I’d like to share some of the Spirit’s formative work in my life recently. Perhaps someone reading has also been journeying through the crushing weight of helplessness; that place where our faith goes to be forged. May you sense the same emerging hope that moves beyond what our eyes might see.
Upon arriving back to the US, it became apparent quite quickly that although our son Brent was in a safe place, recovering from a mental health crisis, that a quick discharge and return to ‘normal’ was not on the table. Through some relapses, and doctor admitted medication mistakes, days turned to weeks, and weeks months.
As we send out this email, we’re on our way to meet with Brent and the medical staff in charge of his care. We’re anticipating his discharge, and hoping for acceptance to a nearby program designed specifically for first time, non drug-induced psychosis in young adults. Hopefully it’s the end of this particular chapter and we can now physically come alongside him towards ongoing recovery.
For Deb and I, there’s been a lot of grieving and growing as parents over the past few months. It’s felt like eternity. If we simply aren’t hurting with and for our son, we are actively educating ourselves as best we can on Psychosis/Bi-Polar/Mania so we can assist with his recovery. We’ve postponed our return to Romania until the end of August, but realize all of our best designed plans require holding loosely. Family, not work or ministry, is our most valuable human experience.
We see God’s providence clearly in surrounding Brent with the care he needs, but there are times we’ve also deeply questioned God’s involvement, or lack thereof. Our praying has often turned to lament; that place of sitting in suffering, and learning to find Jesus within it. At times our in-person visits were encouraging, but were also very difficult, especially when it was time to leave. Walking away and entrusting others who seemed just as unsure of any sort of timeline left us feeling numb, and very powerless.
Many of you can relate, those that have been forced to navigate heartache and confusion with those we deeply care about. Allow me to pause and thank each of you for the notes of encouragement and for all who have prayed for Brent, and our family! Mental health is an epidemic, a quiet one brewing beneath the headlines. Ignoring it, or succumbing to stigma doesn’t help our families, or society.
As we arrived, all I was focused on was Brent. The last thing I wanted to do was to strip down an aging wooden deck at our place in PA. My wife, however, along with the kids, began picking away at some of the chipping paint that was coming up in spots. The more they chipped, the clearer I sensed the invitation that I was to join in.. they were making the need quite obvious! Each day, the deck was looking more and more like it had a disease, as our crew of pickers sat and chiseled a section of cracking paint.
The problem was, it wasn’t just any old deck paint. It was deck cover paint, literally 3x’s as thick as paint and not supposed to come off.. like ever! As I researched online how to remove it, I learned that this paint had been recalled. The internet was filled with venting, and very sore home owners who were sharing their many creative methods of removal. Some answered with, “Ended up just buying new wood and laying down a new deck.” Well, we didn’t have the money for that, so I took a deep breath, and along with Deb and the younger kids each armed with their own scrapers, joined the community of calloused hands in what would turn out to be three weeks of suffering.
Sometimes the most meaningful formation takes place in the valley of helplessness.
I tried hand sanding, pressure washing, steaming, even ironing (don’t ask). I became familiar with all US brands of paint stripper, as well as sanding grit for orbital and belt sanders. After about 15 hours into sweaty labor, I was only around 10% finished, and found the only way to truly get to the wood underneath, was by hand, painstakingly with a scraper and using as much leverage and muscle I could muster. After letting it soak with a paint stripper for just the right amount of time, in the shade, inch by inch, the paint forged in the fires of mount doom reluctantly released it’s grip.
Over the course of the project, my mind would continue to drift to the pain in my heart. My son was struggling, isolated, at times confused and would call me throughout the day for a moment of encouragement and grounding. As I worked the wood, the reality of his plight began to fuse with my own journey as a son. The Spirit spoke many things to me through the painfully slow work as I began to strip away the defective, imposter paint. Inch by inch, I began to see the progress, and the emerging beautiful, original wood lying underneath. The act of restoring, of renewing, this was no flippant act on my part, no snapping the finger or waving some magic solution over the old paint. Every inch was deliberate, an intentional focus toward recovering what I knew was valuable.
Unfortunately, personal formation seems to be the slowest of all speeds.
At one point I was ready to throw in the towel, after a full week of work and only 50% of this deck prepared. It had become, in some sense, ridiculous, illogical, why was I even doing this? I began to see more clearly the parallels of my own life long journey, and the resistance of unbelief in my life that had been actively working against the loving mercy of Jesus. My heart, like all of ours, insisting on clinging to this ‘deck over’, terrified to rest into incisive work of the Great Physician. Why do we resist becoming whole? Why do we continue humanities tradition of hiding behind fig leaves of shame?
I began to marvel at God’s patience, and awareness of my own life. The Father’s love has been deep and constant over me through so many mountains and valleys. There were moments of physical and emotional exhaustion, where the scraper would drop (like the photo above), and I’d simply let go, and weep. My tears, however, were a synthesized mixture of the pain I was feeling for my recovering son, and the love I was receiving being one.
How different my life would be if I lived as if the love of God were true.
How might my embracing of such love assist in my transformational growth as a spouse, parent, child and friend?
I believe our Creator sees the person we were made to be. Yet, humanity is excellent at covering our true selves with anxiety fueled pretense. He’s not judging us, as we judge ourselves. He has all of the tools, wisdom, and perseverance for our own heart’s product recall. He doesn’t throw us out, and start over, as much as we relish forgiveness and the fresh start. You remain you and I remain myself in this slow, deliberately renewing, good work of lifelong formation in the love of God. This love isn’t striven towards, but rested in.
Our Savior, I’m learning, delights in re-framing our pain, if we let Him. He wastes none of it. He also loves us too much to cut corners in this good work that He’s begun in each of us.
Behold what manner of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God. And that is what we are!
1 John 3:1