This is going to be the death of me.

It’s a statement I’ve made often over the past several months, mostly under my breath and to myself.

One of my children has been struggling in a variety of ways, all stemming from a traumatic childhood lived outside of our home. He came to us through the foster care system at eight years old and has done fairly well — until last fall, when behaviors and attitudes started to ooze out, casting dark shadows over his countenance and our relationship.

I have to admit I haven’t always met him in this season with kindness or compassion. Often, I’ve left conversations with him wishing I’d approached it differently. And although apologies were exchanged, it still seemed like we were slogging through the months amidst anger and animosity.

It finally reached a point where we realized there was nothing more we could do ourselves and decided to reach out for help from professionals. They affirmed our concerns about his mental health and have implemented strategies to assist him, and those approaches are working to a certain extent. Dealing with trauma is a long road, one where you often feel like you are further down the path and then something slams you back and you realize you’re closer to the beginning than you realized.

It can be slow — painfully slow — and that is where I found myself these past several months with the thought, This will be the death of me.

I’ve been embarrassed to admit this to anyone other than my husband, who looks at me blankly when I say it — he knows better than to argue with me in those moments — but who I know would like to offer me all the reasons why our family will be okay.

The other morning, I lamented to him, “I know that God can do anything, but this just feels hopeless. I worry because I don’t see how things can be different.”

And my husband nods; he understands the feeling. He knows what it feels like to remain in a season of uncertainty.

I sit down after he’s left to go to work and start praying. And as the words once again cross my mind — This will be the death of me — I hear a response whispered, Maybe that’s a good thing. 

Maybe something needs to die, and maybe that’s a good thing. 

It made me pause to think about how I am being refined through this process — how God is reminding me of what sacrificial love looks like. It’s when you give without being given the promise of anything in return, when you offer compassion because you know there are underlying pain and wounds unnoticed and unseen to the human eye without expecting the other person to reciprocate, when you lay down your timeline, your schedule, or your dreams to spend time with the person in front of you and see them just for who they are right now, in this moment, without expectation.

And although boundaries in relationships are good and even necessary, there are times when God stretches us beyond our own selves and desires and asks us to give — even when we know we will receive nothing in return.

Sacrificial love for another — it’s something I’m reminded of often and how Christ has done the same for me.

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans 5:8 (NIV)

I cannot disentangle myself from this verse. While we were still sinners, Christ died. While we were still in our sin. He didn’t wait to love us when He was sure we’d love Him back. God demonstrated His love for us even while we were oblivious to our need for it.

This, to me, is the very definition of sacrificial love.

Maybe something needs to die, and maybe that’s a good thing.

Still seated in my living room, I begin to think of all the things that need to die. Maybe my pride and insecurities need to die. Maybe my desire to control my child’s life and future. Maybe my worry and fear need to go.

Maybe all of this should die, so in its place, something new can grow, something more Christlike. It’s a hard thing — pulling out old thoughts and beliefs, some of which are rooted deep, embedded in the furthest recesses of my heart. I know they’re faulty, that they need to go, but it’s painful and it’s a process. It doesn’t happen overnight, yet I am determined to do the work.

And in the meantime, while I’m cultivating this new perspective, I will remember God’s sacrificial love for me. I will cling to His peace even when I don’t know what the future holds. I will hold onto His promises and the hope that He can change and heal any heart even when I don’t see it with my eyes. I will believe His word even when I don’t feel it, because I know it is truth.

I will trust in His plan because I know that He is good.

I will watch and wait as seeds of hope spring forth where old lies have been rooted out.

It isn’t perfect, but it’s real. And it’s making me think, I hope something dies today, so something new can grow in its place.

 

God demonstrated His love for us even while we were oblivious to our need for it. -Kendra Roehl of @ruthexperience: Click To Tweet Leave a Comment