Don't Go It Alone: How Hiding our Hurts Opens us to Enemy Influence

I feel the threat of attacks rising as the sun tempts to rise over the horizon. Lies of the enemy just waiting to push buttons of temptation. Anything he can do to keep me from basking in the glory of the Son and reflecting that glory to the world around me. When you feel isolated, your reflection only goes so far. And when one person feels like they aren’t even reaching another, they ask what’s the point? We were made in the image of God – in the likeness of the trinity – with an innate need for fellowship. And when that need goes unmet, we easily distort our perceptions of reality into contortions similar to mirrors in the funny house. Nothing makes sense, we don’t know which way is up or which way to turn. Confused and exhausted, it’s easy to ask, what’s the point? And desire to give up completely.

But the truth is, we are never alone. Never. For one, He has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” He is here. Always. And not only is he here, but his arms are open wide and he invites us into his loving embrace. Not condemning. Not chiding. Simply loving, forgiving, encouraging us on this difficult journey.

Secondly, we are being watched – by someone. Constantly. Spouse, kids, parents, siblings, social media contacts, the cashier at the grocery store, the person driving in the car next to you, the barista at starbucks, the teacher, the student, the patient, the coach, the athlete, the boss, the employee. And they too, each one of them is longing for connection whether they realize it or not. Naturally, as humans, we reach toward each other, even those we don’t know simply to be reminded that we are as human as they are. Each eye that watches you looks to catch a glimpse that there is maybe, possibly, more to this life than just surviving. They are looking for hope. They are looking to you. They are looking to me. No, we are not alone, we are very much surrounded.

But our enemy secures our blinders and makes sure we keep our eyes down so that we don’t make those connections. He wants us to feel alone. As Lysa Terkeurst says about our enemy, “If he can isolate us, he can influence us” (It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way, 150). Satan wants his voice to be the loudest sound we hear. Lies like: You’re a failure. You’re not good enough. You’re too much. It’s not worth it. Just give up. His purposes are clearly lined out in scripture. He has come to steal, kill, and destroy (John 10:10). And what better way to steal our joy, kill our hope, and destroy our effectiveness than to bring us to a point of isolation and despair.

John 10:10 doesn’t stop there. Jesus goes on to say, “But I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” Life - made a living being, coming directly from the breath of God breathed into Adam and has been breathing into us by the power of his Spirit ever since. We are living creatures, Imago Dei – made in the likeness of God – and as such we are made for relationship. But when we hide due to our hurts, our wounds, and our fears, when we struggle with concern over what others think of our hearts, we isolate ourselves and open that door to being influenced by the enemy again.

Our Christian culture has convinced us that its most holy to be joyful (or at least be okay) with the difficulties. James 1 is oft quoted when trials arise, “Count it all joy.” And yes, that is our obligation – eventually. The problem arises when we don’t allow time for grief. Jesus wept over the death of Lazarus (even though he knew the truth of who He was and what he was about to do.) Jesus again mourned over Jerusalem (though he was about it rescue all who believed in Him through his sacrifice.) “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crusted in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). And in Romans 12, we are instructed to weep with those who weep.

Life hurts. It’s hard. This sin stained place is suspended between the fall of Paradise and the not yet fully redeemed. And it’s okay to grieve that. Grief, is good. Tears heal. Your wound may not look like mine, but that doesn't make it any less significant. Now may be my time for weeping. Now may be yours. Joy will come in the morning (maybe tomorrow, maybe days from now.) And the truth is, in the midst of our sorrow, we can still trust that God is good, that he works all things for good, and that He loves us. Oh, how he loves us.

For now, if you’re here (or if you’ve been here, but you’ve been encouraged to move on too quickly), I encourage you to stay for a while. Linger. Allow the feelings to surface, and pour out your heart to God – He is our refuge (Psalm 62:8) and he cares so very much for each little (or big) thing that has wounded his children’s hearts. Don’t stay alone in your pain. Share it with a friend. Talk to a counselor if you need to. Close the door to isolation, and close the door on the enemy’s influence. Jesus is Jehovah Rophe’ – our healer. And he will see to it that your wounds are well tended.

Friends, if someone opens up to you about their pain, listen, don’t preach. It’s okay for us to grieve. It’s okay for it to hurt. We can be sorrowful yet joyful in the hope of God’s glory at the same time. It is possible! Let’s get back to living life to the full like Jesus intended – in true fellowship with one another!

It's a(nother) BOY!

I very much disliked being at church today. From the trite responses to the sympathetic looks about our news of our 6^th boy on the way, to how I felt like I had to justify our decision to be done to some and defend our decision to continue having kids to this point to others, I rapidly grew exhausted of the game. I didn’t feel freedom to be completely honest with anyone I encountered today, and that fact alone makes church so hard. When I feel like I have to wear a mask around our church family, there’s just something that seems wrong about that. Family should equate to authenticity. Unfortunately, many times heavier masks are worn in the church setting than anywhere outside of it. And we continue to suffer in silence. If you grieve, you’re not trusting God or being joyful, right?

