One morning Tytus woke me up really early. I
grabbed him out of his bed and began to feed him in my chair. His big blue eyes
stared up into mine. I loved rocking him and enjoying every smile he gave me
out the side of his mouth.
Within minutes, his smiles ran out, and he was fast
asleep in my arms. I didn’t want to move. He looked so peaceful, and I loved
every second of watching him sleep. It didn’t happen very often. For a while, I
just stared at his perfect little face. He was an angel, that was for sure, but
I don’t think that even at the moment, I could fully comprehend what a great
blessing he was for my life.
After some time, I began to look around my empty
bedroom. Not much had changed within its walls. The bedspread was still the
same as when Emmett was there. I had moved the furniture around a bit, but that
was nothing new for me. Almost everything in that room, at that very minute,
felt completely the same. It felt as if at any second, Emmett would come
walking into the room to tell me about his day. I could almost smell his body wash
steaming out from the shower. If I closed my eyes and ignored the pain in my
heart, I could step back in time before he died and pretend I was there. Maybe
it had all been a dream!
The clock read five a.m. I knew that time well. Emmett
always woke up that early to leave for the gym. On many mornings, I would get
up with him to make him some eggs before he headed out the door. I never
thought twice about how early it was. I was excited to get up and show him how
much I cared. I would sit on the counter and watch him scarf down every bite.
Eggs. I craved to lay Tytus down and go out into
the empty kitchen to make Emmett some eggs. I wanted to show him one last time
that I didn’t even look at it as a sacrifice. I wanted nothing more than to be
there for him, no matter what time the clock said.
It had been months since I had been wakened by the
sound of his voice, asking me for a quick pre-workout snack. I could almost
hear his deep voice, “Hey babe, do you mind making me some eggs before I go?”
It hurt how badly I wished he would wrap his arms around me, and whisper that
in my ear.
I snapped out of my daydream as the clock turned to
5:10. It was still hours away from the moment when tiny feet would come running
into my room, but I couldn’t sleep. Somewhere buried deep inside of me, a pain
was raging. It was so heavy that I could almost see it in my empty bedroom.
There was no sign of any change, but deep inside my soul, a storm was brewing.
In that moment, the room might have looked the same, but I knew everything was
different.
My bitterness chimed in with a stark reminder of
all the pain Emmett’s obsession with his body had brought me. The gym. Every
morning, I had dragged my exhausted body out of bed so he would have the energy
to go prance around half-naked with a bunch of other people! Regret for every
egg I had ever cooked him simmered deep inside me. All of the positive memories
of waking up to make him breakfast turned black. Why had I been there at his
beck and call? Why had I put everything into him, when he had not returned the
favor for me?
A deep-rooted anger seemed to be pulling me further
and further into despair. By the time morning came, the house was all abuzz
with excitement because the twins were graduating from kindergarten that
morning. Their joy was apparent, but my heart still felt black.
I showed up at the school just in time to find a
seat. Kindergarten graduation, though very exciting for the twins, was just one
more thing for me to do alone. The anger and bitterness that had churned inside
of me all morning about the eggs seemed to be bubbling up into my throat. I
felt like everyone was watching me, just waiting for the pain to explode out of
me. The eyes in the room felt heavy as I slid past a few parents to an empty
seat.
The twins looked beautiful. Their eyes were fixed
on me. They sang a song called Big
Dreams. It started out, “Big, big dreams, lots of big dreams, things I want
to be someday . . .” I choked up as I tried hard to keep my feelings buried
inside. Dreams. Big dreams. My twins were standing up on a big set of risers
singing at the top of their lungs about all the dreams they had for themselves
someday. Tears streamed down my face as I pictured the semblance of the normal
life I had once enjoyed being wiped away, like my tears, never to be
experienced again. Once more, I tried hard to push my fears and emotions back
inside of me.
By the end of the performance, I was ready to run
out of the room. I didn’t want to talk to any of the teachers, or parents . . .
or children for that matter. I wanted to run away, and hope that no one had caught
a glimpse of the tears that had forced their way out of me. I had to be strong,
I had to bury the pain, I couldn’t let anyone see how truly broken I was.
The mother of one of my daughter’s friends came
over to say hello. She asked how I was doing—a question for which I had no
answer. That particular question had been asked so many times that I actually
stressed out about how to answer it every single time it was asked. I assumed
she wanted me to answer honestly. Maybe she had been reading my thoughts, and wanted
me to tell her about the eggs I was fretting about all morning? Maybe she
wanted me to break down and cry, and remind her of all the legal hell I was
climbing through? I almost saw her as a threat—an enemy who wanted me to unveil
the unbearable pain I had been masking all day.
Instead of answering her, I started making jokes
about Kandi and Emmett. I didn’t look her in the eye, just rattled off joke after
joke about all the crap Emmett had pulled, and all the horrible thoughts I
still carried around about Kandi. My friend stood there silently as I made fun
of every possible angle of the story, and rattled off all of the degrading and
inappropriate slang terms I could think of to describe Emmett and Kandi’s
decisions.
