Lord, Grant Me the Grace

I had a rough night the other night.

The lies of satan, the thief of joy, were loud and proud and felt like they swallowed me whole out of nowhere during a regular early-morning baby feeding.

It pains me to admit that I despaired. I totally gave into satan’s lies about almost everything. And truthfully, I’m not sure what brought this on. We had a very productive and fun Friday — both Rick and I got some work done and then we spent the evening at my sister-in-law’s having dinner and playing games with the kids. Because we lived with them for a brief stint last year, it felt like we were home. It was a good day. So the total storm that hit later on that night was a complete surprise and knocked me off my feet.

I believed his lies about who I am, what the Lord is charging me to do in my vocation as a wife and mother, what gifts the Lord has given me, that I was undeserving of the gift of my husband and the gift of my daughter. I believed the loud declarations in my head that I wasn’t doing enough and I wasn’t enough for my family. I believed that any mental health issues I have defines who I am and should’ve cautioned me against marriage and having children. I believed that I was ugly and useless.

The day after, I sat at my desk, preparing for confession because we had planned to go later that day. One of the questions my examination asked me was if I had despaired of God’s mercy (thinking I am beyond the healing mercy of God). My heart sank in sadness because last night was definitely that.

It could’ve been a combination of things but I know that I’ve struggled with this plenty of times in the past. I have deep mental health issues that are stories for later days but last night was heavy on mental health. And a constant war that I fight is this one: believing I am beyond God’s mercy.

Yes, I know intellectually that I am not beyond God’s mercy. But something that I’m learning about my mental health issues is sometimes (ok, most of the time) feeling overwhelms intellect. I can know something but my feelings are just so large and heavy that it’s difficult to move past them. Before marriage and having a family of my own, mental illness was a cross that seemingly only impacted me. Yes, it was difficult and all-consuming at times but at least back then, it was just me. I could crawl into the dark hole I’d create in my room and weather the storms. However, in marriage, in motherhood, I cannot do that. Well, I can, but that would make my marriage crumble and I’d be neglecting my child. So recently, when these moments of despair hit, I’ve noticed the way that it effects my husband and my daughter…and it pierces my heart. It brings on great sorrow to see how it effects them. Lately, I’ve been going to the Lord, quite honestly, and asking him to take this cup away from me. The bitterness being too much.

Truthfully? I don’t want this cross anymore. It effects my family too much. It effects my ability to be a wife and a mother. And that’s what I told the Lord after the waves hit and I was just floating in the consequences of my words and actions early that morning. I don’t want this particular cross anymore.

But I don’t get to choose.

So what now?

As I read over and over again my examination, trying to dig deeper into whatever wound, whatever scar, whatever dark corner of my heart this despair was coming from, I asked the Holy Spirit, “What can I do?”

I don’t know if I’ll ever live a life without struggling mentally but I don’t want to settle for despair. I don’t want to continue to allow satan’s lies to win me over.

What can I do?

What prayer can I say?

Lord, grant me the grace.

It’s a simple prayer that I picked up from Cameron Fradd, someone who has her own slew of sufferings. The way she describes how she uses this prayer is so small, so brief, so light, but so powerful. I don’t know what is to come about in my life, what healing, what crosses. I can only hang onto the Lord and take everything moment by moment.

So that’s what I’ll do.

His love is so deep, so fierce, so powerful. It hurts me to think I am often blinded to how vast his love is for me. I don’t want to doubt his healing. I don’t want to doubt his love. Maybe for the rest of my life, I might struggle with mental illness, but that’s on this side of Heaven. He loves me and knows me — he knows what can work toward my salvation, not me. While it may be momentarily bitter, the life to come is so so so sweet. I can hold onto that.

So in every moment moving forward, I want this to be held in my heart: Lord, grant me the grace.

Also, shoutout to my wonderful husband who has walked with me so graciously in my mental health journey. He is so patient with me, especially in my lowest moments, and so loving. I am so grateful for him! The Lord knows that his heart would love me so specifically well especially when I need it the most. Love you, Ricky Bob!

Jesus, Mary & Joseph,

pray for us!

Pax,

Delaine

Can I Accept That I Need Jesus?

My husband, Rick, and I recently welcomed our first little baby girl, Penelope Joy, into the world in October! I’ve been asked many times how I’m doing and while there is certainly truth to when I smile and say, “Good! Tired but good.” there is still something hidden underneath all of that.

As good ole Delores Umbridge makes Harry Potter state, “I must not tell lies” — motherhood is hard. It’s harder than I expected. Things don’t come as naturally as I thought they would. I don’t feel joyful 24/7. In fact, with all the fluctuating hormones, catching mastitis a couple of times, and the sleep deprivation, I feel quite ugly a lot of the times.

