Mom

Note:  If you’ve had the privilege of knowing my mom in real life and you’d like to preserve your memories of her as is then I encourage you to skip this post.

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When I turned 42 and threw my life upside down by getting therapy and deconstructing I also started a 50 before 50 list.  Basically 50 things I thought would be fun or necessary as my fiftieth year was approaching on the distant horizon.  Every so often I pull out the list and, like any enneagram one list maker, love getting to cross something off.  Some things on the list are silly – kick a field goal.  Some things are a little more serious – write final letters to Shawn and the kids. A couple of days ago I turned 47. Why does 47 seem so much closer to 50 than 46 did?  I pulled out the list this morning and let’s just say – my next three years are going to be BUSY!  I’m also going to have to become a millionaire between now and then because I’m noticing that my list was made with no regard for budget and it’s going to be pricey to get everything crossed off.

One thing that’s been on the list from almost the beginning is to forgive my mom.  I officially crossed this one off on November 13, 2022.

My parents both experienced abusive childhoods.  Specifically my mom was verbally and physically abused during many of her growing up years.  For much of her childhood she was unfairly responsible for her younger siblings.  As one would expect she learned unhealthy coping skills to survive her childhood.  When my mom and dad married they moved to Northwest Indiana where my dad was employed by LTV Steel.  My mom moved from Cincinnati and didn’t know anyone five hours away from family.  My dad had some aunts and uncles in the area and one aunt, Aunt Gerry, took my lonely mom under her wing and showed her all around the area.  She and Uncle Herb invited my parents to their church and while there my parents found a love and acceptance they’d never experienced in their growing up years.  Two specific older couples led my parents to the Lord and then lovingly befriended them while discipling them into a life of service to the Lord.  Our church was teeming with young families and it wasn’t too long until we all became an intertwined group of parents and kids.  My family faithfully attended church both Sunday morning and evening.  We attended AWANA on Tuesday nights and most nights brought most of our neighborhood along.  These were the days of drop-ins and we were rarely without company (or were the company) on any given evening.  We had Barton’s pizza every Sunday night following service at our house and every Sunday a different family would join us.

Our family housed a secret and I wonder if anyone knew?  We weren’t perfect.

During my parent’s time at church they bought into a message that if you truly know God and desire to follow His ways then you and your family will be perfect.  My parents attended seminars by Bill Gothard and adopted the taught message of “spare the rod, spoil the child.”  Yet, no matter how much they tried to force us into perfection they couldn’t make it be a fact.  Since perfection was unattainable my mom decided that everything the public saw would at least be presented that way.  As much as it was up to her, anything the church and its members saw, we were perfect.

I think the campaign worked.  To my knowledge everyone loved my parents.  And, please don’t get me wrong, they were worthy to be loved.  Both of my parents had so many wonderful qualities that they offered to anyone in their friend circle.  They worked selflessly to better the lives of those around them.  My mom was a fantastic listener and truly cared for the person she was talking to.  This wasn’t a pretense.  Both my mom and dad weren’t lazy one day in their lives.  And, if either one told you they were going to do something then they did it.  On time.  And with extra frills.

Inside my house, hidden away from the public, we experienced them differently.  My mom was terrified that we would be found out.  When I would do something disobedient there wasn’t ever grace offered.  There would be harsh punishment and then my mom would begin a campaign to cover up the sin so it wouldn’t be found out by any of their friends.  My parents wouldn’t ever talk to me about what happened in order to find restoration or instruction on how to do it better the next time.  Just punishment and cover-up.  I was expected to follow rules that didn’t allow for any free expression of individual personhood.  Then, the rules would change without warning based on the teachings they learned.  It was a harsh and chaotic home life.

My parents strongly condemned lying, yet they lied all the time.  Whatever it took to look shiny to their friends.  It was a confusing environment.  We were forbidden from lying, yet, if we told the truth we were interrogated on who we told what.  

One time when I was eight my mom walked into a room where horrific things were happening to me at the hand of one of those church friends.  She turned around, walked out, and closed the door.  When I tried to talk to her later, relieved that she knew and I didn’t have to tell her, she called me a liar and told me to never, ever tell anyone.  As a result of not talking about it again, those things continued for two more years.

My relationship with my mom did improve in my adult years.  I enjoyed my time spent with my mom.  I still did what I could to please her and rarely went against how she wanted to do something.  This did cause strife between Shawn and I.  He didn’t feel the same pull to do things mom’s way so I’d end up fighting with him or my mom.  All the while I rarely did anything the way I thought best.  

I grieve what could have been.  I grieve what was.

When I first began therapy I was a treasure trove of “mom issues”.  Eventually, as with any good recovery program, there comes a time for making amends and offering forgiveness.  Amends came easily to me.  Forgiveness came hard.  There were a few people that I put on my “never going to forgive” list.  Then, as years went by and amazing redemption happened in my life that list had fewer and fewer people on it.  Until there was just one name on the list.

Mom.

I believe that any forgiveness is a supernatural miracle of God, and I’m not able to do any forgiving on my own.  I have to tap into the power that Jesus died for my sin and he died for the sin I need to forgive.  That’s power.  God forgave me so that I can forgive others.  It is a process.  Jesus is in charge of the timeline.  I continued to wait on the Lord.

On November 13, 2022 I attended a service in my childhood church.  I’ve been back several times as an adult and, depending on where my mental health is at the moment, I experience the building with deep shame or fun nostalgia.  Either way I always remind myself often during a visit, that I’ve come a long way since my time there as a child.  This particular day I don’t remember which side was coming out because we’d just gotten a new puppy and I was sleep deprived.  I enjoyed seeing the changes to modernize things and some of the old familiar things as well.  Different from my childhood, they have a band for worship.  I first learned the love of singing in this church and it felt like coming home to sing that day.  As soon as we sat down following worship God performed a miracle in my heart.

I forgave my mom.

Forgiveness didn’t erase any memories of what had happened in our lives together, but forgiveness released the tight grip those things had on my heart.  And, I am free.

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I feel confident that if my mom knew that true healing was available to break generational sin she would have found a way to attain it.  I know she’s experiencing true freedom in Heaven, but I wish she could have been free during her time on earth.