There's grace for that...

Most of you have probably heard my poor taste in mom jokes –- amongst the other seemingly dark humor I can’t seem to stay away from. You may also be familiar with who my mother is… and that she doesn’t play a role in my life. My mother is not necessarily a topic that I shy away from, I’ll always answer any questions about her, but she’s not someone I share/broadcast much to the world. Sort of like an out of sight out of mind situation. This isn’t due to resentment or bitterness, it’s simply because I’ve moved past the chaos and trauma she left behind. I know that this sounds like a bad way to go about it but boundaries are in place for a reason, ya know? Anyways, I digress…

I wasn’t going to share this story publicly. However, after I shared it with some close friends, they convinced me I ought to, that it could help someone else. Maybe sharing this story can help bring peace to someone who closely relates, and help them reach the same God given peace that I did; given that this story was a monumental defining moment for me. With that being said, if you’re curious to hear about it, keep reading. 

Storytime:

My roommate, the one and only Richard, one day approached me, and told me she’d like to meet my mom. She expressed that she wanted to meet the person that “shaped part of who I am”… LOL. This threw me for a bit because the only person who has ever met my mother is my close friend, Astrid, and even that was an “emergency” situation–  that then led to an extremely awkward situation for everyone involved. Honestly, I had no intentions of any of my friends ever meeting my mom. I am not ashamed, but I am apologetic. Let me explain. 

First off, my mother, she’s delusionally awkward and operates like someone who’s on top of the clouds 24/7; struggling to form full sentences can complicate having a viable conversation. Secondly, I know that once I give her a crumb, she’ll want the entire cookie which will just cause a crumb-y situation … which had the potential to ruin the years worth of work I have enacted trying to appropriately set safe boundaries, when in regards to her,  in order for me to heal and grow. So, this innocent request had great potential to erase completely all the well placed speed bumps I’d placed between me and my mother. Third, she can be extremely mean … and usually is, with no hesitation and for no reason. It’s important to note, I’m only informing y’all of this so you can understand the full scope of emotions I felt as I swallowed my pride, to sit with the pit in my stomach, and messaged my estranged mother on Facebook to invite her to my safe space … my home – to have a home-cooked meal with my roommate and I. (Note: we hadn’t seen each other in two years at the time). 

Quickly, as if waiting for an invite back into my life, she responded, “YES” and I immediately felt nauseous – literally sick to my stomach because there was no going back now. I forced myself to retain a survival mindset of “It’s just one night”. 

The day of the impending dinner flew by. I went to the meat market where I got her favorites,  steak and potatoes. I had emotionally and mentally prepared for this one meal all week, heck, I even phoned my sister Hannah to discuss the event. Hannah in turn, phoned my mother to ask her how she felt about my invitation. My heart sank as she relayed how excited and nervous she was because she didn’t want to “mess anything up”. All the while I was over here literally dreading her company. 

God humbled me at that moment. Conviction flooded me. Here I was, being given an opportunity to show love even when it was hard and I didn’t want to. 

Here we are. The day had come. I got to her apartment, and I can’t say I wasn’t more than a little emotional when she walked out in her dress-up blouse, washed hair, and a smile from ear to ear. She was carrying herself like a child would if they were super excited about the first day of school or going to build-a-bear workshop. I was still nervous, not knowing what choice words would flow from her mouth … but in a positive twist, she was nice. She was trying. When we got to my house she wouldn’t go in without me entering before her, a sign of genuine respect, which is something that I did not expect but I did appreciate. For the first time in 27 years, I felt as if I had my mother's respect. As I cooked dinner for the three of us (my mother, my roommate, and myself) she kept offering to help, but this was my opportunity to serve her, and I was happy to do that. I’m not sure if that was rooted in my guilt for having no relationship with her or the guilt of her having a miserable life and me simply wanting to give her a good evening. Regardless, this was a treat for her to sit and enjoy. While we were making small talk the one thing she kept saying over and over was “You have such a beautiful home” and “You have made so much of yourself” which really hit me hard. I realized at that moment that this may perhaps be the highlight of her year. 

I thought to myself, all of these things that I have, and I still feel like I’m not doing enough or achieving enough, and yet my moderate success and humble life had my mom absolutely mesmerized. I was humbled, again. It was a revelation of how much I have taken for granted. I’m aware that she metaphorically built the bed she currently laid in, but nonetheless, I realized I needed to be more thankful for the blessings that I have been given. This moment still sits in my mind daily, and I imagine and hope that it stays a reminder that what I have is enough. We had a great time and a great dinner with a lot of laughter albeit, surface-level conversation, it was good. 

