’t given the space to be a kid. I was mad that I felt so alone in a world that was buzzing with people.
It took until I was in the counseling room with my prayer minister to realize that I didn’t just have a fear that my parents weren’t going to show up, but I had a deep rooted fear that GOD wasn’t going to show up. When we asked the Holy Spirit to guide us through praying for the heart of the child in me, for the child I was, it felt like I was finally given permission to see the circumstances for what they were, and to grieve what I missed out on. The truth was, I HAD missed out on a lot as a kid, opportunities weren’t presented to me the same way that they had been to other kids. My parents didn’t always show up, in so many ways. The end of the session concluded that God wanted me to feel the weight of it, He wanted me to grieve the childhood that I lost out on. He wanted me to feel those things, because He wanted to redeem it. I left the counseling room, feeling sober but hopeful.
___________________________________________________________________________
It wasn’t until I was in that gym a week later, sweat pouring, looking at my feet in defeat that I started to feel that redemption. I had recently started working out, partially to get back into shape after being pregnant, but mostly because I needed something in my life that I felt like I was doing for myself, to feel like I was accomplishing something.
So when I heard that still, strong voice say “Look up, sweet girl”, I looked up, and there He stood before me, cheering me on from the sidelines. And you know what? That’s all it took for me to raise that bar over my head just one more time.
Jesus showed up.
Comments