It was the summer of 08, my second summer working at day camp…
And something wasn't right in my soul. As the summer went on I felt more and more bogged down.
As I entered into my second year at the preschool the feeling got worse. My anxiety reached an all time high. By the beginning of October I was literally praying my way through every second of every day. I didn't want to sleep at night for the sheer reason of having to wake up the next day and start all over.
And the Wednesday before Halloween that month?
I broke. I lost it. Called in sick. Ended up sobbing hysterical and alone on the floor of my apartment. I couldn't breath. Couldn't move.
I got prescribed anti-depressants that week.
And I got the business card of a Christian MFT.
I took the meds.
I pocketed the card and pretended it didn't exisist.
And the meds worked.
They numbed me. Help me keep going.
I felt better.
Then Thanksgiving week hit.
And my dad had triple bypass surgery.
And I was rocked, terrified and prayed-out.
And yet?
I still didn't use the card [Actually, I emailed the card, calling was too for real.]
And my dad got better, recovered.
Christmas passed and we came into the new year and I was hopeful. 2009 was my year.
Or so I thought.
I will NEVER forget Febuary 9th 2009.
It was a Monday, and I took a walk on the trail.
I had left my phone at home during my walk and when I got back it rang.
It was my mom calling so I anwsered with a "Hi, mom".
But on the other end of the line was actually my dad.
And he called to tell me the thing that to date has probably rocked my world the most.
My mom was at that moment getting airlifted to a hospital an hour and a half away from where we lived.
She was in near-respiatory failure. She was getting a tube down her throat. And was being put in the ICU.
I remember being in shock. Walking out to my roommates and letting them know what had happened. And then getting on the phone directly with my best friend.
I didn't head up to my mom til Friday so that week I was on the phone making calls for people to let our animals out, cover some of my moms obligations, etc. And in the midst of all of that?
The therapist called ME.
What?
I remember seeing the number and regonizing it from the card and thinking "Really, God, Really?"
So I anwsered and promptly told him that my mom was in the hospital and I had to get off the phone.
He told me to call him back.
I made it to the valley on Friday. We had a 4-day weekend from work. I ended up staying 10 days.
At that point in my life I hadn't ever cried out to God so much.
Or lacked the energy to do so.
I remember one night, the doctor told us we should probably hang out longer. I went outside to get away from the beeping, the smell of the hospital and sat outside in this gazebo at about two in the morning sobbing. I thankfully have some amazing friends and remember talking to two of them even at that late hour.
I knew I was strong enough WITH God for what was happening.
But I didn't know if I wanted to be.
I remember the moments of watching my grandma sit with her sick daughter, of my neice being very, very angry that she was not allowed to see her Grandma Patt.
I remember the smell of the cafeteria. The way too many chicken salad wraps I ate.
I remember seeing my dad turn around so I didn't see him cry.
I remember in shock finding out that not one but two people from my small town had passed away that week.
I remember when my moms eyes finally opened.
I remember sitting reading psalms over her. Or praying. The sound of the Rabbi in the curtain over praying.
And I remember the feeling of the prayers that were washing over me.
And realizing that I didn't need to be strong.
My mom was in the hospital for a month. And that month was hell. I started counseling that month. I felt like it was the beginning of the end of all the hell in my life.
I was wrong.
In May of that year I changed my meds due to mainly cost.
And for those of you that have been on meds of that sort know that they can screw you up majorly.
And they did.
I got to the point where I was sitting in a parking lot one night after church sobbing on the phone with my counselor.
I wanted to be done.
I wanted to be in heaven. With Jesus.
Done.
I had to recover a lot from that night.
[taking this moment to say thank you to my friends, you know who you are, who blessed me, walked with me and encouraged me through all of this]
I've been refined a lot since October of 08.
I've gone through a lot of hell.
My mom got super sick a couple more times.
Heck, I've been hit by a car. (ironically on february 9th)
I've lost people close to me.
I've struggled with this depression that can overwhelm me at times.
I've drudged up parts of my past that have worked me over.
I've at points struggled with addictions.
I've cried a lot at this one particular cross.
I've found a voice in my story.
"the richest testimonies comes from those who Christ has made whole but still remember what it's like to be broken"
-Beth Moore
I live by this now. I know that I have been broken and beaten down in so many ways. I know that I have a long way to go as well.
But I know each step of the way, each time a piece of my heart is stomped, that the Master Creator is the one that pieces it back together.
That each time I trek through that fire I am going to come out more Christ-like. More His.
And even though it is rough. Even though right now I am going through that fire, I know he is shaping me, shaping my story, shaping my heart. Preparing me for even just that one person across the world who needs to hear what God has done in my life.
And for that I will daily try to pull my head up out of all of the discouragement and lies that are thrown at me and know that I've walked through the fire with Jesus before and He brought me out of it.
And that through all of that I learned that HE can do more then I can ever imagine.
And I try to remember to thank Him greatly, daily for that fact.
