Mommy's voice, too

Story has VBS at our church this week. The theme is “Shipwrecked: Rescued by Jesus.” We’ve been watching the music videos on YouTube since yesterday. I like the songs. They’re catchy and the theology is good.

On the way to church this morning, Story was watching one of the music videos on my phone and singing along. I began to sing along too, and she said, from the back seat- “Stop singing, Mommy.” She likes to hear her own voice these days. I guess that’s a pretty normal child-development thing.

Most of the time, I would say, ‘Okay, you sing.” Let her develop her own voice, her sense of self, all that stuff. But today, I didn’t. I said. “Jesus wants to hear Mommy’s voice too.”

After I said this, the power in my own words filled me with emotion. Again, the chorus came, and Story sang, and I sang too. She didn’t like it. “Mommy, no singing.”

“Story, I’m not going to sing loudly. I want you to be able to hear your voice, but Jesus wants to hear both of us.”

My eyes filled up. My voice cracked. But I sang on.

I’m still trying to heal. Back in the winter, I shared on here that I was pretty sick- emotionally, spiritually, physically. I’m getting better. Physically I’m much better- no more stomach ulcer, and I actually sleep most nights.

But, spiritually and emotionally? It’s a process.

Lately, I’ve been realizing what hard work it is to actually try to heal inside. It’s a lot easier to just try to be productive. And, then, when the productivity wears me out, it’s easier to escape- a good story is my favorite way to escape. Library books, audio books, podcasts.

But then, I look at Story. Three years went so fast. Right now, she is all giggles and helping hands. My golden girl. But I know that I will blink and adolescence will be here- the self-doubt, and peer pressure and our manipulative culture ready to devour her. It keeps me up at night.

If it were just me, I might just sail off- a glass of wine in one hand, my index finger ready to tap "play" on my iPhone’s Audible app. Take me away… let me just avoid this pain.

But she’s worth more than that. When the day arrives that the voices inside her and around her start to lie to her about her worth, I had better be ready to speak the truth. Speaking is the easy part.  But how is she going to believe it, if she knows, deep down, that her own mother doesn't believe it either? 

So, into my pain I go. Fighting a battle with unbelief. Embracing my own failure instead of trying to avoid it. Fingers fumbling through once-familiar Bible pages. Hunting for verses I used to believe. Hoping- against all hope- to believe these words more than any others. Will these lies ever stop? It all feels so broken. I can’t stop feeling worthless.

Deep down, the lie snarls- “No one wants to listen to you. You have nothing worth saying. You are nothing but trouble.” But, for my girl’s sake, I speak truth. Out loud. In the car.  

“Jesus wants to hear mommy's voice, too.”

And I sing.

What is gained if I am silenced, if I go down into the pit?

Will the dust praise you?

Will it proclaim your faithfulness?

Hear, Lord, and be merciful to me; Lord be my help…

That my heart may sing your praises and not be silent.

Lord, my God, I will praise you

Forever.

Psalm 30:9-10, 12