She gave me a little side hug and said, “Hang in
there friend.” Then she walked away. HA! She hadn’t won. She hadn’t seen my
pain. I had fooled her for sure. She had no idea of the secrets I was
concealing, right? If all eyes were off of me, that meant no one could see my
pain. But even if they couldn’t see it, it was there, and there was no way I
could let it go because it had become a part of me . . . and I almost needed it
to survive.
That pain, the pain I thought would go away as I
directed my friend’s thoughts off of me and onto Kandi and Emmett . . . it didn’t
leave. It didn’t even feel better; it actually felt completely worse. My plan
seemed to work for a few seconds. I didn’t have to share any of the things I
was struggling with, I didn’t have to open up about my breakdown over eggs that
morning . . . but the words I did use
spoke more about my insecurities than a detailed description of them would
have. I didn’t have to describe my pain because it came straight out of me in
the form of hate!
That moment of hate would not be my last. In fact,
it became my companion. Anytime I didn’t want to look someone in the eye—for
fear they would rat out my buried anguish—I would make them laugh by telling
jokes. I would make light of the horrific story I had learned to call my life.
I would mock and tease and try hard to get any ear to hear about how “well” I
was doing. I truly believed they thought my humor was a sign that I was doing
“better,” that I had overcome my grief.
They could laugh
with me, but I never let them cry
with me. No, that was something I continued to do alone in my closet or while driving
in the car.
One of Emmett’s friends came over that night to help
Teage with some soccer moves. He ended up staying until way past the children’s
bedtime. When the kids were all in bed, we found ourselves watching TV. He sure
was a cute guy. He had never been married, and the thought crossed my mind that
maybe he was there for more than to just help Teage. I kind of enjoyed having a
man in the house again, and sitting on the couch talking with him reminded me
of having Emmett. They had a lot in common, and I could see why they had been
friends.
He had come over a few times to play with Teage
since Emmett had died, but he’d never before stayed until the kids were tucked
in bed. I had only met him a few times before Emmett’s funeral, but I remember having
seen him at the viewing. He had been very emotional, and I remembered feeling
so badly for all the single guys who had looked up to Emmett so much. It was as
if they had all looked to Emmett as an example of the men they wanted to become
and the lives they longed to have. Now they were all in the difficult situation
of trying to figure out where he had gone wrong, so they could make certain they
didn’t follow the same path.
I figured he was at my house to find more answers
about why Emmett had failed, so he could know where to look for a new hero. We
talked for a few hours about “Emmett stuff,” and after some time, he grabbed my
hand. My heart began to race. All the emotions and fears that had been bottled
up all day began to try to find their way out. What if he could feel them
through my hand? . . . What was I doing letting a man hold my hand in Emmett’s
house? I was panicking inside . . . and every feeling I had buried deep down
was trying to make its way through my hand and into his.
I was afraid that by getting that close to me, he
would be able to know how broken I was. He held my hand the rest of night, but I
never relaxed. He probably felt like he was holding onto a zombie’s cold,
unattached lifeless fingers. I shared no emotion through my touch. I didn’t
want to tell him to let go, but I held onto the fear that was trying to let him
in. I wasn’t about to share it with anyone. It was mine, and there was no way a
cute smile was going to talk me into allowing it to leave.
I never let him come over again. He called and texted
a few times after that, but there was no way I was going to let myself be
vulnerable again and risk exposing all of the broken pieces I held inside, by
having him too close. I had buried those feelings, and nobody was going
to be able to crack me open to let them free. I wasn’t ready to have a man hold
my hand; I hadn’t let go of the hand for which I still longed. But even worse,
although I wished Emmett were there to hold me . . . I hated him at the same
time. That was one toxic relationship I would have to overcome before I let
anyone hold my hand ever again.
Feelings buried inside feel safe. When we are the
ones suppressing them, we truly believe that no one can see them. Our fear of
them being revealed keeps us from letting anyone in. The moment others’ love
and concern for us causes us to believe that they are after our buried treasure
. . . we want to run.
There is no freedom from our pain when we are
running from it. It doesn’t get left behind when it is hidden inside of us.
So many of us have been hurt. We long to find
peace, and yet we refuse to let go of our hurt. We bottle it up as if it were a
prized possession. There is no good in storing our pain, there is no place for
it to reside inside our heart. Its power is darkness, and its message is
deceiving. Somehow, it causes us to believe that we need it to survive. It creates
a bond inside us that causes us to feel that it must stay there.
The darkness of the world has left many of us
stuck. We have buried its secrets within us, and we are afraid to let them
free.
Abuse, neglect, and anger have allowed others to
define who we are. We have all fallen victim to the cruel and evil secrets of
our past, and the pain that has followed has settled in comfortably inside our
hearts.
But, we don’t have to keep it in! Just like a
buried treasure in the sand, we can find the riches of digging it up and
letting it free. If you have scars from your past holding you down . . . let
them go. If someone in your past has wronged you . . . let them know. If you
have a secret eating you alive . . . today is your day to set it free.
