My dog just had his first visit to the vet a couple weeks ago. For most dogs, a trip to the vet probably isn’t a big deal. But for Tucker, everything is terrifying. His first three days with us he spent entirely in his crate. When we first got him, he was afraid of people, afraid of a new home, and afraid of being loved— he’d never had those things before. It took a really long time to heal him of the trauma he came to us with— two years later he’s still healing and still learning he’s safe and loved—, but slowly he learned how to trust us. He learned how to ask us for scritches and treats. He joins my parents in bed every night and gets all excited when they come home. I get to share my breakfast with him every morning and play chase with him in the yard. Tucker’s come a really long way. But he’s not perfect. And he’s certainly not had a perfect life.
None of our lives are perfect. Life simply doesn’t happen the way we want it to. Whether trivial things go wrong like you overcooking the burgers or ripping a hole in your jeans, or the bigger nuisances like losing a substantial check or forgetting an important class you need to attend, things go wrong all the time. Sometimes it’ll only go a little wrong, other times it’ll blow up. Sometimes, things work themselves out, other times, they leave lasting scars. But whatever the case, you didn’t plan this. You didn’t plan any of this.
If any of you know me well, you might know that I spend a fair amount of time thinking about whatever plan or purpose I’m on in life (or more accurately, you probably know that despite that I really have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going most of the time). I daydream all the time about what I want to be, what I could be, what I’m meant to do with my life. Whether I wind up a teacher, a writer, a traveler, a warrior, or something else entirely, I’m not really sure. I probably won’t ever be sure. But I do know deep down that whatever path I’m on is good. I’ve got someone looking out for me and guiding me and helping me reach my destiny. I’ve been taught my whole life that God’s plan is good. That I’ll be safe and secure and looked after. That I’ll make it through anything.
But there’s moments where that’s really, really, hard to believe. There’s moments where you look back and think, “why the hell did I have to go through that?”. Moments you ask yourself whether it was worth it. Moments you wish things went another way. Moments you had but grieve for, moments you didn’t but long for. Wishes of what was or what could have been. All of these, are what this is about.
The Perfect Life
The perfect life probably doesn’t exist. But, if I’m being perfectly honest, this might be one of those times in my life where I’ve felt like I was really close. At a glance, I feel pretty damn good about myself and where I’m at. I’ve just finished my second semester of grad school at a great college, and I’m now halfway through my program as a whole. I’ve been studying hard, had amazing professors and classes (mostly) that are interesting and inspiring me to work hard to become a great future teacher. The opportunity came for me to return to my old Busy Bees classroom and co-teachers, and I’ve gotten to be a part of a class again and it feels as if I’d never left. It’s a lot of work, sure, balancing work and school and all the other stuff, but it’s been working well so far. I started going to the gym, have been reading more, and just took an amazing trip to North Carolina with my sister. And best of all, I’ve grown to be a part of my own special friend groups from college and work that accept me and value me and that I get to be alongside through this incredible journey. In the months since my last post, I’ve grown in confidence in myself as a teacher, friend, and person (which my last post talks about in much more detail), and honestly, I feel pretty on top of the world.
But where I am now probably isn’t somewhere I ever dreamed I’d end up. Four years ago, I never would have thought I’d be a preschool teacher. Eight years ago, I never thought I’d leave the state, much less live in Australia. At one point, I never thought I would enjoy writing, like hanging out with my friends, eat a hamburger, or have a dog. Life gives you a lot of curveballs and surprises, and often times they can be very good. Five years ago, my ‘perfect life’ wouldn’t have included any of that stuff I mentioned in the last paragraph: grad school or preschool or the friends I made from school or any of that. Back then, I thought my perfect life would have me staying in Australia and leaving just about everything from this continent behind. Of course, that didn’t happen, and yet somehow my life is just as perfect as it was then.
If I could plan out my perfect life step by step, whether it be now or five years ago or twenty years ago, chances are though it wouldn’t contain any of the “bad stuff”. And why would it? No one likes the bad stuff. The minor headaches, the major dents, the lasting scars… none of that is ideal. And yet, whether you drift through life as it happens or are one of those people that confidently strives towards a certain direction, bad things are bound to happen. Annoying things happen. Heartaches happen. Foul and foolish and frustrating and frightening things happen. Life would certainly be easier without any of that. Even in the ‘perfect’ moments of your life, there’s grisly reminders that life isn’t perfect; that bad things happen and you have to learn to cope and heal and trust that all things work for good.
