Me Too.

By Lori Maas

It was two days until the retreat, and I still didn’t know what to say when I shared my testimony. “Why me Lord?” My stomach was burning. I tried to reason with God, “Lord, I can’t imagine anyone from church wanting to hear my testimony. And even if they do, I really don’t think I want them to know my family secrets. I want to fit in Lord. All my life I felt like a square peg trying to squeeze into a round hole. I finally felt at home with my church family. What if they reject me when they learn the truth about me?

My friend prayed and encouraged me to trust that God would give me the words. In obedience, I promised to be faithful and share whatever He wanted, even if it was hard. I stared at the blank page in front of me, pen in hand, waiting for the words to come. Just then the phone rang. The caller ID said it was mom. “Hello?”

I was surprised to hear Barry’s voice as he slurred his words, “Lor, your mom is in the hospital, and you need to go there.”

“What? Where?”

“The one in McHenry.”

“I can’t go to Illinois today, but I’ll call her. What’s her room number?”

“You can’t call her; they moved her into intensive care today.”

“What? Today? When did she go in?”

“Two days ago. She didn’t want me to call, but I can’t deal with this anymore.”

I was so angry. Both of my brothers moved away years ago, and her boyfriend was an unhealthy abusive drunk. Like always, I was the only one left to clean up the mess that other people made.

I called my husband to tell him what was going on. I ranted on and on about all the reasons why I couldn’t go to the hospital now. He patiently listened. When I finally took a breath, he calmly said, “Honey, you have to go.” I slammed the phone down. Why can’t he be on my side!! No one is ever on my side!

I called to talk to mom’s nurse, hoping she’d tell me mom was better and there was no need to hurry to the hospital. However, when I asked the nurse about her condition, she told me she could only talk to family. I explained I was family, her daughter. She told me no daughter was listed. Typical. All she could say was mom was extremely sick, and I should talk with the doctor. My tears started to fall before I hung up the phone. My sadness quickly turned to anger – then to rage.

I ranted and paced back and forth for over an hour. The hospital was 2 hours away. I don’t have time for this! I cried, screamed and even hit the chair with my fists, “She was never there for me, ever, why should I be there for her. She doesn’t even want me there. She doesn’t even acknowledge that she has a daughter! So, send someone else! I am not going. You cannot ask me to do this. I am NOT going, and you cannot make me!”

Finally worn out from wrestling with God, I whispered, “Lord, you sent a friend to me when I needed someone to encourage and love me. Can’t you send someone like that to mom.” And He softly answered, “I did, I sent you.”

I sat on the floor, exhausted. “Lord, if you want me to help her, let me see her through your eyes, because humanly, when I look at her, all I see is rejection, abuse and pain.” He instantly gave me a picture of my mom as a precious little girl . . . before she experienced physical, sexual, or substance abuse. He said, “This is how I see her.”

I had a peace wash over me. I called my husband to tell him I was going to the hospital. Then I called my friend who lived near the hospital to see if I could stay at her house. She said “of course” and offered to call her pastor to ask him to visit my mom.

The pastor appeared shortly after I arrived. He introduced himself and began to ask questions. “So, where are you from?” I thought he was asking mom but when I looked up, he was looking at me. “Oh, me?”

“Well, I’d like to get to know both of you.”

Mom said she was born in Minnesota. He looked at me and I answered, “me too”.

He asked if I was raised with siblings. She said, “two younger brothers.” I said, “me too”. He asked more questions, and when the answers continued to be the same, he said, “Wow, you two are a lot alike.” I did not like hearing that. I used to hate when anyone told me I looked, sounded or was funny like her. I did not want to be anything like her.

The next day, mom was stable, so I headed home to get ready for the retreat. On my drive I was thinking about what the pastor said, “Wow, you two are a lot alike.” I started thinking about all the ways we were alike; we both were born in Minnesota, both grew up with 2 younger brothers, both loved to dance, both had a sick sense of humor, both had alcoholic fathers who sexually abused us, both had distant, bitter mothers, both were in abusive first marriages, both were divorced, both remarried a man that was 6’3”, and so many more similarities. It was eerie.

So, what happened Lord? What’s the difference between us? Why are we so different in important things like family, love and respect? That’s when it hit me.

The only difference was Jesus. I knew Him, she didn’t. That was it. How could I judge her so harshly? If it were not for Jesus, His grace, mercy and redemption, what would I be like? I started to weep and asked God to forgive me and give me a heart for my mom. I began praying for her salvation again . . . but this time in a loving, non-judgmental way. That’s when I knew what I was to share at the retreat. This story.

Simply put by Lori

P.S. A name may have been changed in this story, but the only name that really matters wasn’t changed . . . JESUS.