Pain in the Offering

The floor was dirty. Not because we were a slovenly or unkempt family but because life had been busy, too busy. I can see the teal blue linoleum flooring with clarity, the crumbs from breakfast toast, the remnants of a week of foot traffic. As I began to fall toward the blue, collapsing in grief, all I could think of was that the floor was too damn dirty. I needed to clean the floor, like no one has ever needed to clean a floor before.  As I scrubbed, tears fell and grief settled like a cement ball, rolled tightly with anger and outrage, in my chest. I remember being pulled off the floor by a friend and dragged outside to fresh air, to the reality of my grief and stress. Away from the manic cleaning that would not remove the stains on my heart.

I was 19. I was home from college for the summer and I had been tasked with watching two of my little sisters while my parents attended my step-grandfather’s funeral in Minnesota. They were gone for two weeks.  I worked two jobs and tried to be a good “mom” to my sisters. One sister was 5 years old and the other was 13. Neither accepted my authority and the 13 year old decided that running away was the best option.  A week before my parents were due to arrive back at the house, my grandmother suffered a severe stroke. My Grammy, the light of my life to that point, was never going to be the same again. Between two jobs and two sisters (one MIA), I had to run to the hospital and then the rehab center to help my precious grandmother. She would cry big salty tears as she knew a part of her had died with the stroke. Her independence was gone and I was the only person around to ease her pain. My cousins, both grown adults with children of their own couldn’t muster more than one visit, yet here I was, a 19 year old with too much responsibility, consulting with doctors about her care.

I think a little part of my being broke off like a shard of fine crystal and settled nicely in the recesses of my psyche during this time. That 19 year old college student who was just dipping a tentative toe into the waters of adulthood was suddenly immersed in icy cold uncertainty. I wanted to take care of my sisters, I had to work to make money for school, I longed to rescue my grandmother and I desperately needed to be taken care of.  As I looked around at the reality of my life, I saw that this wasn’t the first time I had been forced to be an adult before I had the emotional ability to accept the role. This had been a pattern that lay over my life and experiences like a heavy quilt.

My parents arrived home. An hour earlier, so did my 13 year old sister.  My mother took over care and planning for my grandmother. I went to work. I made it through the summer. Back at school, a different person took my place, someone more skeptical, more expectant of bad things to happen. The child was gone and the stage had been set for my adult choices and outlook.  That year, I embraced Christianity with the fervor of the Inquisition, like a scream trapped in my throat. I thought maybe the “rules” of religion could set up a house of stone that couldn’t be knocked down in a storm. I would make choices, do the “right” thing and push every thought through a religious sifter in my mind.

The problem here was that I thought the chaos of my childhood, the pain and grief, had been caused by poor choices and a lack of faith in God. I guess to some extent pain is caused by such things. However, I see now – nearly 13 years later – that good choices and faith do not equal the ability to avoid tragedy and pain.

Recently, I have experienced another set of circumstances that have drawn me to my knees, down onto the dirty kitchen floor. This time the floor is my own, not my parents. This time, I am an adult and I am expected to cope with the darkness and despair in adult ways. I have two little boys who depend on me to get their juice, tie their shoes and comb their hair, even when the sky is falling around me. I want to be the child, comforted by a loving parent. I want to give that 19 year old girl a hug and tell her that it is going to be okay, she will learn to cope with the grief of a childhood ended abruptly. I want to share with her that the religion she embraced would someday be replaced for a relationship with Jesus that would allow her great freedom.

God has walked me and my precious family straight into the desert this year. Where we once experienced fellowship, there is silence. Where there once was abundance, there is now scarcity. Hope is only in things eternal because the things around us have fallen completely apart or away. Yet He, the one who leads us, did not take us here without words.

So we are not giving up, how could we? Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside where God is making new life, not a day goes by without His unfolding grace. These hard times are small compared to the coming good times and lavish celebration prepared before us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today and gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see will last forever.

-          2 Corinthians 4:16-18

My hardwood kitchen floor is dirty with playground sand, goldfish cracker crumbs and drops of milk spilled from sippy cups. My burden is heavy right now, but unlike the 19 year old who crumbled under the grief – this adult is taking steps to mop the floor and prepare her heart for the lavish celebration God has promised.

Related posts:

1. Back in the summer of 94′