Sharing Peace

The end of 2017 was only three years ago but is already difficult to recall in detail. Although I chronicle most of the paths I have traveled, I have avoided that period of time. I don’t like to think about it.

That life season seemed like a vivid nightmare that I couldn’t awaken from. Even now, recalling specific snippets holds me captive to the same raw emotion from which I struggled to escape. For a long time, I was afraid that exploring those memories would throw open doors that imprisoned demons I was not ready to fight. I hoped that period would fade quietly into the forgotten past.

But as difficult as it was, it is my origin story.

Back then, Mom’s dementia was rapidly progressing. She was losing the ability to recognize the people she loved. The activities that had given her a lifetime of joy were increasingly beyond her reach. The home that had been her sanctuary now presented an abundance of dangers – hot stoves, unlocked doors, unattended stairs, etc. Her irregular sleep magnified her declining capabilities. She was unable to clearly communicate with others, and her frustration level grew with a world that no longer seemed to have a place for her.

My worry that she would get hurt or be afraid laid on my heart the same pain that I prayed she would avoid.

Dad was her full-time caretaker. His loyalty was beyond question, but he was increasingly unable to provide what she needed. He was caring for a spouse that didn’t always know him and he became her only outlet for the irritation she faced. It had been weeks since he slept more than two hours at a time and his mental state reflected his exhaustion.

He spent his days caring for someone in isolation. It was taking a toll on his emotional well-being and I felt responsible for not bearing more of the weight.

Meanwhile, I was in Texas doing my best to transition a nuclear family into independent adults interested in their own pursuits. Everyone was impatient for a future that was slow arriving and uncertain how to deal with each other in the meantime. Many days I was afraid I was losing my family.

I wanted to quit my job and go to Chattanooga to help care for my parents but knew that my own family needed me more than ever.

I felt forced to choose which family I would save while watching the other in a slow-motion train wreck that I couldn’t turn away from.

At the same time, the First Fruits ministry that had comforted me for years was disbanding. I had kept my own problems in perspective by serving others, but that security blanket was disappearing. In what may have been our last organized event, I got the gang together for a project directed at helping my mother.

I had heard that simple activities like sorting and stacking were comforting to Alzheimer’s patients, so I printed 90 days of devotional cards for Mom to collate with Dad’s help. He would mail them to anyone who requested them and in exchange, they would send her a card telling her she was loved. It was my last gasp effort to hold onto a ministry and provide my mom with some comfort.

Like lots of the things I attempted in those days, it did not work. People didn’t connect with the concept. Mom was unable to perform even simple tasks by then. The whirlwind of activity I created caused more chaos than peace.

Stacks of pre-printed devotional cards sat in my house and virtually no one requested them. Eventually, I threw them away because they were a reminder of my inadequacy.

But I faithfully read them. Each morning for three months, I selected the daily card. I looked for comfort and sought hope. One of the cards spoke to me more than any of the others.

I had no idea what to do with the simple message, but it wouldn’t let go of me. I questioned its relevancy to no avail. While my heart searched in vain for my own peace, it was a bitter irony that this card held my attention.

Although I got a new card each day, I kept my special one in a place where I would see it throughout the day. Many times I wanted to throw it out but couldn’t. Somehow, it was important. It moved from my desk to the dashboard of my truck and reminded me every day to share a peace I could not find.

I prayed for comfort. I focused on the intertangled mess of emotions that filled my heart. Slowly, I began to unravel the knots in my soul. One issue at a time, I sought God’s guidance, challenged my own beliefs, confessed where I was wrong, and sought hope for a better day.

With each knot that was removed, peace filled the void. I spent hours converting my experience into words, writing down my story, and what I had learned. Eventually, I summoned the courage to share my stories with others, just like the card said.

That is when Making Waves was born two and a half years ago.

And as I share my story this time, it is my 100th post.

With each piece I have written, I have done my best to share the peace I have found as I work to become a better Christ-follower, husband, son, father, brother, and friend.

I have tried to withhold judgment over anyone else and focus on my own growth. I have tried not to exaggerate or diminish either my failures or victories, but in all things to remain true. Sometimes, it is hard to be fully authentic, but out of my transparency, I have found peace.

Day after week after month after year, I have sat in my chair waiting for God to speak to me and say what we were going to work on next. Some lessons flowed fast and free. Others required wrestling to the ground over days of intense effort. Easy or hard, proud or embarrassing, I have laid out my heart for the world.

My web counter shows that someone has clicked on a posting more than 15,000 times since I began sharing my peace. A few people leave a comment or send me a message, but most quietly read and go on their way. Some people read them as soon as they arrive while many check intermittently. Others will discover them in days that are still to come.

At times, I have become discouraged after baring my soul for everyone to see, only to have silence be my reward. When it becomes too difficult, God has always sent someone to thank me for my candor, telling me it came when they needed it most. I am proud that He can use me for His glory, even if it requires me to tell the world about my issues.

I have found unexpected courage on this journey. Giants that seem unbeatable shrink before my eyes as I take time to put into words the power they possess. As I capture my first thoughts about their ferocity, I frequently realize that I don’t actually believe it. Many of my fears are unfounded and collapse under scrutiny.

One post at a time, I am figuring out who I want to be, what I need to do differently, and celebrating the joys in life. The process of writing it down has forced me to be intentional with these choices. Finding just the right word has helped me to illuminate my path and hopefully shine some light for others to see more clearly.

If you have been with me through all of my 100 lessons, then I thank you. If you haven’t, I hope you have enjoyed what you have seen. Either way, I hope that you have been able to receive the peace that I have tried to share.

I treasure the time we have spent together Making Waves.

Now it’s time for me to celebrate this milestone!