Silent Reflection

1.

“Are you there, God? It’s me…” This must be the 1,000th time I’ve prayed these words, and still I hear nothing. No audible voice to point me in the right direction, no thunder or lightning as a sign that he heard me, not even a single cricket.

My daughter is in desperate need, speaking words of betrayal, murder, mutilation, and bloodshed, all aimed directly at me.

As I lie in my comfortable bed with my husband gently snoring beside me, in the one place where I have always felt safe and comforted, fear washes over me. My imagination is a dangerous thing, and I expect the worst.

In the upstairs bedroom, I hear her muttering loudly at those she believes have done her harm. Real or imagined, in her mind, it makes no difference. She feels threatened, triggered, and is ready to explode. I will be her target, the one tangible way she can let out all her fears, anger, and animosity, for I am a safe place to unload. She knows I will still love her. And deep down, I have to believe she knows I care.

2.

I lie awake, lost in quiet reflection, and think back to her childhood. My daughter was a bright, spirited, and fiery little thing right from the start. Her independence was evident from the very first time she refused to be strapped into her car seat.

The day was beautiful, warm and sunny. We had just left church and bustled into the car for the short trip home. She was about 2 years old and never went anywhere without her blue tattered blanket that Grandma had made for her and a thumb in her mouth. Up until this point, she had no problem sitting in her car seat and was content to babble on and pick at her brother whenever the opportunity arose.

On this day, she refused to be strapped in. Every time we did so, she would loudly voice her displeasure, then maneuver the straps to wriggle out of them, grab her blanket, place her thumb in her mouth, and stare at us with a ‘what are you going to do about it now’ kind of look. The child was unnerving.

The scene played itself out several times as we slowly drove home on quiet backstreets to prevent too much commotion from other drivers around us. It was clear she was challenging us, and I felt it was crucial to not let her win this little skirmish. If she did, I could see much larger and more weighty battles in our future. So, I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I gave her an ultimatum. I knew full well I wouldn’t carry out my threat, but figured that at 2 years old, she couldn’t possibly grasp that fact. I was wrong.

What I said to this precocious little minx was that if she didn’t stay in her chair, she would have to walk home all by herself. To which she replied, ‘Okay,’ and proceeded to get out of her car seat, grab her blanket, and wait patiently for me to open the door.

Strike one.

Now I was in a pickle. While I had intended to defuse the situation with a simple ultimatum, it had now become a full-blown test of wills. My choices were to back down and let her win the argument or open the door and point her to the sidewalk. In a nanosecond, I took everything into consideration and made my choice. I would open the door.

Strike two.

Chaos ensued as her big brother burst into tears. His soft heart couldn’t contend with the fact that his sister was to be left behind. My husband and I were unmoved. The obstinate little child would have to learn. We both knew it was only a bluff. Meanwhile, my daughter hugged her blanket close, stuck her thumb in her mouth, headed to the sidewalk, and started walking.

For dramatic effect, my husband began to drive the car slowly away, just ahead of her, where we could still see. His intent was to invoke in her the feeling that we would leave her, and she would be so fearful she would come running. To our surprise, she continued walking without a second glance at us or the car. She was going to win this battle soundly and triumphantly. She had no concern for us whatsoever.

Strike three.

3.

She is awake again after only one short hour of relief. I hear the noisy shuffling of her feet as she heads down the stairs, followed by the soft squeak of the door. The unnatural silence is deafening as she slips out into the night.

Over and over the ceaseless pattern continues. As she comes and goes, she lists to herself all of her grievances. She speaks with familiarity to an unknown entity, sharing unintelligible theories and meticulous plans. Curses are aimed at those who have wronged her, while she craftily devises retribution for those who have stolen all the treasure she imagines she possesses.

My heart bleeds each time I hear her and the never-ending pain is unbearable. In the darkness, as I lay quietly, I couldn’t begin to comprehend God’s reasoning for this madness. Why her? Why has He turned His face from us? Why me? Will He be forever silent? Is this our new normal? I hope and pray that it isn’t so.

At the moment, I have very little left within me to believe, but I cry out to God nonetheless. Where else can I turn? Who else might hear my desperate cry?

4.

Image after image floods my mind, preventing me from the sweet relief of precious sleep. One in particular stands out clearly. I see my daughter sprinting across a make-shift finish line where I am waiting to greet her on the other side.