You are not alone. Every one of us has something
buried deep inside. A secret from our past . . . or a deception causing pain.
Satan will try to get us to believe that its home is permanent; that its power
to hold us back will never leave.
I can testify that Christ knows the truth about our
pain. He knows of the fears that eat us up inside. He has heard every prayer
and seen every tear we cry. Even if those tears have been shed alone in our
closets . . . He has counted every single one of them.
When you are alone looking in the mirror, do you
hate yourself? Do you purposefully draw attention away from yourself and onto
others? Do you spend your days trying to point to everyone else so you can
continue to hide?
Pretending my pain didn’t exist . . . didn’t take
it away. It didn’t even hide it, because my screams about Kandi and Emmett’s
imperfections did nothing more than display my own. What fears are you trying
to conceal by putting others’ shortcomings on display?
I spent years making jokes about the people who had
wronged me. Anytime I saw my raw emotions coming to the surface, I would cover
their tracks with slams. Even in meetings with attorneys and detectives, it was
easier to mock Emmett’s and Kandi’s mistakes . . . than to let them see the
pain that had built a colony right in my heart.
Laughter isn’t always about what is funny.
Sometimes we laugh because it helps us not to cry. Fear and pain can be
suppressed for a long time . . . but they always find a subtle way out . . . or
eventually explode through our screams. The pain I had buried deep inside of me
raged its way out through hurtful words about the tragic events of my past, and
mocking jokes about those who had wronged me.
The emotions that drive our actions are larger than
they seem. They are powerful, they are blatant, and they are self-destructive.
Spend less time putting others down, and more time letting out the real
emotions you have buried deep inside of you.
Our bodies were not made to be storehouses for
pain. Our bodies were built to be the receptacles of beauty and light. When we
hold in our pain . . . it hurts. It doesn’t feel at home, because it was never
meant to reside inside of us.
This mortal journey we are on is more than just a
road full of painful bumps, it is a rollercoaster of excruciating exhaustion and
fear. It is a river of whitewater rapids that can toss us back and forth. We
were each sent to earth with a body. That body is a gift to serve as a vessel for
our spirit as it navigates the bumps and feels the pains of mortality. Our end
goal is not merely to see how much pain we can store inside and take back to
heaven with us, but to see how much of the pain we can overcome . . . how many
of the mountains we can cross without harboring the pain all the rocks create
under our feet. We have to learn to let go if we want to return back to God. Those
pains that are still a part of us when we die will not be left here with our
mortal bodies. If we haven’t let them go, our spirits will hold onto them. That
is why this earthly life is the time for us to learn to live and let go.
Each one of us has been given our own roadmap, but
our final destination . . . our end goal. . . is the same for all of us. When
we left the Spirit World, we knew that the things we would endure were to help
us return to live with God. He sent His Son to die for us to make that
possible, but he also commanded us to forgive all men . . . and not harbor the
pain inside of us.
When life feels like it is trying to bury its darkness
deep inside your soul, fight for the light of Christ to carry it away. When
others are sent to hold your hand, let them do their part in helping you
release your pain. When memories of the past cloud your ability to live today .
. . pray for the power of God’s love to lighten your load. I know that Christ
is the one being who has walked this earth, who has seen firsthand exactly how
each day has felt for me.
When those around you are singing about the “Big
Dreams” of the future, let it be a reminder that the sorrows in your heart can
be transformed into peace. It is good to hold onto your dreams, even when the
dream you are living feels dark. There are brighter days ahead. Don’t give up
on the big dreams and the little memories about eggs . . . for when we stand at
the gates of Heaven, searching for the acknowledgment of the one true God who
gave us life . . . remember that we will be judged on the days we are living
now.
Heavenly Father doesn’t care if you are a bread maker
or the owner of the entire bread company. What He longs to see for us, His
children, is that our road of life was lived to its fullest. He longs to hear
the stories of when we overcame the darkness that tried to bury itself in our
smiles. God desires to see us sacrifice, and love, and work hard to fulfill the
mission He sent us here to perform.
Whatever mission He has sent us on . . . we cannot
see its purpose when we are busy hiding from it. I have found that in the
moments when I have let it all go, it is then that He has been able to speak to
my heart.
If your heart is clouded with the secrets and pain
of the past, and you can no longer feel or hear Christ’s tender whispers, now
is your time to unclog your connection. He
isn’t the one preventing Himself from coming to heal us, we are the ones preventing Him from coming.
When you feel like you’ve buried yourself deep in the sorrow of your
past . . . you are the only one who can allow that sorrow to be set free, but
He can carry it away. He stands waiting for you to ask for help. Deep inside of
you, under that pain, are all the answers you are seeking. Clear the view and
you might see the perfection waiting for its voice to be heard. You are more
than the pain others have left in your heart. What is buried even further down,
deeper than the pain . . . is you.
Good Things to Come
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