by D’Anna Lundstrom
It has been eight weeks since my son, Carter, suffered a traumatic brain injury while at summer camp in California. I am muddling through my days right now friends. Intense, sudden trauma can wreak havoc on your body and mind weeks and months after the jolting of its turbulence has passed. It certainly has mine.
I am relieved but restless. I am thankful but tired. I mingle with grief and walk with gratitude. If you have never occupied such a space, you may not understand, but it is a cumbersome place to fall.
I find myself wondering when I will feel adequate again? When will I not feel like I’m letting everyone and everything in my home, and around me down? Then I am reminded; that is an arrogant, self-sufficient line of interrogation. There will never be a time I will not be neglecting someone or something.
In those moments when I forget, I am consumed by frustration. Rest, peace and growth become good desires I am chasing in vain.
Feelings of insufficiency have been my frequent companion since Carter’s accident. My memory has abandoned me. My pantry and refrigerator are most days lacking the necessities, and with every opening of them, I feel the weight of not measuring up. Our laundry is scattered among various baskets, and every morning is a fishing expedition to find the right clothing. My “to do list” is disproportionate to my time and sturdier than my stamina.
The last few days I have been feeling particularly inferior to my sub-par performance-until yesterday morning. During a Bible study, Unhitching from the Crazy Train, Julie Sparkman, of Restore Ministries, said this, “We are inadequate and unashamed-that equals the Gospel.” That gem of truth was a life giving reminder on a flesh flourishing day for me. I knew, but I had forgotten. I had forgotten, and thus forsaken the Gospel.
Jesus died for my inadequacies and yours. Being ashamed of them is being dishonorable to Him. He willingly gave His life to give me life. He suffered a cruel, undeserved death to complete me in all the areas I am incomplete. Because He is whole, I am free to be broken. Because He is perfect, I am free to be imperfect. That is good news for a ragamuffin like me.
There is no need to twinge in light of my truth. There is no need to cower to condemnation. I am righteous because Jesus is risen. Life has its way of coaxing us into forgetting, but the Gospel has its way of coaching us into remembering.
C. S. Lewis said, “People need reminding a lot more than they need instructing.” Those words are bearers of solid truth. I know, and I forget. I am reminded, and I am set free.
Our years are a series of stages and phases. I am grateful for the ones in which my insufficiency is illuminated so my mind and spirit can once again yield to the exclusion of the One who secures for me all that I cannot attain on my own.
I need the Gospel in my hands every day, so that my heart may remember every day. I am continually drawn to an awareness that growth is most fertile when planted in the soil of grief. Staying cognizant of that is a bridge to hope and gratitude.
I hope in all the areas you feel deficient today, and every day, you may find a sense of freedom from expectations that are merely thieves of sound souls.