My son Scott and I used to go on runs together as part of our homeschool PE. Scott was about 12 and loved to talk and babble. About 30 seconds into every run, he’d ask, “So who do you want to win Survivor? And what do you want for Christmas?” My Survivor response changed week-to-week, but my Christmas response became, “Peace and quiet and a good book.”
And through the years, I continued to answer, “Peace and quiet and a good book.” Seriously, I was homeschooling three sons. Peace and quiet was in short supply.
In 2011, Scott left for college, and, with only one son at home, I changed my Christmas request. I told my husband and sons, “I want each of you to write me a list of ten special memories you have of our family, and three things I can pray for you.”
The boys weren’t too enthusiastic about this gift, but my husband said, “We’re going to give your mother what she wants.” He took them to the store and had them buy greeting cards to write their lists on.
In general, I don’t remember Christmas gifts given or received in past years, especially more than a couple of years back. I bet that’s the case for most people. But I remember that year and those cards, and I know exactly where those cards are.
Some of their memories include:
- Running the Double Deuce - a 2-mile race, starting just before midnight on New Year's Eve
- Going to Maple Donuts after painting all day
- The Cow in the Basement
- The Crappy Hotel in Odessa
My husband actually found a card with cherries on the front to remind us of our visit to the Grand Canyon when we got sick eating cherries.
Even today, I laugh and tear-up when I read those cards or share them with my family. They are cherished presents because they represent a giving of self.
And the ultimate gift, the best present, the one that matters most, was given by the One who gave Himself as a ransom for many, the One whose birth we celebrate during Christmas and the One whose return we await.
So, next time someone asks, “What do you want for Christmas?” think of what that person means to you and what it might be cool to get, to enjoy from them or to do with them...and, every now and then, give one of those gifts.
This follow-up to “OCD and the Lutheran Confessions” is my story, my faith journey of dealing with a son who has a mental illness.
As a homeschool mom, I thought I had it all together. I did my research; I knew I was doing a good job. My oldest son, Jake, was a high school senior, National Merit Finalist, he wrote for the local newspaper, took college classes at Penn State. He was doing well.
I remember the day in late December 2006...I knew something was wrong. Jake was sitting on the couch and didn’t want to talk. Then he started asking questions about his salvation, how did he know for sure that he was a Christian, what if he was fooling himself, what if he was just afraid of hell...and on and on.
Fairly quickly, I realized this was an anxiety disorder, and got Jake into counseling. He had 6 initial appointments over 12 weeks. Naively, I thought all would be fine after that.
During those first months, I often spent a couple of hours a day listening to Jake, and trying to answer him. He’d be okay for a few days, then his doubts and questions would start again.
I came to dread Sunday morning worship. Jake would listen to the sermon, and somehow he’d reason that the message meant he wasn’t a Christian and was going to hell. He'd often signal me that he wanted to leave and talk. At home, I searched the Bible, looking for answers. But Jake could always twist my answers into doubt.
Finally, a psychologist diagnosed OCD and recommended medication. The doctor also advised that we not engage Jake in religious discussions, as that would feed his anxiety.
I had started reading the Bible consistently when I was ten. But now, reading my Bible or listening to a sermon went one of two ways - I either thought how the passage might help Jake, or I thought how Jake would twist the message.
That fall, Jake went off to college, and, instead of excitement, I was anxious - worrying every day if he was okay, wondering how to help him.
Eventually, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I shut down spiritually. I stopped reading the Bible, reading any Christian books; during worship and sermons, I’d write chore lists, lesson plans, menus...anything so I wasn’t engaged. The one thing, my faith, that had always been there, the thing that always had answers, was now the root cause of this stress.
After attending a Presbyterian church for 2 1/2 more years, the faith strain wore me down. The drive to church was long, and we spent all Sunday morning at church. For that reason and theological issues, we decided to attend an LCMS church closer to home.
When Jake started graduate school in 2011, I relaxed a little. One day, I met a homeschool mom who wanted to talk about End Times theology. I remember thinking that was the last thing I wanted to discuss...but looking back, it was a safe subject that led me to briefly open my Bible again.
At about the same time, we got an interim pastor at church, and I started listening to his sermons. I now recognize that there’s healing in the Lutheran service, and God was healing; even when I wasn’t listening, He was at work.
That November, Jake called and was fairly distraught. He didn’t understand why God made him that way. It was the first time in almost 5 years that we’d really talked about his OCD.
After that phone call, I knew that I had to have answers for Jake and for me, that as his mother, I needed to be praying for him and needed to know what to pray. And I knew those answers were in the Bible. I intentionally set aside a day, December 17, 2011, when I would open my Bible and start searching. I put a notebook, a pen, and my Bible on a table, ready to go.
I thought it was going to be a long process, but it didn’t take long. In His Word, I found God’s promises: God’s promises in His baptism, in being true to His Word. Within a week or so, I gave up control of Jake to God. And, I had peace and confidence that God would care for Jake, that God would work all things out for good, as He says He will.
But He also did the same for me. I thought I had control, had it all together, and was succeeding in my faith and in my life. In an instant, that faith in myself, in my ability, was shattered. And, those five years were painful and hard. I don’t know how I functioned. But, because of it, I gained...I gained faith, love, trust, knowledge of my God. I can't even compare my faith before OCD to faith after. My only regret is that Jake suffers because of his condition. Other than that, I wouldn’t change any of it.
The overuse of exclamation points is my grammar pet peeve. Good writing doesn’t rely on punctuation to express emotion, but allows the words to convey the sentiment.
Even in Christian writing, exclamation marks are all too common. Those exclamations, along with the accompanying “feel good” writing, tell the reader that life is fun, happy, and great, as if Christianity equates with constant excitement and bliss.
Certainly, God is good, provides for us, and keeps His promises. But life is also full of sin, hurt, and death. It's almost as if those exclamation points are denying and covering up sorrow and tribulation.
I like to pray outside in the early morning hours. Blended with the dark and the quiet, the starry sky is like God’s sanctuary, breathtaking and holy. Creation testifies to a creator.
The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. Psalm 19:1
Sometimes while praying, the experience seems bigger than me, and I’ll sing a hymn or kneel in prayer. But like exclamation points which say “be happy” my view of God can become defined by looking at the starry sky. And I’ll realize how easy it was for early man to worship the heavens. And that I could do the same.
Just as I can't be perpetually happy, I can't simply look to the positive, to the beauty of creation, for my connection to God. He is not in happy, emotional stories, nor is He the majesty of creation.
Jesus said,
“...Whoever has seen me has seen the Father...” John 14:9
I look instead to Jesus, my savior, bloody, beaten, hurting, dying on the cross. That’s our God and that’s where I find real forgiveness, real and lasting joy, not in trite, happy phrases or even in the majesty of creation. But in Jesus, who walked among us, died for us, and rose again.
