Face-to-face with my true identity

My mama used to cup my face with her small, strong, piano-playing hands, and in her eyes and words I saw my favorite version of myself.  She did not let my being a grown-up stop this childhood practice, and I always knew I was about to receive a life-giving dose of affirmation and adoration when she reached for my face.  

She thought I was simply amazing and astonishing.  With her face pressed in close to mine, she would remind me of who I was, how loved I was, and what great adventures God had for me.  She had a knack for doing this when I needed it most, when my insecurities were telling me the opposite, when I craved rest in the assurance of being her beloved.  

Although my mama would argue this, I know this didn’t happen because I am actually amazing and astonishing.  I get this even more now that I’m a mama myself: she delighted in me because I was hers.  She and Dad and God created me and then worked together to form me into who I am and am continually becoming.

About a year after Mama died, I dreamt about her.  Much to my dismay, this hadn't happened and still doesn't.  Many parts of the dream were chaotic and weird and anxiety-ridden.  I ended up sitting on the beach with death and destruction all around me.  Suddenly my mama, looking vibrant and healthy in her favorite blue sweater, stood in front of me.  I wanted to focus on her, but I was distressed by the awful sights on the beach.  So she bent down, placed her hands on my cheeks and blocked out my view of anything but her beautiful face.  She spoke urgently, firmly, and seriously even though her eyes were smiling. I desperately wish I could remember her exact words, but I know she was drowning out the chaos with words of affirmation, adoration, and delight.  

I carry this image with me.  Mama was showing me how my Savior, Jesus, longs to minister to me.  He told his disciples, “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you.  Now remain in my love” (John 15:9).  He is inviting me to his embrace, to come close enough that he can place his hands on my face and speak to me about who he sees me to be.  When I remain in this place, then whatever is happening on the beach cannot sweep me out to sea.  I can stay rooted in this true and honest view of myself—the self Jesus thought up, created, and continues to form daily.  The self he delights in and adores. The self he rescued from death.  While missing my mama has left a giant gap in my identity, she reminded me in that dream that she was just being an extension of Jesus in those face-to-face moments.  When I look into his face and hear his words, I can still see my favorite version of myself.  And like Mama, Jesus doesn’t do this because of anything I’ve done.  He loves me because I’m his.

Jesus reminded his followers later on in John 15 that remaining in his love allows us to follow his instruction: “This is my command: Love each other” (verse 17).  When I let Jesus’s face fill my vision, I cannot help seeing others with compassion and love.  At times it is hard to accept Jesus’s love for me—especially when I have messed up or stumble over the same struggle that has been tripping me up for as long as I can remember.  And at times it is hard to truly love others—especially when they act in a way I deem as unloveable.  But I am finding the more I see in Jesus’s eyes that I am his beloved daughter, I am better able to see everyone else with that same love.  Imagine how life-giving this could be?  I want my husband and sons to see their best selves when they see me look at them.  I want my family and friends to know how delighted I am by them when I speak to them.  And I want to see strangers the way Jesus would. 

Today, my prayer is that you will feel embraced by Jesus’s nail scarred hands, that you will let his love fill your vision, that you will see the you he sees—one worth dying for.

Missing Mama

54 years ago today, my mom was born early and weighed only 5 pounds.  Such a small start led to such a huge life.  I have been wondering for weeks how I’m supposed to get through this day, her birthday.  There have been many moments, especially yesterday, in which I totally understood the term “grief-stricken”, because sometimes her absence and the memories of the end of her life are like a sucker-punch to my gut that leaves me breathless with stinging tears in my eyes.  Even though it is my nature to look on the bright side of everything, I do not want to minimize the loss that we all feel now that she’s gone.  Her death left a hole that is equal to our love for her and her love for us...that’s big.  So today, on her birthday, as I struggle to know what do to with myself, I want to fight the urge to avoid and distract.  I want to embrace my loss and celebrate her life.

The things that really hurt now that she’s gone:

My phone.  I still pick it up to call her, and I still check to see if she’s texted me.  We were truly in constant communication, and sometimes the world seems really quiet without her voice in my life.

My boys. Watching them miss her breaks my heart.  Liam can express his thoughts more eloquently, which is a blessing and pierces me at the same time.  Sawyer has a harder time understanding, and so there are painful conversations in which he tries to figure out once again why he can’t find Grammie.  And as Everett grows, I ache to have her see him.