The atmosphere is chaotic. I’m somewhat aware of parents and children locked in an embrace surrounding us. I see tears and hear laughter. The joyful noise is intoxicating. If it were another time, another circumstance, another day, I might take the time to soak it all in, but my attention is focused only on her.

As she approaches, the first thing I notice is her smile. It is beatific. She is lit up from within. A sparkle lights her eyes that I have not seen in a very long time. Her dark brown hair is disheveled, with a large blue handkerchief keeping it somewhat in place, though a few curly tendrils manage to escape. A smudge of dirt runs across her nose and cheeks. Loaded with all her earthly goods in a heavy canvas sack, hastily strapped across her back, she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I am amazed. Six weeks earlier, I dropped her off in a parking lot to a complete stranger - just two months shy of her 18th birthday, and she didn’t go lightly.

My daughter was headed to a wilderness rehab program in the dry rugged mountains of Saint George, Utah to help rid her of drug and alcohol problems. Her dad and I had given her an ultimatum, and on this one, we didn’t blink.

She did.

5.

It is finally morning and I have never been so grateful for a new day dawning. I crawl out of bed to get a cup of coffee and as I walk into the kitchen I am suddenly filled with fear. It is too quiet, too still.

I notice the kitchen door and living room door are both wide open. I walk slowly to the kitchen door and close it, then head to the living room door to do the same. All the while my mind is reeling, anxious thoughts spinning out of control.

As I approach the door, I become acutely aware of my daughter just outside of it. She is sitting perfectly still in a rocker and watching my every move intently. I can feel her sizing me up, placing me on her scales, calculating, all to see if I might measure up.

From the newly formed expression I see on her face, it is quite apparent that I have missed the mark. What she will do about it is certain to follow.

6.

My daughter crossing that finish line in the wilderness was to be a new beginning, but sadly that triumphant moment would be short-lived.

I recall a conversation we had on the phone several years later, shortly after she had graduated from college and received her certificate as a para legal. She had just been chosen to go to China as a delegate to learn about their political and legal system. She couldn’t believe she had been chosen and was so excited.

Not long after that trip, she began to change. She had a hard time focusing on classes, skipped school and quit the internship she had been granted with a state senator.

She started to hear voices and was convinced everyone was talking about her. My beautiful daughter chose harmful relationships, abused drugs and slipped further and further away from reality and those who loved her.

She eventually had a major breakdown and was hospitalized in a psychiatric facility.

Consequently, she was diagnosed with schizophrenia, a devastating mental illness that is tragic for the ones who live with it and for those who care for them.

Our lives have never been the same.

7.

Sitting in the rocker outside that door, my daughter decided I could no longer be trusted. To her, at that moment, I was the enemy. She came at me and attacked with everything she had.

In shock, I reeled with the enormity of all that was happening. I had given all that I had to give her, a place of security and rest to help and to heal her. I wasn’t enough.

In the pain and aftermath of the attack, I realized I would never be enough. It didn’t matter how much I tried, how much I loved, how much I did. I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t fix her.

It was at that moment I finally understood that God heard each one of my desperate pleas for help and guidance.

He wasn’t deaf or dumb, but He was patiently waiting for me to stop striving and surrender it all to him.

I did.

And my life has never been the same.

8.

I believed God was all powerful in my early days. But as time continued on and life got messier, I stopped believing in a God who loved me. I still believed He existed, but had no confidence that He cared for me personally.

My daughter’s attack, while traumatic and painful, was a wake-up call for me. It brought me to some important truths.

The first truth is that God sees me, loves me personally as an individual, and hears me when I pray.

Next, is that he is always working for my good and for the good of others, even when I don’t understand it.

And most importantly, that I can trust Him in all things. For he is a faithful God who always has a plan and will never fail.

I would like to be able to tell you that my daughter is now healed, healthy and well, but that would not be accurate.

She still struggles day to day, living with a mental illness that is debilitating and devastating.

Even with this reality, what I can say with confidence, is that God is with her. He is watching over her and I have seen His hands of love and power in her life many times over.

I can also report that in my own life, I have an overwhelming sense of peace and an assurance that God wins in the end. This life is only temporary and the trials we face will one day be over.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to the joy we can have in him.