When God’s Plan Isn’t Yours
These ideas of these ‘perfect plans’ where everything goes right and nothing bad ever happens to us… that doesn’t happen. As I mentioned earlier, I grew up my whole life believing in a ‘perfect plan’. I was taught that I was being looked after and sheltered and could make it through anything.
Ten years ago, I had to deal with the pain of slowly losing my mother. Instead of stressing about finals, or whether my students were trying to climb the bookshelves, I had to worry about how much time I’d have left with my mom. Watching her battle cancer was a haunting storm at sea of one thing after another, and each time a wave crashes on the rocks wondering whether you, or her, can take much more. Starting chemo. Ending it. Watching mom lose her hair, then grow it back again. Some days having energy, other days none. There were moments the waves calmed: things were normal and you’d almost forgotten all about it. Then there were moments the storm raged and you prayed every day for the waves to stop.
It would be another six months before the end. Wave after wave crashed again and again as they got bigger and bigger. She had to quit her job. She lost her mobility. There was one last family vacation. One last family Thanksgiving. One last prayer. The storm became darker and rougher until at last, it was over.
I never thought I’d lose my mom. Even until the night before, I didn’t think I would lose her. And yet I did. For years, I had to deal with the grief and the pain of losing her. I had to learn how to move on and grow up without her. I had to trust that this perfect plan I was on was still perfect, even when it appeared it was anything but. I’ve come a long way, of course. But even now, ten years later, there’s still those moments where I hurt and ask myself why it had to happen. And if I’m being honest, for some reason that’s been harder this year than it has in a long time. Maybe it's the big number ten. Maybe right now it’s the timing with Mother’s Day. Maybe it’s going to school and doing what she was doing and hoping I’m making her proud along the way.
How We Are Healed in Ways We Don't Expect
I wish my mom didn’t have to go through cancer. I wish my dog wasn’t abused before he came to us. I wish that none of that bad stuff ever happened and the trauma that came from it never happened. But it did. While mom was still alive I prayed time and time again for healing. If he wanted to, I’m sure God could have healed my mom. That’s how all the stories go— someone reaches out in faith and becomes healed. That would’ve been a great happily-ever-after. But there’s hundreds of stories like that. My mom’s wasn’t meant to be one. But imagine instead, a story of a different healing. One where a broken soul can be comforted. One where one learns to find happiness again and feel whole again. One of discovering confidence and faith and love after tragedy. A story of light shining through the darkness, of a life given back and made better.
The healing that came wasn’t my mother’s. It was mine. It was my father’s, and my sister’s, and so many others that knew her.
"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” -Isaiah 43:1-2
The night she died, my uncle told me something I’ll never forget: “For every down in life, there’s an up. And if the downs are this far down, just imagine how high up the ups will be when they come.” It took a long time for that truth to turn into a reality, but I did eventually end up finding that healing and enter that ‘perfect’ world I live in today. It may be almost ironic for me to be writing this big post about hard times when you yourself are doing fine. I almost feel like it’s wrong for me to be as content as I am with life and with myself, especially (not calling anyone out directly) knowing a ton of my friends, family, and others having a hard time. Nasty breakups. Health issues. Lack of confidence and feelings of loneliness, new jobs and loss of friends. Watching people you love get weaker. And it hurts, it hurts knowing that the people you care about are hurting and not being able to do much for them.
But that’s kind of why I’m writing this. Ten years ago, my world was ending. And it sucked to go through everything I went through losing my mom. But if I hadn’t had to go through it, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t have her story to share with others. I wouldn’t have my story.
Now back to Tucker. He started his life in a rougher state than any dog should ever have to endure. He came to us broken and scared and hurt from all the bad things that happened to him. But even he learned to heal. He learned to love by being loved. He has someone looking out for him and nurturing him and guaranteeing that his plan is good. He has the perfect life. The same is true for us. It's not always easy to look back and have the memories strike. Even when life is otherwise perfect you still have to deal with trauma and pain and memories. And yet, God still cares you. You are still loved and still on the perfect plan. My story could have been one of my mother being healed. But it wasn’t. It was me. It made me who I am and shaped my destiny to where I am today. And despite it all, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
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