We Hide Pain

Pain.

We keep it close to the chest, ya?

We hide it. We hide the things that cause us pain.

We push it down, the ocean, we stem its flow. We bury grief. Those things we cannot speak. We decide this is a private matter.

We cover it with alcohol, mind altering drugs, or we may even slap a large slice of apple pie over it like a bandage.

Today. I write a pain filled chapter. I bring out that which haunts me in the night.

This is, by far, one of the most painful experiences of my life. The ocean of grief is always fresh. It does not ebb, but always flows. My heart cannot hold the weight. Every single time I talk about it I sob like a child.

It's about labels. Do you have labels in your life? You likely label yourself. Procrastinator. Lazy. Beautiful. Hard Working. Fit. Unfit. Others label you. Freely. It's part of our society. We walk around every day weighted by labels. Most of them unpleasant. Unwelcome.

You, my faithful readers, will know about the pack, about the baggage I carry. This is in there. A very heavy piece that is really too much, too much to lug.

My greeting, and, "Welcome to New York" was a person calling the offices of child protective services and filing a claim against my family.

I will never, ever, ever forget the feeling of utter terror and helplessness that I waded through. For weeks. We often joke about it. "Oh, better no slap the hand of my toddler while we are at the grocery store or I might be reported." Uh huh. Yes, you probably will. It is the largest can of worms one can open, and your life will never be the same.

I trusted no one after that. I truly trust very few people still. I hid in my house, with my blinds and doors shut. I turned off the doorbell so that it would not ring. I put my entire family in the car before I even opened the garage door. I stopped going to church. I barely made it to and from work.

I want you to think about the kind of invasion this is. Someone that you do not know has absolute control over your future. Someone who does not know your child from Adam makes a life decision about his future. There is nothing, absolutely nothing that you can do to prevent these strangers from tearing apart your life brick by brick. They invade every space. They go to your children's school, church, doctors and dentists. They randomly visit your home.

It's complete, horrifying, terrifying, helplessness, day after long day. You wonder if you live in America or Cambodia.

But. You comply. You let them into your home. You sit across the table from them, answer their questions, but also freely tell them that their actions here today are humiliating. You let them interview your children. You wonder what on Earth will pop out of their mouth today, and how that might impact the case. You weep. And weep. And weep. Day after day, that rusty nail of time drives a gaping hole. That will never fill. Until you draw your last breath.

Because. We said this is about labels. When the State of New York rested, they believed that I was negligent as a parent. (And, yes, dear readers, I bawled for ten minutes after writing that statement. It is. Raw.)
I know they were just covering their bases. I wasn't criminally charged. I did not have to take parenting classes. But that does not matter. Not to a mother's heart. It just doesn't matter.

I hope you have had the chance to meet my sons. Because they are amazing. They are discerning, wise-beyond-their-years, tender hearted boys. I often ask God what I did to deserve such "easy" kids. We are all imperfect, and they are no exception, but the road is mostly paved with joy. I am their mother. I carried them close to my heart though the physical cost was great. I love them more than I love my own life, and I would not hesitate to lay my life down in exchange.

So this label. Aches in deep, deep places.

But what we bring out of the dark holds no sway. Shame loses its power in the light, and as it does so, healing has a chance.

There are all kinds of labels out there.

False. True. Undeserved. Deserved.

I know not what God will use, or has used, from this experience. But it has changed me for the better, so in (very) small ways I can be grateful. I don't easily apply labels to the journey of others. Your journey is your journey, not mine. I look deeper than the surface. I empathize. My role is to be a caring first responder. To care for the deep aches, to lessen the significance of labels.

Friends, may be we kind. May we be caring. May we be willing to help unpack the bag of our neighbor instead of adding to his burden.

It's so painful. This world. It's so full of pain and anguish.

Allow your pain a few minutes of air time, dear friend, let that shame slip away. Whatever it may be.

God's label for you is all that lives through eternity - loved, worthy, forgiven.