Parking Lot
She was sitting in her car, parallel to mine. The Starbucks parking lot was full yet I noticed only her hands on the wheel and the tears running down her flushed cheeks.
I was in recovery. It was the first year out of the hospital and I had developed a heart that hurt for the emotionally and mentally broken more than ever before. I’d never known such mental agony like that of the perinatal mood disorder that disrupted my whole life in 2018 and it was as if every glistening tear on the cheek of another woman prompted a remembrance of the angst that was once present in my own body and mind.
I sat at the crossroads of “mind your own business” and “ask now” as my leftover ice cold drink sat, melting, in the cupholder beside me.
Opening the door enough to squeeze out slowly, I knocked on her passenger side window. My mind raced through all the reasons I could conjure up on why this woman was crying alone in her car. The thoughts were tainted with worry…
What if she’s suffering like I did?
What if she thinks I’m being nosey?
How can I offer her hope?
As the window rolled down slowly I asked, “Are you okay?”
She smiled. It was a weak attempt but warm nonetheless. Her boyfriend had just left for the military. She was sad. Heartbroken. Scared. We talked for no more than a minute or two and then I got back in my car, relieved.
She’d be okay.
I, however, was not. I’d anticipated something worse. Like intense fear or hopelessness.
Or PPOCD.
I left the contrasting mix of sadness and relief in the parking lot but carried home with me something else much weightier— the reality of a nervous system disrupted heavily by trauma. I didn’t like the fact that I was still so triggered after many months of walking further and further from a time I hoped to forget and yet knew I never could. I didn’t know at the time that it was the beginning of a very long battle with PTSD. At the time I was still caught in between the realm of hyper vigilance and the sweet relief of a mind finally slowing down- a glimpse of life being restored - my new normal.
I knew how to surrender my worries to the Lord but the body remembers the dead weight of past exhaustion, burnout and irrational fear.
The healing I had come to know was life changing emotionally and spiritually but the impact of onset PPOCD level fear on my nervous system would take years to heal.
I am still healing.
What is different now is that hope shines brighter, my faith is stronger and the weariness doesn’t last as long when set backs comes.
The knock on the young woman’s window showed me something that I had to learn to understand. I couldn’t allow my desire for fast healing to prevent me from seeing the slower road as a means to the deeper healing God intended to do.
The compassion that caused me to abandon a cold drink on a hot day to inquire of a stranger the cause of her tears? That’s a “good” that God brings from our sorrow. A means to a more selfless existence. A richer life lived. That’s something to celebrate. And yes there are days I still do wish I could go back and tell myself many things to prevent the downhill mental descent all those years ago but there’s no benefit in dwelling on what God has clearly allowed for purposes beyond what we can see or understand.
Contrary to the misinformed beliefs of many within the church, salvation does not promise an easier life. It does not promise a swifter deliverance from trials. As believers in the risen King the gift of eternal debt is lifted from our shoulders and the bonus is that we are promised our deliverers unfailing presence, unconditional patience and unending love— a peace that surpasses all other temporary promises of happiness.
But what if you’re not feeling it right now?
What if you remember his presence, real and steadfast in the past but your heart is still doubting his goodness?
What if it feels like trauma has stripped away the best of you?
Dear friend, if your head is on the steering wheel and tears run down your face, remember that the rescue doesn’t always come when and how we want it to- but it’s coming. Our eyes are only meant to stay fixed on our Maker. He steadies us with his love in ways we often do not see. If you feel rejected remember he accepts you exactly as you are today in your brokeness but he won’t leave you that way. He invites you to more—to a deeper walk with him, even as you question and doubt and grieve.
Take the physical supports as they come, listen to the Spirit, fast, weep and get HONEST with others in your pain. Then praise Him for what he has done, what he is doing and what he WILL do!
Healing takes time. And our God does not rush. He is patient, slow to anger and perfect in his love. PTSD, trauma, triggers- it is weighty and even ugly at times- but it does not get the last word. We are held fast by the One who does.
Rejoice in hope; be patient in affliction; be persistent in prayer. Romans 12:12
Running the race with you,
~Lynnelle