It's Their Loss

Saturday night, I did something I never ever thought I would do, and I did it because I love my daughter. Now before I tell you what that something was and have you go thinking I'm the most awesome mom ever, I must tell you that my quick and initial first response to her request was a solid and firm, "No, I won't do that." So, you see, I'm really not the most awesome mom ever ... not by a long shot, friends ... but I do love my kids with all my heart, and Saturday night proves that I'll do just about anything for them. Even if that "anything" means returning to a place I swore I would never go back to ... a place that once felt like home and the people there like family ... a place where I once felt loved and accepted ... a place that was once my refuge ... a place where I once thought I mattered ... a place where I once felt like I belonged. Last night, I went back to my former church for an event my daughter asked me to attend with her and my son-in-law ... I went back because I love my daughter.

I've come to the conclusion that there are certain types of hurt ... deep down to the pit of your soul hurt ... that may not ever go away no matter how hard you try to get rid of it. Some hurts are like wounds that just won't ever fully heal, you know? You can do all the right things ... you can put medicine on them, keep them covered with a bandage, follow all of the doctor's instructions to the letter ... and yet the wound is still there. It may look from the outside as though it's healed, but down deep inside ... way down deep inside where no one else can see ... the wound remains. That's why what I did Saturday night was such a big deal for me ... that's why I first said no to my sweet daughter's request ... because there's a wound down deep inside of me that still hurts ... that's why, friends ... because that wound still hurts.

I could hear the disappointment in my daughter's voice on the phone when I told her I wouldn't go. She didn't complain or judge me or tell me I needed to get over it, quite the opposite, in fact. She said she understood ... she said it was okay ... she said she loved me. My mind sped down memory lane as our call ended ... memories of my kids growing up in that church ... memories of people whom I loved so dearly ... memories of characters I played in VBS skits ... memories of teaching Sunday school ... memories of how quickly it all changed ... memories of leaving, ashamed and wounded and broken. I can't explain it, but as those memories washed through me, I knew what I had to do. When I convinced myself that I could actually do so without bawling my eyes out, I called my daughter back and told her I had changed my mind ... I told her I would go to the church that evening with her and my son-in-law.

Amazingly, lightning didn't strike me down when I stepped inside the walls of my old church, nor did I have a heart attack and die right there on the spot as I had feared I might. My heart was beating faster than a race horse runs, and I did think for a brief moment that the wonderful dinner I had just eaten might choose to escape the confines of my stomach. I won't lie ... I was happy that there weren't many people there for the event and that the ones who knew me were kind. They hugged me and seemed genuinely happy to see me. The whole experience was quite surreal for sure and I definitely don't want to do it again anytime soon. But the smile on my daughter's face ... the smile on her face and the light in her eyes made me know with complete certainty that going with her and my son-in-law to the church Saturday evening was most definitely the right thing to do.

As I drove home later that night after a spontaneous ice cream outing with my daughter, son-in-law and a young couple and their two daughters, an all too familiar sadness began to make its way into my heart ... the sadness of loss. When people whom I thought were among my closest friends suddenly disappeared from my life when I came crawling out of the closet I had spent my entire life hiding in, other people would say to me, "It's their loss, Terrie. You're a wonderful person and they didn't deserve you. It's their loss, Terrie ... really ... it's their loss." I wanted to believe those words back then but I couldn't. I want to believe those words now but I can't. I couldn't believe them then and I can't believe them now because actions speak far louder than words.

When people who were a huge part of my life ... people who once called or emailed or texted or dropped by to say hi almost every day for years suddenly stopped doing those things ... people I trusted ... people I believed in ... people I thought really and truly cared about me ... when those people could so easily walk away, when they cared one day (or at least I thought they did anyway) and the next day they didn't ... well, that makes it pretty difficult, if not impossible, to believe "it's their loss." That's one of those kinds of hurt ... down deep to the pit of my soul hurt ... that may not ever go away no matter how hard I try to get rid of it ... the hurt of knowing that it isn't their loss at all.

I know I've said it lots of times before, but tonight my heart is heavy and tonight it bears repeating ... be kind to one another, friends. People are so much more precious than riches or power or fame or any of the other things we so often spend our lives chasing after or trying to obtain. What greater wealth is there on earth than the wealth of being in relationship with one another? What greater power is there on earth than the power of a listening and caring heart? What greater fame is there on earth than the fame of making a difference in one another's lives? If we must chase after or try to obtain anything in life, may it be kindness ... may it be respect ... may it be compassion ... may it be putting the needs of others before our own ... may it be forgiveness ... may it be love.