Those who know me well, know that in the recent past our family has been through some trying times. In a nutshell, we struggled with how to help our daughter who found herself in an abusive relationship. Initially, one of our biggest challenges was to realize the seriousness of the problem, and to pull our collective heads out of the 'it's just a phase she is going through and she will grow out of it' sand. Arianna helped us do this by escalating her behavior to the point we could not just chalk it up to growing pains. We had to take an opened eyed look at what was going on, with her, with our family structure. We ended up sending our daughter to wilderness therapy and then therapeutic boarding school and sending ourselves to family therapy.
It wasn't fun. In fact, it was the most painful experience of my life—by far.
Waking my daughter up at five in the morning, telling her I loved her and that these two strangers were going to take her away to a place she could get some help--that was the toughest thing I have ever done. And we were sending her to a place thousands of miles away from us. I was placing my daughter's wellbeing into the hands of complete strangers, trusting that they could help my daughter in a way that I had failed to do.
The guilt was crushing.
I was a failure as a parent. The proof was standing there in a black leather jacket ready to handcuff my daughter if she gave them any trouble (We had to sign a written transportation contract that specifically allowed the transport team to restrain her). How do you prepare for that moment? How would my daughter ever forgive me? Could we ever recover from the breach that had developed over the past year?
But we did get through it—with a lot of help.
We had the help of great therapists. Tim Lowe at Outback Therapeutic. Joanna Legerski at Summit Preparatory. Dr. Bridges at Duke Family Studies Center.
We had the help of family and friends who showered us with love and time and care at a time when just going to church and trying to sing the sacrament songs was an exercise in trying not to cry over lyrics that seared instead of soothed. Try singing "Love at Home" when your teenager has just told you that they hate you and demands that you emancipate them.
2011 became what I have since termed the Year of Discontent. 2012 became the Year of Healing. And 2013—the Jubilee Year.
The word "jubilee" originates in the Law of Moses. It was a yearlong celebration. Slaves were to be set free. Debts to be forgiven. Everyone was to have a fresh start, a clean slate. The year started with the blast from a ram's horn and a celebratory shout.
January 7, 2013 marks the start of our Jubilee. That is the day we received Arianna's acceptance letter to Virginia Commonwealth University's School of the Arts. (Interestingly, VCU's mascot is the Ram).
As I read the letter I was overcome and I literally began jumping up and down shouting for joy. I did not want to wait to tell Arianna the good news until our Wednesday night call. So I called the school, hoping they would pass a message to Arianna. Instead of taking a message, after I told the office manager what the message was, he connected me to her classroom. I decided in that moment to play it very serious. "Arianna," I said, pitching my voice lower and talking at a deliberate pace, as if I had some dreadful news. "I have some news. . . YOU GOT INTO VCU ARTS!!!" We both began squealing and jumping for joy.
This was a triumph, I told her. One that was so much sweeter because of where she was and where she had been. Just a year earlier Arianna had believed that her life was over, that her dreams were all crushed and gone. All that self-doubt and fear was gone in that moment, replaced by this deep and intense feeling of joy and gratitude.
This feeling remained with me for the rest of 2013: through Arianna's graduation from Summit, our trip to Europe, the start of her freshman year and the successful completion of her first semester of college.
One of my friends asked right before Arianna came home from school if I was stressed out by her return. My reply was that I felt the opposite. All I felt was joy and happiness. I wanted to kill the fatted calf and throw a party. I could barely stop myself from dancing a jig right there.
During this Jubilee of mine, I have on occasion asked myself if I should restrain some of my outward expressions of joy. I worried that my expressions might be painful to others who were in the middle of their own family crisis. I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings or imply that our daughter's recovery was anything short of miraculous, or that we were somehow more blessed or lucky than parents whose children continue to make bad choices. Or that we were somehow the best parents ever and that is why our daughter was doing so well.
I had blamed myself earlier. One day in particular I remember feeling particularly awful. It was right before we sent Arianna away and I was racked with guilt. My internal monologue went something like this. "I am the world's worst mother. If there was an award for worst mother of the year, I would win. If I was a good mother, my daughter would have talked to me sooner about her boyfriend, and she would not have made harmful choices. If I was a discerning mother, I would have been able to see the problem sooner and acted sooner." This internal monologue was on a continuous loop in my head.
As you can imagine, it was hard to get anything done. So, I and my internal monologue went for a walk. As I was walking, I heard the whisperings of the spirit interrupt my monologue with this phrase, "If parents are to be judged by the choices their children make, then Heavenly Father is a huge failure too. One third of his children rebelled in heaven." I was properly rebuked and at the same time felt a great sense of relief—I was not responsible for my daughter's choices. I was only responsible for mine.
That didn't make me less sad for some of my daughter's choices. And it doesn't make me less happy now that she is making much better ones.
Of all the lessons I have learned, one of the greatest has been the great mercy God has for his children. It is this mercy that I have been celebrating this year. The mercy that helped us find a way through all our fears and pain and hurt and healed our broken hearts and knitted them together stronger and better than they were before. The mercy that forgave our mistakes and let us start over again with a clean slate.
In one of the last letters I wrote to Arianna while she was in Montana, I quoted these lines from Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice:
The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God's
When mercy seasons justice.
2013 has been my Jubilee year. I don't know what 2014 will bring—this may be our year of farewells as our parents are aging rapidly, and Arianna is putting her missionary papers together. Whatever it brings, I plan on holding on to the gratitude—come what may.
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