It was an unpredicted sunny Saturday. I sat on the beach by myself. It’s been an emotional day on a lot of levels. This week marks one year since my mama went to heaven. Not unexpectedly in the sense that she was in hospice care battling a very rare and aggressive form of cancer. But, unexpectedly in the sense that my whole being believed without any doubt that God was going to save her life through a miracle. Just like He gave me life and gave me to my mom- through a miracle.
Things are hard. Life is hard. Emotions are raw and all over the place.
There’s a loneliness I battle daily- that no one understands me anymore. Because I don’t know that anyone will ever know or understand me the way she does. And that scares me to my very core. It makes the pain cut that much deeper. It makes me feel broken and alone.
I started re-reading Annie F. Downs book “Remember God”. She’s saying what I feel. I know in my heart that that God is good. But my eyes don’t see it. The roadmap of my life looks cruel and never, EVER the way I would have chosen it.
Lying here on the beach, it starts raining. Just as I returned to 15th Street for an afternoon by myself. The clouds are darker. The crowded beach packs up. And although I look all around me and see gloomy weather and heavy clouds, I decide to stay and wait it out.
I think that’s true of me. I stay. I don’t give up easily. Regardless of the circumstance and the hard and the exhaustion, I want to stay and see the gifts and the beauty that come from tenacity.
I hated my high school experience. It wasn’t ever for me. I did well academically. I was the captain of the dance team and one of the stars of the dance company. I did well by any sense of the general accomplishments. Socially, it was often a battle. I didn’t like the parties or the drugs or the alcohol. Jealousy tore through a lot of friendships. I spent a lot of lunches alone. Doing my homework. Preparing for the many responsibilities of the next day.
There were many times I tried to transfer. Many conversations my mom and I had about homeschooling or a dance school or anything other than where I was.
But I chose to stay. I chose to find the people that did support me, made me laugh, and grew me greatly, even after we lost touch. I worked hard and cherished the teachers, coaches, and friends who pushed me to be even better. I chose to stick it out to get to the next phase of college and dancing on a team and great academia. I persevered.
College wasn’t much different. I felt excluded from the team and didn’t like the friends or parties. I wanted to just come home. I did often, spending afternoons having lunch with my mom talking through the hard things. My mom and I discussed transferring to UNF and moving home. We talked about finishing online or switching my major. And yet, I stayed.
And because I stayed, I made friendships with those I would have never met. I found my people who get me and have stood with me through impossible seasons. We’ve taken trips, laughed uncontrollably, and screamed harder than we thought we could for the Gators! Even my roommates are an extension of the friendships I made while walking through the hard.
This year has been much of the same. Clearly, I knew the first year without my best friend with me would be excruciating, but it’s been beyond that. Invitations and phone calls that never came. Nights swept in tears and sleepless nights of grief. Changes mentally and physically I wasn’t prepared for.
But I’ve also seen those opportunities breed a new support system and a group of new people who meet me right where I am. I’m continually learning that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to not be strong and have energy and advice for others. It’s okay to not have answers. It’s okay to be so unbelievably sad and gracious to myself, while also learning to enjoy things for exactly what they are.
Honestly, I feel like that tension with God too.
I’ve wanted to know Him and trust Him my whole life. I remember the day I dedicated my life to Christ as a nine-year-old so vividly. I told my mom I wanted to know Jesus like she does, while listening to MercyMe sing, “On My Way to You”. I asked to pray with her on our knees in our little apartment and invited Him into my heart. I was baptized, prayed, laid hands on people, worshipped, sang my heart out, and knew the Holy Spirit’s voice quickly. I constantly called on the Lord as my friend and wanted to understand my life through His lense.
And that’s where sometimes I feel burned in our friendship. I want to understand and know and believe He is good and gracious. It’s in my gut- I won’t deny it, because my bones are built of it. But I question it a lot. I ask him constantly: How did we get here? Why would You possibly take my best friend away? Why would You leave me here in these circumstances? Why must it all be so hard? It comes down to this: I trust Him to carry this broken world. I don’t trust Him to care for my heart and my dreams.
But I know I’ll persevere there too. I know I’ll stay. I know I’ll learn and find out more about His character even through the questions.
I chose to stay on the beach that Saturday. Right next to me is a black woman and her two daughters. It’s been a heavy week in our world as the conversations and actions concerning the evil of racism are rightfully in front of us, everywhere we turn. It’s absolutely devastating to hear of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and the many more, who died under the brutality of someone who shares the same skin color as me. It’s weighty and sometimes powerless to feel that I’m sure we, including me, still have a long way to go in reconciliation.
But as I sat there and watched them from 10 feet over, I couldn’t quit crying. It’s a sweet mama and her two daughters. I’m not ignorant to the reality that I am sure we’ve had much different experiences- most of which I simply will never understand. But what strikes me that day is how similar we seem. I’m keenly aware that God crafted this moment to remind me of the gift of my mama. I watched and listened as the two girls desired nothing more than their mom’s attention. And she lavished it upon them. They’re about 2 years apart and their personalities are distinct. The older daughter is calm, quiet, and dances to herself, while the younger is wild, loud, and always busy. Their mama loves them- it’s evident. She’s attentive every single time they want to show her a new shell they picked up (which is about every 1.5 seconds). She asks them if she can read her book, but even as she looks down at the page, she checks in and asks what they’re building in the sand. She laughed with a huge smile when a puppy chased after them and they ran screaming. She finds joy in her daughters. So, they enjoyed the sand, the sun, the salt, and the many snacks.
And I wept.
Because I miss it. I miss our trio that became my whole world from a young age. Me. My mama. MC.
They’re a beautiful reminder that my mama delights in me. That I know she’s still watching me persevere through life, conflict, relationships, and even my faith in my God. She delights in me, and so does He, even in the hard and the scary and the questioning.
I miss her. I miss us.
But I’ll stay.
I’ll wait and see what’s to come and know they both (my mama and Jesus) will be with me here in the hard and meet me there as I persevere and find the gifts revealed through this pain.
I’ll persevere, because that’s what my mom taught me and modeled well. That even in the dark, He is working. That the questions, the crying, the wondering will teach me more. There will be fruit from the suffering, as I’ve seen before.
Romans 5:3-4, NIV
“3 Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4 perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
xox,
ellie
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