This I believe

This I believe 

by Nikki Douglas

So many thoughts entered my mind with how I could approach writing my Credo. What I realize is I do believe in a lot of things. I believe in always saying, "I love you," to my girls just before closing their bedroom door at night, despite how frustrating bedtime can sometimes be. I believe in holding doors open for people and saying "thank you" when someone holds a door open for me. I believe in turn signals - they are on a car for good reason! I believe in energy and the possibility of passing it along. 

I believe in trying again. The many times I have sat down at a computer, ready to write. I begin tapping at the keyboard with a thought, then frantically pecking at the backspace button when the thought doesn't come out quite as I had hoped.  And then I try again until what I am trying to say begins to form and becomes clearer. Trying again is how I found myself seated in a pew in the back of St. Mark a few years ago.

In Anne Lamott's book, Almost Everything, she writes, "Christians say, whatever you think you need to be happy is where the devil gets in." I was tired. So crazy tired the exhaustion was a constant hum through my core. The cross I chose to bear was impossibly heavy and yet, I was terrified what might happen if I decided to put it down. I thought, if I just got stronger and armored up, I could bear the load I thought was mine to carry and everything would be okay. I believed if I tried hard enough; if I read enough parenting books, dressed my girls fashionably, and did my best to do what Pintrest & Facebook told me a good mom was; I believed I had the power to protect my daughters from disappointment and unhappiness. I also believed if I appeared to others as if I had it all figured out; if I could keep our house perfectly presentable, made home cooked dinner most nights, exercised to keep myself at a socially acceptable weight, and took on most (all) of the responsibilities of raising our girls; I thought if I did it all, life would pan out as the fairy tale I expected. But trying to manipulate and control pleasant outcomes for others, especially those you love most, is work in vain. Eventually, grace creeped its way to remind me I was not God. As Anne Lamott says, "Grace helped me throw in the towel."

You can't save those who don't want saving no matter how deeply and desperately you want them saved. Grace is what met me when I finally got too tired of trying to control. Grace is what met me when I was on my knees asking for help from a God I wasn't entirely sure existed, because I was failing at doing everything I thought I needed to, in order to be happy. Grace is what grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me square in eyes and told me to start by saving myself.

So, on a random Sunday, after 15 years of turning away from church, I showed up at the church where my daughters went to preschool. It was a place I felt was safe for my daughters; maybe it would also be a safe place for me. I don't remember much of the service except a video that was played. The message had to do with being loved and loving others, just as we are. I remember ducking out of the service after the video ended, not wanting to be noticed since tears had smeared mascara under my eyes. That's all I remember. It was enough, though. Love is enough. And sometimes love doesn't look like we are told it should. Sometimes love is letting go, even when holding on feels like the safest and most right option, and letting the God of my understanding pick up.