Confessions

And the truth shall set you free...

In Max Lucado's book, God Came Near, he writes: "For only if we let Him in can He pull us out." Sounds simple enough, doesn't it? Especially for those of us professing to be Christians. But who among us can truly proclaim...with 100% conviction...that we have done just that...truly let God in and given Him complete control of our lives so He can pull us out of whatever quagmires our little worlds have spiraled down into? 

Confession 1: I can't profess that. Not honestly, anyway. In fact, I have never given God carte blanche in my life. Not really. Remember Carrie Underwood's song, Jesus Take the Wheel? The overall message is about turning everything over to God...letting Him take the driver's seat while we ride shotgun. I don't do shotgun. At least not willingly...or quietly. 

Confession 2: I'm a control freak. Even when my husband is driving, I maintain a furtive fingertip on the steering wheel...just in case. It drives him crazy (pun intended). After all, he might just need my help.  

Confession 3: I may say I've given God complete control of my life; in fact, at one time or another...okay...most of the time...I have naively fooled myself into believing that I was finally going to let Him navigate...no matter what. The truth is, though, like my husband, God might need my help driving, too. So, I surreptitiously keep my finger on the wheel...just in case. 

Confession 4: I'm a terrible driver. Figuratively and literally. 

Confession 5: I failed my driving test the first time I took it because I turned left without yielding. In my defense, however, this was back in the day before they created little green arrows that conveniently tell us when it's safe to go. I also get lost in parking garages, I can't parallel park, I'm not good at sharing the roadway, I drive too fast (or everyone else drives to slow), and despite my husband's reluctance to believe this, curbs are constantly popping up out of nowhere so I can run over them (we have our tires aligned a lot). 

Confession 6: These reckless habits unfortunately hold true in my spiritual life. I make God ride shotgun (when I let Him in my car); I don't yield to things that may...and almost always...test my faith; I don't share my spiritual roadway often enough with those whom God has placed in my life to help guide me; and I get lost, endlessly going around in circles in the darkness of my parking garage because I can't find my way out. 

But here comes the biggest confession of all. I've kept this secret to myself for a very long time now, just recently admitting...out loud...the truth that both haunts me and shames me...

Confession 7: I'm afraid. 

James 1:12 (NIV) says: "Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him." 

In other words, God tests us so that we will learn to persevere and trust in Him completely. So why am I afraid? I'm scared of having my faith tested...again...when I'm not even sure if I'm passing the one I'm currently in the midst of: My faith vs. Brittany's death. So here it goes...the big reveal: 

I'm afraid if I truly hand everything over to God...let Him have complete and utter control of my life...I'll be tested...again. And I'm afraid that test will come in the form of my son being taken from me. I'm sure to many of you that sounds completely irrational...even ludicrous. But put yourself in my shoes. (No, strike that. You don't want to wear them. Trust me). So many people have said to me, "I don't know how you do it, April. If one of my children ever died, I wouldn't survive." So I think to myself, what if I didn't have my son? Would I be able to survive? I don't want to find out. I'm tired of being tested. I'm scared if I succeed at this perseverance thing, I'll only be tested one more time. To many of you, it may seem like I'm doing really well at surviving. I guess that depends on what your definition of survival is. If it means that I'm able to go about my day with my mask fitted perfectly...and maybe even permanently to my face, then yes, I'm surviving. I have to...for my son. But then I had a revelation. What if God created my son for a reason other than to test me? What if God chose my little boy just for me? Crafted him perfectly...quirks and all...to help me survive this nightmare? Plausible? Of course. Probable? Well, with each step I take in this journey to my new normal, yes, it's very probable. Here's why:

Ask anyone who knows my son well and the first thing they will tell you about him is how kindhearted he is. All bias aside, Bryson is the most compassionate, sensitive, protective kid I know. He has always been very protective of me, but since Brittany died, Bryson's shield has reached DEFCON 1 where I'm concerned. He's so keenly aware of many of my triggers...especially certain songs. We'll be driving in the car and all of a sudden the radio will go silent. "Don't listen to that song, mom. It will make you cry." Even when Brett is driving, Bryson will quickly tell his dad to turn the radio off before I have a chance to register what song is starting to play. "Turn it off, Dad. Mom shouldn't listen to this song." In fact, just recently, we were walking into a restaurant when Bryson heard a very specific, very troubling song playing over their sound system. It's the one song that makes even my husband want to vomit...and he can usually stomach anything. The Band Perry's, If I Die Young. Just writing that title makes me sick. What's worse, that song was released right around the time Brittany died. How's that for sick irony? As soon as Bryson heard it, he grabbed my hand (in public!) and pulled me outside. "Let's wait here for a few minutes, mom." So we did. But his over protection goes well beyond just music. Pictures, the most random of words spoken in a passing conversation, rain, semis...the list goes on. They're always on his radar.

So what am I doing about this crippling fear I have of losing my son? There's nothing I can do...except pray. Because no matter what I do, once God makes up His mind about the fate of our lives...or the lives of our children...there's nothing we can do but give thanks for what and for whom we've been given, no matter how long or short that time might be. And that includes Bryson. Especially Bryson. I'm trying my best to hold onto the belief that God gave me my little boy to help me survive this. To give me a reason to wake up each day just to see his beautiful face. To give me a reason to smile and laugh at all the quirks that make my son who he is. Yes, Brittany was my death, but Bryson is my life. Quite the paradox, I know. But in my world, it makes perfect sense. 

And finally...

Confession 8: My faith and my emotions take me on a neck-snapping roller coaster ride each and every day. I'm not the poster child of strength and fortitude that many think I am. I struggle with releasing my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel of my life and simply letting God drive while I enjoy the scenery. I frequently overlook the little exit arrows in my parking garage of grief that show me the way out; I hit curbs; I fail to yield; and I don't always pay attention to whose lane I'm driving in. But I'm working on it...because it's a test I don't want to fail. 


I love you Brittany Erin...timelessly <3