True Confessions: I don’t follow the news.
Maybe it’s because I get enough news from my daughters’ teachers, doctors, and therapists. Maybe because I’d rather read a novel or stare at a wall with the 10 minutes of free time I have during the day. Or maybe it’s because I know I’ll find stories like the one last weekend. Ones that fracture the heart of a mom raising a child with mental illness.
“The 27-year-old son of the Rev. Rick Warren, one of America’s most influential religious leaders, committed suicide,” it said in the NY Times article. This young man, described as courageous and gentle by his father, well-loved by his church, fell into a “momentary wave of despair at his home, [and] took his life.”
Everything stopped when I read the words. Grief soaked my eyes, my heart.
Grief for parents who loved their son through a lifetime of emotional turmoil.
Grief for his siblings. The article refers to Matthew as the youngest of the Warren children.
Grief for the church who watched him grow up.
Why must a family who loves God and His people endure such a thing?
And, what does that mean for us—fellow parents raising kids with special needs?
Might we advocate, rearrange schedules, shift financial priorities, spend less time with typcially-developing siblings, face the ridicule of public perception, and not reap years of relationship with the kids we’ve fought so hard to love?
Can I be really honest? This terrifies me. Makes me want to pull the covers up over my head and hide. Makes real the bone-tiredness I’ve been stuffing deep down during my daughter’s transition home from the mental health facility.
Because there’s no assurance that “everything’s gonna be alright” in life or with our kids. In fact, we’re promised we’ll have trouble in this life.
Promised.
But immediately afterward, we’re also encouraged:
“Take heart {be courageous!}, for I have overcome the world.” – Jesus, in John 16:33
How, exactly, do we “take heart” in the face of tragedies like Matthew Warren’s?
How do we NOT let fear define us?
- Pull up a chair with God and let Him have it. Like Jacob, wrestle until He blesses you with something that helps you keep going. If you’re an introvert and sitting face to face with anyone makes your skin crawl, get a journal and let God have it in writing.
- Make a list of all the times the worst case wasn’t the case after all. Keep it someplace easy to find and re-read when the tough waves come. In the face of such grace, we can’t help but sink into His embrace, grateful.
- Use your “worry muscle” to pray. God made your mind capable of mulling over things for a reason, so choose to mull in lifegiving, Scripture-filled ways.
- Let yourself grieve the evil in this world. It breaks His heart, too. More than we can even imagine. Listen to Natalie Grant’s “Held,” and cry with God. It’s what I do whenever I’m grieving my foster/adopted daughters’ still-broken hearts. It helps. I promise.
There are no guarantees that things will all be okay—as we define okay—for our families, or for our kids. But we are guaranteed a Savior who suffered intensely and walks with us every moment. It’s when we fix eyes on Him, on that truth, that we can keep living forward and not get stuck in fear.
Latest posts by Laurie Wallin (see all)
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