My family. We are all grappling with her death together and apart, and I constantly wish I could ease their pain.  My dad, my brothers and their families, my husband, my gramma and mom's siblings are all feeling the daily impact of our catastrophic loss.  Our pain mingles together as we support each other.

My identity. My relationship with my mom was and is a huge part of who I am and how I understood myself to be.  Now that she’s gone, I often find myself struggling to know how to act or respond to things.

My faith. In many ways, my faith has grown since my mom died, but there is now a bittersweet aspect to it.  I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my faith does not protect me from intense pain and heartache.  I’ve had to have some awful, wrenching talks with God and have had to learn to trust him in a way that takes painful abandon of understanding and control.

While all of that hurts a lot, I am my mother’s daughter after all, and I cannot let myself dwell there for too long.  For one of the greatest gifts my mama gave me was a beautiful, baggage-free mother/daughter relationship.  I truly have a lifetime of sweet memories with her that bring me joy and not pain.  She loved me unconditionally and fervently every day of my life.  And she was an exceptional woman of God who let me learn from her triumphs and her mistakes.  So I want to do what I used to do on her birthday cards.  I want to celebrate the things I love about my mama.

Christina Runge Wehr could be light-hearted, but she did not take the commitments and the people in her life lightly.  When she was in high school, she promised God that she would read her Bible every day.  And then she went on to truly read her Bible EVERY DAY!  From my earliest memories on, she packed her Bible everywhere with her.  I am so thankful for that lesson in commitment to God.

She celebrated the people in her life.  My brothers and I were the constant recipients of cards, notes, texts and words of affirmation from our mother.  One text she sent me said, “I truly am one of the most blessed moms and grammies ever!  I love you all, my extraordinary children and in-laws and grandbabies.  You make me RICH!”  I got these kind of texts all the time.  She thoughts of others before herself, and she never missed a chance to make someone feel special.

Her life was full of music.  Ryan used to joke that no matter what subject we were talking about, my mom probably knew a silly camp song about it.  And he was right.  Growing up, our house was full of songs about riding in the car, taking a bath, ostriches, kangaroos, and cleaning up our toys as well as songs about Jesus and faith as well as songs from all the classic musicals and operas.  Mama truly had a song for every occasion.

There are so many things about my mama that I love that it’s hard to even know what to say.  She was a unique and lovely woman of God who showed courage, grace and faith through intense struggle.  She loved her husband, her children, her grandkids, her family, her friends and her students more than she loved her own life.  She also loved Disneyland, camping, hiking, The Chronicles of Narnia, Dean Koontz books, Charlie Brown, the color green, shopping, jewelry, journals, singing on the worship team, salmon, creme brulee, cribbage and poetry.  She was not a fan of the coast, going to women’s conferences or lavender (the color or the fragrance).  She couldn’t see her phone without her glasses, so she sent her kids really funny texts that were so auto-corrected that they didn’t make sense.  She had a hard time forgiving anyone who ever hurt the people she loved and she was forever devoted to the people who helped the people she loved.  She loved God with all her heart, and she truly had a very personal relationship with Jesus.  She really was one of those people who forever changed people’s lives just by being a part of their story.      

I want to end with a thought from an amazing book about loss I’m reading called A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser.  

He says, “The soul is elastic, like a balloon.  It can grow larger through suffering.  Loss can enlarge its capacity for anger, despair, and anguish, all natural and legitimate emotions whenever we experience loss.  Once enlarged, the soul is also capable of experiencing greater joy, strength, peace and love.  What we consider opposites--east and west, night and light, sorrow and joy, weakness and strength, anger and love, despair and hope, death and life--are no more mutually exclusive than winter and sunlight.  The soul has the capacity to experience these opposites, even at the same time.”

Being raised and loved by my mama already stretched my soul.  Then being by her side as she valiantly battled cancer, stretched it even more.  And now the grief I feel has stretched it painfully further.  But the final gift she and God have given me, is that my stretched-out soul truly does have more room and depth to experience all the things mama loved here on earth: family, friends, the outdoors and music...and shopping.  Mama would not want me to forget shopping:-)

Happy birthday, Mama!  I love you.