It’s part of our nature to use labels to identify ourselves and others. They can be useful allowing us to introduce ourselves to someone new – giving them an idea of who we are. I am a child of Elmer and Cleo, the sister of Ron, the wife of Grant, a mother to Alex and Roxanne, a follower of Christ, an Oregonian, an American, an artist.
People may define me as to how they experience my nature – she is: sensitive, good-natured, caring, compassionate, frustrating, angry, silly or whatever. At times I am all of these and so much more.
We can also be labeled by our outside appearance – she is: elderly, short, walks with a cane, is wearing the yellow jacket, pink shoes, is carrying a big red purse, or what have you.
HOWEVER when the labels attack our identity, our nature, our appearance – they become hurtful and cruel. Ron experienced being labeled nearly every day of his life. The one I recall the most from my childhood was that people called him “retarded”. It was obvious to the general public he had some type of mental challenge as his speech pattern and thinking processes were slow when he interacted with people. I can only imagine what it felt like to be labeled as such, but I never asked him. I know it made him feel bad and didn’t build self-esteem or confidence in his abilities. (I’m glad there’s a movement now to end using this term.) On the contrary, I was labeled as “smart”, which made me feel happy and proud but I always recognized the difference between Ron and me. Even with 10 years difference in our ages, I was always confused as to how I should respond to those who “labeled” us differently. It hurt me too and I knew it wasn’t fair.
Our mom and dad treated Ron and me differently as well – not necessarily labeling us but certainly by expressing their love. My mom treated my brother like he was the favorite child. She laughed at him, gave him a lot of attention and shared her love. I knew she adored him. My dad on the other hand treated Ron like he was a huge disappointment. He was ashamed of Ron’s slowness and inability to understand and do things in a quick manner. I remember him telling Ron to hurry up, get it right this time or other words which reflected his frustration and impatience. I rather doubt my father knew my mother starved Ron until he went into convulsions and resulted in permanent brain-damage. It wasn’t something people talked about out in the open. My dad died when Ron was 18 and I was 8. He had retired from the Navy just a couple of years before his death at 54 years old. Ron never felt loved or accepted by my dad. He had a tremendous amount of anger about this all of his adult life. It has made me sad knowing Ron missed this essential element in a parent/child relationship. He deserved so much more.
With the shoe on the other foot, my mom told me I was a mistake and should never have been born. She was hospitalized for two months before I was born, due to her excessive drinking and she resented me for this. My grandmother (her mom) stayed with us for my entire first year of life – because she was so worried that I would fail-to-thrive. My dad, who was on ship duty all of his naval career was rarely in port or around our house. He retired when I was 5 years old, so I had a total of almost three years with him. I knew my dad adored me – I knew this to the core of my being. So while my mom could never say she loved me (even on her death bed, when I was 15), my dad doted on me in every way he could.
What a dichotomy between two children – and how unfortunate for both of us. Each of us wanted the love of both parents and neither of us got it. We never felt good enough to be loved for who we were. As adults we talked about this. Ron struggled with this to the day he died. I have found peace with it. Having children of my own, I couldn’t imagine not loving a child you gave birth to. I felt sorry that my mom, because of her disease and the guilt she felt over causing my brother harm, could not love me. She missed knowing a pretty remarkable person.
Shame, guilt and depression are paralyzing in how they affect our lives. Ron was able to address his understanding of these factors through his faith in God and his limited ability to comprehend God’s unconditional love. I believe parental love can affect our faith and our ability to understand the saving grace with which God offers His love and forgiveness. Ron could relate to the Old Testament image of a punishing God – but he just couldn’t reconcile his understanding a loving triune God: God the father, God the son and God the holy spirit – since he never experienced a father’s love and pride. I have no doubt Ron understands the power of God’s love now that he is in heaven.
I am grateful our parents chose to baptize Ron and me as infants. God has held onto each of us with all of His might, every day of our lives. It was on bended knee, when I fought to the core of my being to understand why my mom was unable to declare her love for me. Fortunately I was able to grasp the depth God loved me and that He wanted me to BE, even though she couldn’t. He would go to the ends of the earth for me and he wasn’t going to allow me to fall into the paralyzing grip of depression forever. He would set my heart free – to love, to care and to act upon the saving grace that was mine to share with my family and others.
Our coffeehouse story is one of forgiveness – the healing, amazing kind of grace story that is real. I thank God that our journeys however different they were, ended up at the same place, sharing our love for one another over a cup of coffee. But alas, they truly haven’t ended there – for we will be together for all of eternity.
Eternal life is a promise given new to us each day. Through the grace of our glorious Lord Jesus Christ – may you understand that He wants you as desperately as He wanted me and Ron. You only have to ask – He has done all the rest for you.
COFFEEHOUSE CONVERSATIONS 