Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

I meant to write a long time ago (as in at least two weeks ago) but due to my lack of computer and lack of energy and feeling to write, my letters were temporarily neglected. But I am here now!
It has been raining recently, for some reason reminding me of that one thunderstorm back in Meridian when I was probably about five and I stood in the sun/play room with all of the windows watching the rain. Oddly enough, I thought I should be scared—even though I LOVE thunderstorms, always have—I think so that you’d hold me and comfort me but when I ran back to you, acting frightened, you said, “You’re not scared, silly!” and gave me a hug anyways. I could always count on you to know me and give me a hug whenever i needed one.
So I know some big catch up is in order. First off, the trip to England. Yes, I obviously survived. It was an amazing trip. I was really reluctant at first if you remember from my previous letter, despite my prayer. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t really praying, just saying the right words. At that time that’s kind of what I’d been doing lately. Not really on close speaking terms with God, going through the rough patch of trying to figure out the mixed and new emotions from the walls around my heart cracking. Kind of stupid to do it without God, but I wasn’t quite sure what I was feeling or trying to feel and all bad excuses but anyways, the trip. We got there in England and the first two days (Friday and Saturday) were filled with touristy stuff and a couple of concerts. It was great! I was getting up in the mornings at the end of a long line of blowup mattresses within a tent of at least 60 females (adults on one side and younger girls on the other–the boys were in another tent) and eating breakfast, ready to leave the Barn where we were staying and begin to see England (and Scotland the second day).
Then came the third day—it’s always the third day, isn’t it?—which also happened to be Sunday. I woke up to one of the leaders tapping my foot to get me awake. But I did not immediately hop out of bed as I had the other two mornings. I felt bad. I coughed. I was surrounded by people and I just wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to do it. I was done. I just wanted to go home. I had no energy. And we were supposed to lead worship for a church service.
Managing to get ready and eat a little breakfast and hug my friends (trying to help cheer myself up), we arrived at the lawn where we would sing. I sat on the bottom platform of our risers and waited. Then we all had to stand to start the rehearsal of our set. I stood, feeling pressure in my face as tears wanted to break through. Everything ached as I tried to hold it together to get through the worship—something I never would have thought I’d feel: that worship was something I had to suffer through.
Then I glanced to the side and saw my best friend. I ran off the platform to the side, trying to not make too much of a spectacle in order to not distract the others. “I can’t do this,” I said as I approached my friend. “C’mon,” she said and we walked away from everyone out of sight behind a large tree.
I felt like I was falling apart. Everything I was trying to suppress until the trip was over was trying to break through all at once. This isn’t the time. Not now. Not now. I’m supposed to be up there with the rest. I’m supposed to be showing Jesus to lost people, I told myself. I heard the music begin and the words of the songs sung by our worship leaders and the choir. I couldn’t even join in. I didn’t want to. And that’s what I really hated and brought more tears—the fact that I didn’t want to sing praises to God. Where had I gone? How far away had I run? But I wasn’t quite ready to come back. I was still angry. At God, at myself. I wanted to kick something. I contemplated kicking the tree, but I didn’t want to break my foot and not be able to dance at the concert we had later that evening. (You don’t know how hard I had to fight myself on that one though.) The tears that I’d been fighting earlier came slowly. You know I’ve never been much of a crier. I almost had to fight to get the tears out. I was bent over at my waist, emotionally busting at the seams and just wanting it all to go away. I just want to be ok again. But was I ever really ok? Was not feeling my real emotions better than getting the full scope of life?
Anyway, the heaving sobs passed and I was finally able to lift my head by the time rehearsal was over. Then came a small break before the service started. I decided to remain to the side though I managed to sing softly the words of “Bless the Lord, O My Soul”, “Everlasting God”, “On My Knees” and “You Cover Me” (the last two being from our concert set).
But then the afternoon came and with it an attack to my allergies. I sneezed literally every three steps. Ask anyone of my Family Groupmates. And we had a carnival and concert in a field that evening! Great.
After taking an allergy pill about an hour before the concert, I sat in a spot as much out of the wind and grass as I could be in the middle of a meadow that was the park we were in, my new Scotland sweatshirt from the day before held up to my face to keep out the wind and catch whatever moisture was coming from my face (don’t worry—I’ve washed it since then). The time of sitting there in the dark (due to the material pressed against my face) allowed me to reflect on the absolutely wonderfully horrible day I’d had and try to figure out just what I was to do if my face continued to melt, my eyes stay glued shut, and the sneezes rip apart my throat. Needless to say, a large part of the moisture hitting my sweatshirt was not from my nose—no, it was the tears seeping between my swollen eyelids.
Why God? Why is this happening to me now? Of all times. Was being emotionally broken just this morning not enough?
Suddenly the chorus to one of our worship songs, “You Cover Me”, pressed through the frustration clouding my mind and heart. I whisper/sang, “You cover, You cover me. I’m resting in Your shadow, You’re my strength and bravery. You cover me, You cover me. I’m safe inside Your presence, You hold back the enemy, You cover me!”
As soon as the last line left my lips, I felt a peace come over me. I was covered. I am covered–even when I don’t always know or feel it.
The concert went on without a hitch and then the speaking to people part came around. A family sat in the grass and though the introvert part of me wanted to just pass them by to go stand off in a corner or something, the Holy Spirit in me told me to talk to them. Of course, I couldn’t argue with the Holy Spirit.
And an amazing thing happened. In getting to know them, as I spoke with the kids, a couple of my friends next to me shared their testimonies with the adults which prompted the man to share that he had lost a loved one. Hearing that, I shifted gears to share my story with the couple (other friends of mine continued chatting with the kids). Then I found out that it had been his mother who had passed away. Seriously, no joke, Mom. And I can just hear you now: “Amazing how God works, isn’t it?”
Yes, Mom. Yes it is. Especially when I don’t necessarily want or expect Him to.
It was like that slap (or love pat) in the face where God was like, “I still need you and am going to use you whether you like it or not, or whether you’re feeling good or the worst you’ve ever been. I still need you and I still want you.” And that was awesome. The rest of the week was then filled a desire to search for new ways God could use me and a peace in my heart that left me merely exhausted in body but not in spirit the rest of the week.
What I’ve really been learning through all of this is that God wants me to know He is there for me whether I run to Him or from Him and that He is in control no matter my own fickle human feelings. I write all of this as if I know something or have authority in my writing. But the truth is, even these words I write are just human expression of things beyond my comprehension, much less control. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s not all dandelions and daffodils down here (though it’s angels and glory up there) but God is here with me as much as you stand before Him there in Heaven so I can keep living here as long as He will continue to use me.

Your daughter,
Hannah