Let me first backtrack: Our delivery story is one I’d like to eventually share here but it wasn’t exactly what we had planned. Rick and I “planned” (because you can only plan so much) to have our baby as naturally as possible. We knew that something could change and that would alter our plans and we were okay with that. Three and a half to four weeks before our due date, we were told by our doctor that we were on a good track to have an unmedicated, natural birth. I wasn’t dilated at all…so we went home thinking we had 3ish - 4ish more weeks to prepare for baby girl. Much to our surprise, 3 weeks and 1 day before our due date, we delivered little Penelope Joy via emergency c-section. Side note: Our medical team that early morn deserves big batches of Christmas cookies because they were awesome and sooooo helpful.

It was traumatic.

I wouldn’t trade it for the world because both Penelope and I are safe and healthy and I’d do it again if I had to.

Being cut open (sorry for the frankness), trying to nurse my newborn (if you’re a nursing momma, you know — ouch), experiencing different and intense levels of pain and/or discomfort every time I’d move or shift or even pick up my baby, “sleeping when the baby sleeps” is a cruel joke, and all the new mom anxieties was a lot to tack on in one go (or so it felt like). Rick and I hadn’t even finished planning his paternity leave (planning to leave for an extended period of time when you work in ministry is not easy). So over the weeks, Rick popped in and out of his office, which meant I was solo-parenting for a couple of hours here and there. Family wanted to come meet the new baby, which obviously, I would want to as well. But it was just a lot.

Behind the pain and discomfort and obvious lack of sleep, I was wrestling with myself: shame, guilt, embarrassment, confusion, anxiety, resentment, frustration, impatience.

Oh man, did I feel ugly.

I felt like the worst of the worst. I doubted every part of me. I asked God why he would trust me with a precious child. I questioned God why he would give me such a loving and servant husband. I cried to God why he wasn’t granting me more joy in caring and sacrificing for my child.

And for a few weeks there, I was okay with being this way. I was okay with being angry all the time. I was okay with sitting in the lies that I was a bad mom because Penelope crying was just an on-going confirmation that I was (in my head). I was okay with being jealous that my husband got to sleep a little bit more or that he got to get out of the apartment without thinking of pumping or a diaper bag. I was okay with staying in the ugly.

It wasn’t until I started to see more and more ads for Christmas decor or Christmas events or Christmas deals did I start to reflect on what I’d like to do with Penelope as she grows up during this season. I started to ask myself about Advent and what Advent traditions we could start in our family. And sure, I was asking myself that basic question, “What is the reason for the season?”

In my ugliness, I answered, “Jesus, duh.”

Excuse me while I scoff at my past self.

I knew I couldn’t allow myself to sit there in such a shallow answer. Of course the reason is Jesus! Of course it’s all about him! But how do I explain to my daughter the meat of it?

Why does Jesus come?

Because I need him.

I remember taking a step back, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and seeing the muck my heart was buried in. I took a look at all this build up. My last confession was about a week prior to delivering Penelope and here I was only weeks out of that with so much vileness around and in my heart. While yes, my hormones had a lot to do with it, and I can’t control that, the one thing I can control is the way that I react to my hormones fluctuating and feeling something but not reacting disorderedly. I didn’t and I don’t want to stay in such a state.

I asked myself a question, “Do I accept that I need Jesus?” Because I realized that if I don’t begin there, the reason for Advent and the reason for Christmas, the meat of the two seasons, would be lost on me.

I can’t be strong enough. I can’t be brave enough. I can’t be patient enough. I can’t be compassionate enough. I can’t be understanding enough. I can’t know enough. I can’t be happy enough. I can’t love enough.

Not without Jesus.

Heck, I’d argue that I can’t do any of those at all. Not on my own volition at least.

“I do, Jesus! I do!” I feel like my heart sang this.

I desperately need Jesus. I can’t change on my own. I can’t rise on my own. I can’t become holy on my own. I can’t parent on my own. I can’t love on my own.

But accepting that I need Jesus is a moment to moment prayer.

This is my prayer this Advent as we wait for precious, adorable Jesus. And he comes to us so perfectly — a humble, needy baby. The Lord of Lords, King of Kings comes to us as a humble and needy baby…because he knows. He knows that I desperately need him to pull me out of my ugliness. He knows that I desperately need him to show me how to love when it’s 4am and my baby is crying. He knows that I desperately need him to heal my heart from jealousy so I can be joyful and grateful for the ways my husband gets to enjoy life. He knows that I am lowly and that I need him.

But I have to accept that in every moment.

Can I humble myself to recognize how, like my newborn daughter, needy I am?

Lord Jesus, have mercy on me, a sinner.

This is where I’ll be for a while, I think. That’s okay. I’ll take this humble pie and roll with it because the Lord is greater than any of my sins and any amount of ugliness.

*Cue “Lord, I Need You” by Matt Maher.

May God bless you and keep you.

Jesus, Mary & Joseph, pray for us!

Pax,

Delaine