The Source of Hope
Joshua was 11 when he was diagnosed with Celiac disease. They found it when he stopped growing for a year, after already clocking under 20% on the growth chart for many years he eventually fell off completely. Our pediatrician, Dr. Vernier, thought he had growth hormone deficiency. With specialist after specialist, tests, and procedures, It took many months and thousands of dollars to realize not only Joshua had celiac disease, but so did Hannah.
It was four years after diagnosis before Joshua began to catch up from being a malnourished 11-year-old “with the bones and growth plates of a 7-year-old” to the size he should have been. All three of our children were tiny for a long time. We were used to it. Which made it feel even more shocking when Joshua came to me and confessed he couldn’t be left alone with his siblings anymore. It was 5 years after the attacks had stopped, but the door was still open and Josua was troubled by temptation he didn’t want to have. He’d realized his ability to manipulate after methodically testing first Noah, then Hannah to see if he could get them to do what he wanted. They both willingly submitted to harmless things, but now Joshua knew he could probably get something he wished he didn’t want and would regret forever. So he stepped up and bravely asked us to set solid boundaries between him and his best friends, his playmates, Noah and Hannah. He asked for accountability to keep from acting out and traumatizing all three of them.
He was only 11. And I could lament how unfair it is he had to bear these burdens and extol the bravery and virtue of someone so young seeking help at that moment. Both would be true. But what do you think I felt when he walked up to me in our kitchen while the other two were ignorantly playing outside? I could see them through the window as he recounted to me his methodical test to see if he could, in fact, make them do his bidding. As the blood rushed past my ears and with my heart beating wildly in my chest, what do you think I felt, and how do you think I wanted to react?
I felt anger. Rage. Fury at the world, at Sam, at the predator who’d introduced this perversion to him - my child who still looked like a baby to me and the two smaller babies in the yard. I wanted to tear something; someone in two. I would have happily picked up a weapon and beat a predator to death, even knowing I wouldn’t feel better afterward. If fight or flight is real, I was 100% fight.
But my brave, tiny little boy was looking at me. We’d experienced years of hypervigilance after the season of assaults, watching their every move together, never letting down our guard. And it had waned and dissolved into a place of peace. So peaceful, the three of them shared a triple, tiered bunk bed we’d made to clear out a giant space to play. They had a huge, rolling yard with a hand-built pirate ship, cubbies, and adventurous places to pretend together. Every day, there were stories they created and every stuffed animal had a personality and purpose, usually crafted by Joshua. And he was telling me that time of childhood freedom had to be put aside. By him. To save himself and his siblings from the trauma he couldn’t stop remembering and feared acting out. And as I knew all of this in an instant and felt all the fury and pain from the past and present, I somehow opened my mouth and said the right things.
I told him how proud I was. How grateful I was. How he did exactly what he needed to do. I reassured him of all the good things to come, how they wouldn’t be - couldn’t be - affected by his brave decision. I picked up this painful burden and that heavy one. When he expressed worry or concern about how Noah, Hannah, David, or I might feel, I eased his fears and picked up each one to carry for him. And then we spent the next week redoing our home to put Joshua in his own room. In a 950-square-foot two-bedroom home, it was a bit of a trick, but we did it! Of course, we did it. And I cried with David and alone, grieving another period of loss and regret I could never stop. Sometimes it felt like the pain would never end and was nearly too much to survive.
When things are good, God is easily acknowledged and easily ignored. He can be brought out like a treasured possession, to chat with, about, and even worship and adore without really feeling the gut-wrenching need for Him trauma brings. In the pit of despair, we cry out to Him. I had already had it out with God and was mostly in a place of peace, and I knew without Him, I could not have been all I needed to be for Joshua. The wrong words, looks, actions, and reactions would have poured out of me instead. I am weak. He is strong.
Because it’s not just a matter of knowing God is good; the same yesterday, today, and forever. It’s not enough to know you have to be the stable and kind, caring, pillar of faith and foundation for your child when your emotions want to do anything else. It’s not pulling yourself up by the bootstraps or Just DOing it. It’s certainly not listening to your gut, to your heart, or to your passion and will. It’s actually letting go and letting Him. That peace that passes understanding? It’s in those moments. The abundance He promised? It’s given then. All things working together for good for those who love the Lord and are called according to His righteousness? You can see it. Those moments of panic and pain, where you’re in the deepest darkest well of despair but you must still be faithful to your parenting, even beyond your abilities. Right there in the furnace. There He is.
When we share with parents who’ve recently discovered their child is a victim of assault the long, arduous, sacrificial road to recovery, victory, or even joy on the other side of the journey to adulthood, we are almost always met with anger and frustration. They want to push us away and be angry with the messenger. I’ve been asked to give hope instead, which usually means they want me to put limits on what pain they will feel. They want an end date on their pain or when their child’s recovery will be complete, even a promise certain bad things won’t happen. They want me to make them feel safe in unsafe places, feel peace where there is no peace. They want circumstances to be under control again. School. Church. Family gatherings. Siblings at play. And I can’t. It would be a lie to tell them to depend on people, even themselves.
Truth is difficult. Pain is part of our journey and as parents, all we ever want is to spare our children from it. We want it so much our flesh tries to force us into seeing safety in other people and places because we crave it so badly. And then we play pretend and unwittingly force our children to do the same thing. Our very desire to create a feeling of safety takes the actual safety away.
Or, we can lean on the one true, good, safe person in the world, the person of God. We can trust in God Himself to both provide the stability we need and thankfully, the strength to carry on when hard choices must be made. Jesus experienced every temptation, which means He made choices to protect others from His flesh by seeking boundaries and accountability from God. It means He had to have experienced blood rushing in His ears and pain so deep He couldn’t breathe but allowed God to grant Him peace enough and strength enough to say the right words and do the right thing. Somehow it’s always just enough and not a lot of extra, but it is always enough. God is, was, and will always be, enough.
Will it be hard to walk with your child through the valley of the shadow of death and get to the other side, only to find out you have to walk through it again? And again? And again. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But your panic and your personal fight or flight when you hear that’s the road before you is because you believe, at least a little bit, that you’re being asked to do it by yourself somehow. And in that horrible circumstance, you would have every reason to panic! But you can’t do it alone. Each step forward you will have God before you, beside you, and inside you to carry you through. It is not up to you. It’s up to Him. Let Him do for you what I did for Joshua. Confess your burdens as they rise up, then let Him carry them. Share your fears, then give them to Him. Submit your decisions, your desires, and yes your anger and frustration to Him. Allow God to give you the freedom to live in peace, in abundance, and with the promise of seasons of Joy.
Joshua is the one who chose to submit to God, to seek Him and His wisdom, to believe He was everything we told him He was. And one reason he would tell you is that He lived a life of miracles. Where circumstances were too hard, too scary, too much, that’s when God showed up. We had to learn not to fill in the spaces of fear, pain, and uncertainty with our wants, needs, wishes, or will. And when we managed to do so, He was there. And Joshua was watching. I give thanks every day he didn’t grow up to admire me or his earthly father for all we managed to do, though I’m sure he’d say he does. But if he stops to think about it, he will be the first to tell you it’s not we who journeyed us through from pain to healing, from victimization to victory. It was God Himself who reached down into the pit and pulled us out of the miry clay. To God be the glory. Great things He has done. And He is ready to do them for you, too.
