Finding Peace

            During a recent visit one of my favorite aunties asked if I written anything new for this blog, and I admitted that I hadn’t…mainly due to my scattered attentions.  I’m still substitute teaching, working on my book, and taking care of my family (including the two very needy dogs!), but I have also jumped headlong into the process of being “polished” as AMTC likes to call it.  It is the process by which raw talent, and the possessor of it is trained, discipled, encouraged, and empowered to present ourselves to a gathering of some of the country’s most esteemed V.I.P’s.

These V.I.P.’s represent some of the biggest names in music, modeling, and entertainment, so working toward becoming the kind of talent they would like to employ is no small feat. 

            At the same time I have been doing an incredible amount of internal work; work requiring a ton of introspection, prayer, and talking.  Even AT&T has done its share by facilitating conference calls between my sister, brother, and me.  Coming to terms with the death of a parent is one of the most life-altering changes one can endure.  Coming to terms with the death of an abusive parents is a different kind of matter altogether.  And. It is very hard work. 

            The three of us have said, each at separate moments, that if you had asked us two years ago if our childhood had been traumatic, we all would have said no.  Ask us if our parents were abusive and we would have said no way! But there is something about death that not only lifts the veil of mystery, but jolts the sleepy awake as well.  Once awake, those who were once sleepy, and now left behind, are suddenly thrust forward into life much like the newborn babe rudely delivered into a room colder than the womb it has just left, assaulted by the glare of brutal lights and touched only by gloved hands.  No skin to skin touch until the babe has been poked, fiercely rubbed, weighed and assessed.  Yeah, kinda like that.

            It’s abrupt and uncompassionate.  When cancer took our mom from our lives, it left a huge hole in our futures, and it left us to deal with a past we were content to leave in the shadows.  The three of us would tell you that it is a horrible conflict to deal with, to suddenly see our mom as she had been during the formative years of our lives, and still love her so fiercely.  To say that she had been my mentor, my best friend, and my biggest fan was easy.  To admit that she had been abusive was only something I was able to admit in therapy.  I think we all knew she was one of the most talented, intelligent, yet conflicted people on the planet.  She wrestled with herself constantly.  I saw it, and couldn’t do anything to help her, except to keep irritations to a minimum. 

            So, therein lies a paradox.  How can we say we love one who has caused us pain?  I mean, I’m not the only one who’s had someone hurt them in some way, right?  I’ve heard other stories of mistreatment by parents, siblings, and others we trust with hearts, and the injured party still loves the inflict-er of that pain.  Doesn’t make any sense!  But maybe it’s as easy as a wise friend in my character group said, “You’re not stupid. You love because of Jesus”…despite the injury caused. 

            It’s not any easier to admit my childhood wasn’t a fairytale, that there’s damage needing healing, and that I’m gonna be at this for a while, but I can say with tons of fervor that I loved my mama beyond description. Not in my own ability, but by Christ’s gift of forgiveness.

And that is where I am finding peace.