So, I’ve started wondering, what would it look like to take mine off: to decide that I’m rooted enough in who I am in Christ and in where he has led us in our decisions that it doesn’t matter the response we get, to be willing to answer honestly when I’m asked about disappointment with another boy, to take the time to explain the journey Christ has my heart on now, and if the tears come, allow them to willingly. What I’ve always thought as strength – holding it all together – is really just fear of man. Choosing rather to be who I am, where I am, dealing with what I am and being willing to share that no matter the outcome – that is true strength.

From the moment we found out we were pregnant again, I had a gut feeling that we were having another boy. That first day, when we saw the positive test, we easily agreed on his name: Nathaniel Benjamin – Treasured gift of God, son of my right hand. I joked with friends early on that we were probably having another boy – that’s our trend, right? Why change a good thing? I reasoned that I would deal with strong emotions either way – another boy would be easier. I had everything I needed. I wouldn’t need to re-learn to parent. And having a girl brought up certain concerns as well – namely her safety as she grew up in this crazy world. Yes, a boy would just be simpler. But my heart still leaked longing for some pink in my house, some bows, some frills, some glitter – something other than sheer male energy, dirt, bugs, sports, wrestling, “bad-guys”, and things constantly randomly getting broken. Don’t get me wrong. I love all of those things (well, minus things getting broken). I love my sons with all of my heart, but a piece of me still longed for that girl – to be able to share just a piece of my feminine side and have it innately understood and appreciated.

Twenty weeks came, and with it our ultrasound. We didn’t get a clear picture of parts, but the tech thought she saw boy parts. I took this as a definite maybe and began to process the news. But since we weren’t 100% convinced, we did a blood test to verify her assumption. The results came back on Thursday – 100% boy!

I am so excited that we are adding Nathaniel to our family. I’m thrilled that I won’t have to buy anything extra, that we won’t wind up with a double amount of toys in the house, that we are familiar with having sons, that we can look forward to many challenging adventures in the days to come, that Jeshua will have a male playmate close in age. But that’s where it gets complicated – we’ve been seeking God about our family size. We’ve been seeking wisdom. We’ve emptied ourselves of our own desires and asked God what his desire is for our family. After much prayer and conversation, we’ve determined that this is our number: six boys to raise for the glory of God. We long to be faithful with what he has blessed us with, and we feel like God has other ministry opportunities on the horizon for our family. With that in mind, six young men to change the world is God’s best for us. So that means this is it. This is the end of that subtle longing for a girl. I’m closing the door on this chapter. People ask if I’d like to try again, and in all honesty, my answer is no. I don’t feel God calling us to that. Not to mention, we very well might have another boy anyway if we did try.

We’ve never “tried” for a girl. We’ve had this many kids because we felt like God was leading us to have this many. And obviously, he wanted us to have six sons. I’m okay with that. Yet, this is where my joy turns bittersweet. The tears well up, fill my eyes and spill over as I consider things I will never get to enjoy with a biological daughter.

I grieve over never having the opportunity to look in my child’s eyes and see a tangible piece of myself. (Everyone claims all the boys look like Jared.) I grieve over the thought of missed tea parties, princess parties, and playing house with dolls. I grieve over never having the opportunity to teach a daughter about modesty, being a lady, shaving, periods, never getting the opportunity to go wedding dress shopping with a girl. I grieve not being able to welcome my daughter into the role of motherhood herself, over not having a kindred spirit to share our hearts over coffee or tea, over missing out on girly shopping in general. I grieve over not having chick flick nights. I grieve over not having hair to braid or teach about the deeper beauty that resides on the inside. I grieve over lost sparkles, frills, and twirling. I grieve over not having a daughter to share my heirlooms with – dolls and treasures. I grieve over hopes built up over years, clothes thoughtfully chosen “just in case.” I grieve over not being able to share my name or my grandmother’s name with a child. I grieve over hopes and dreams that are being washed away as the tears wash down my cheeks.

Out of all of this, I’ve realized that it’s really okay to feel this way. It doesn’t mean that I love my son any less. My tears don’t show some underlying weakness. And even if I hid it all, pushed it away, lived in logic and told myself to be okay, God wouldn’t be tricked by my mask or façade. He sees and knows my heart and my very deepest longings – he’s the one who put them there in the first place. He cares that my heart is breaking. He cares that I feel there’s a hole that will never be filled. He takes my tears and places them in a bottle (Psalm 56:8). The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18). There is a time for grief (Ecclesiastes 3:4). And now is that time for me. But I can also be encouraged by the fact that weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5).

In the meantime, friends, if you see tears in my eyes when I talk about my son, give me grace. If you see me swallow hard when I see a pretty girly dress, a little girl twirling, or a princess tea party, just know that it hurts a little. If I hesitate when you ask if I’m disappointed, just know that there’s so much more to the story. And if I cry, just give me a hug. I’ll be okay. I know God’s got this. I trust him. And in the meantime, I will continue to pour out my heart to him – God is my refuge (Psalm 62:8).