Then came the car ride home …

As I drove her home,  just her and I, the opportunity for us to talk one on one presented itself. She kept saying: sorry for being a bad mother, and that she really wanted to be better, do better. I brought up the fact that I had been listening to some podcasts lately and I wanted her to know that I forgave her. I said, “You did your best with the hand that you were dealt and there is grace for that and forgiveness for that”.  My Mother asked me to present an example of something that she messed up on. So, I did. I detailed to her a moment of absolute betrayal where her actions hurt me to my core and changed my life and the way I see things. (I won’t share the situation, that one isn’t public information.)  I remembered the memory as I recounted it for my mother. I remember the hot humid air falling off my face as I walked into the house, a mere girl, young girl. Her saying “come here” and me knowing what was coming next just by the tone of her voice. We had a very short discussion, no room for any kind of protection on my behalf. Then … she beat me with a brush (whew, she had a good swing y'all) and then after that, she then grounded me for three months. This entailed little 7th grade Lesk doing every chore in the house for 7 children and two adults. Let me just clarify that it is some work for what it’s worth. I remember to this day walking out of her room with tear-filled eyes and heated skin to get my first of many loads out of the laundry. Now, jump back to the present day, where I sat in my car describing to her every single detail of that horrid day in chronological order. As I came to the end of this story, she sat in my passenger seat looking at her hands twiddling her thumbs…. I could see the emotion all over her. She looked sad, even dare I say remorseful, and after a couple of minutes she gave the response… “I’m sorry I don’t remember any of that.” The sting. The burn. How small I felt. I was her child. Her daughter. I had no other words than the response of, “You don’t remember one of the worst days of my life?” She said, “No, I’m so sorry.” 

Anger filled my body. Hurt filled my soul. Disbelief filled my brain… how could she care so little that she couldn’t even remember what that day carried, the consequences that day had on me. I could feel the opening of an entirely new wound that I would now have to  heal from rip wide open, needing stitches. 

Then there was → God. Immediately I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. 

 I took a deep breath, and the grace of Jesus carried my conversation as I responded simply with “It’s okay, there’s grace for that.” She kept saying, “No really I’m so sorry, I can’t remember much of anything anymore.” This was also a moment of  heartbreak, not just for me but for her, knowing that she’s struggling. The life she has and has had, isn’t a life I’d wish on anyone. Nonetheless, God used this moment. First, for me to make sure she knows she’s forgiven. Secondly, for the first time ever, I used a moment of my trauma, from my abuser TO my abuser as an avenue to show who God is to me and who he could be for her. This is a moment not everyone gets.

I replied, “You know, we aren’t all perfect and God has shown me a lot of grace over the years, all that I didn’t deserve. He’s shown me enough grace to give you some too. So, there is grace for that. Truly, I forgive you.”  She didn’t say much after that other than “thank you, I don’t deserve it, but I love you,” my response back … “I love you too mom”.

Shortly, we arrived at her apartment. I got out and gave her a hug. The kind of hug that I hadn’t gotten from my mother since I was too young to remember. This was a genuine, no more anger, no more hurt “I love you, you’re my mom” hug. I needed that and I’m thankful for it.

I’ve never left a conversation feeling so free. I had forgiven her in some ways a long time ago, and this was the last little bit of anger I didn’t even realize I needed to be freed from. I think she needed that freedom too, the freedom of being forgiven and knowing that she's loved. This up and down night of emotion and forgiveness gave me the freedom to love my mother for who she is and from where she's at, and there is a lot of freedom in that.

 I think that God’s grace has more weight in my mind now than it did before. It’s a lot for me to process… and oftentimes hard to give grace, but that’s part of what makes it freeing. Giving grace is realizing others have struggles and not everyone can create a life of love and understanding, but being able to remember God’s grace is for everyone, especially the struggling, has impacted my feelings towards others and made me appreciate the grace I too have received. 

As I said, this moment was monumental for me. I don’t hate my mother. I never hated her. I was angry with her for a long time, rightfully so. This doesn’t excuse her behavior, nor does it mean everyone has to mend a relationship with someone who has abused or caused trauma in their life. It means when you show the grace of Jesus to those individuals, you find freedom in that. I found freedom in that. I pray to each person reading this, if there is any person in your life who has caused you harm, forgive them. Let it go. Life is really short and it doesn't need to be wasted holding onto things that don’t bring joy and peace into your life. 

God moves in ways that I don’t always acknowledge or understand, but I’m glad he always shows up and that he always has a plan. Psalm 30:5 “for his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night but joy comes in the morning."

To my friends who stand by me always, thank you for allowing me to heal over time. 

To my readers, thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts.

Glad to be here.

This is what Life Transparent: Brutally Honest & Surprisingly Hopeful is. 

Love, the girl who forgave her mom