Today my little girl was broken.
It was a normal morning.
We woke up.
She ate her breakfast while I ran through my usual panic-stricken dash through the house to get ready.
I asked her to brush her teeth.
I packed her lunch.
I started yelling because she STILL hadn't brushed her teeth, so she finally did that.
We jumped in the car and off we went to drop her off at school so I could maybe get to work and not be 10 minutes late, as usual.
We usually sing along to either the radio or some playlist I keep at the ready for when she's in the car with me (because let's face it, DMX is probably not the best bet when your almost-seven-year-old is in the car), so I was singing along, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror.
And then I heard her tiny voice--"Mom." And I looked again and I could see her eyes were red, her face smudged with tears, and her shoulders heaving with sobs she was trying so desperately to fight.
"What's wrong?!" I asked her, because literally this had come from nowhere. Did I yell about the tooth brushing thing a little too hard? No way, because that's a daily occurrence. Dental hygiene is a daily battle we are both used to at this point.
"I miss our house."
And there was no holding back at this point for her.
"I miss our house. I miss our yard. I miss riding on the tractor with daddy. I miss all of us being there. I hate moving. Nothing is the same." And she cried her eyes out in the backseat of my car.
It was like I had been punched in the gut. It has been over two years since her father and I separated. August will be two years since our divorce. When she talks to other kids or adults about me and her dad, she rolls her eyes and says, "My mom and dad don't get along, so they got a divorce." Emphasis on the last word like she is a pro at this.
I have spent the better part of two years making sure the transition from a "normal" family to a new kind of family unit has been smooth for her. We have talked about it. I thought we were good.
All of that came crashing down today, because I realized my daughter still needs time to absorb the fact that this--this back and forth between parents, new apartments, shuffling around, asking who is picking her up from school today, is she in after-care today?--this is her new normal.
And in the scope of a child's mind, she naturally gravitates to those feelings of security she felt three years ago, before the bottom had fallen out entirely. She misses it.
Brutal truth time on my part: I do not miss her father. But I miss my house. I miss my yard, too. I miss my stuff. I miss feeling like I had it all. It's a strange, shallow kind of grief for a grown adult, but for a child--it's everything.
I reminded her that it was okay to be sad. That I missed our old house, too. And that God had something bigger planned for all of us, including her father--that He doesn't want us to be sad; He doesn't want us to suffer blindly; He will do big things in our lives because He wants that for us. We are going to grow from this--it can only get better from here.
By the time I had pulled up to the school drop-off line, she was still crying, but resolute. She wanted to go into school and be with her friends. So, let her out of the car but then I proceeded to watch her continue to fall to pieces on the sidewalk as she walked away from me and through the doors of the school, wiping tears.
My girl was broken. And it happened on a rainy Thursday morning, right before my very eyes.
--
I am grateful my church has started a monthly women's night, led by our incredible pastor, Danielle. These nights literally leave me breathless--a room full of women who are simply crazy about God, fellowship and alllll the food, worship that blows my mind, and a message that leaves me laying awake for hours simply absorbing the nuances behind it.
It is exactly what I need, when I need it. It's perfectly laid out in the middle of the week when I am tired, burned out, questioning everything--including my sanity, and these nights leave me feeling whole.
Last night, Danielle asked an incredible question--"What do you think of God?"
Is God vengeful, mean, and just wants to see us suffer? Or is He a good, kind, and loving God? Which version do I trust?
Here's some more brutal truth: the last 2.5 years of my life have left me very much questioning this exact thing.
Why would God allow me to suffer at the hands of an abusive marriage--at the very height of strength in my faith?
Why has EVERYTHING been so hard since I left my husband?
Why does the "church" as an institution seem so hateful and angry?
What if Jesus's message to the disciples about God wasn't really one of love and goodness and kindness?
Why did He have to die, then?
What if eeeeeverything I knew and loved about my God is wrong?
Everything sucks.
--
And so, as I sat in my car on my way to work, crying myself now, wondering if I should have sat in the parking lot with Peyton a little longer before I let her go--I asked myself if I truly, unequivocally, believed the things I told her before I left her.
Does God really have big, great things in store for us?
Is there a point in my life where I will be able to sit back, drop the anxiety and fear, and go "Yup, this is the abundant life promised to me."
And it sounds selfish. Like HELLO GOD. HERE I AM. WHERE IS ALL THIS GREAT STUFF YOU PROMISED ME?!
And I feel guilty for questioning and doubting.
I am not a perfect person. There are things I can do better. I can try harder. Love harder. I fail at all of that pretty often. Self-awareness is rough.
These last few years have been filled with some of the hardest, most difficult tests of my life. I have been pushed to the very precipice of walking away from the church, from God--to throwing up my hands and saying, "This is not the way."
But in the very deepest parts of me, I know that it is. There have been some days where I am clenching my teeth and I am holding onto this truth with just a pinky finger.
It is gritty. It is hard.
And yet faith is funny like that.
I know my God is one of kindness, and love, and all the goodness I can hardly begin to conceive of in my brain. This is what I know to be true, because I do see it--small glimmers of peace and joy while I am in the battlefield that single motherhood feels like some days.
I've had friends, who I know are well-meaning, tell me that they could not imagine, or would refuse to go through, the things that I have over the last couple of years.
This is not needless pain and suffering. I did not ask for this, but instead I believe I was simply chosen for it.
The big picture? I don't see it now--but I rest in the fact that it will be good. I have to trust it.
It took a crazy, tear-filled, reckoning with God in the car on a rainy Thursday morning, but I can now say confidently that I looked at my daughter today and I believed what I said.
And it will all be okay.
