Good enough

I watched Whitney Houston's funeral this week.  I expected the music to be amazing, and it was.  I expected to be moved, and I was.  But I was very surprised by one thing.  Out of the entire ceremony (which was wonderful, and heartbreaking, and hope-filled), the moment that "got" me...the moment that has stuck with me and made a lasting impact on me...was not what I expected.  It wasn't CeCe Winans belting out an incredibly powerful rendition of "Don't Cry For Me".  It wasn't the great message about priorities given by a dynamic preacher.  It wasn't a touching story about Whitney from her family.  No, the words that I can't get off my mind came from none other than...Kevin Costner. 

Kevin Costner shared that Whitney, for all of her incredible talent and beauty, had the same basic fears and insecurities that most of us have.  Despite all her success and fame, she still asked herself the same questions that most of us ask ourselves on a daily basis, whether we're aware of it or not...

Am I good enough? 

Am I pretty enough? 

Will they like me?

She struggled with self-doubt.  She struggled to live up to expectations.  She struggled with fear.

Even in her music, she wondered if she was good enough.  It sounds absurd to all of us, because we know that she wasn't just "good enough".  She was great!  And she was beautiful!  But she was haunted by the same self-doubting voices that every woman struggles with at one time or another.  And those voices were magnified even more because of her fame.

It's such a perfect example of just how deceptive those doubting voices can be.  If we listen to our fears and insecurities, we'll end up with a very skewed view of ourselves.  That's the game that Satan plays.  He can't take away the precious gifts and talents that God has given to each of us.  He can't diminish our immeasurable value in God's eyes.  He can't change who we are.  But he can whisper lies to us about who we are.  And he will do everything possible to keep us listening to those doubting voices of insecurity in our minds, wondering if we will ever be "good enough"...good enough for people, or good enough for God. 

The fact is that, although none of us look or sing like Whitney Houston, God says that we're already good enough for Him.  He created us. We're good enough to be loved and treasured by Him regardless of the quality of our performance.  When we mess up (and we ALL mess up), we're justified by the work that Jesus did on the cross.  And if the God of the universe knows us and loves us completely, it really isn't all that important what people think of us. 

Believing lie that we're not "good enough" can be so very destructive.  It can keep us from accepting God's love and grace.  It can keep us from enjoying the relationships with other people that He created us to have.  It can weigh us down with shame.  It can make us a prisoner to pride.  It can hold us in fear so that we refuse to step out and do what God has called us to do.  It can keep us exhausted on a hamster wheel of performance.  It can cripple us with depression.  It can drive us to addiction and self-destruction.  It can trap us.  It can kill us. 

It nearly killed me.

It killed my mom.

And it killed Whitney.


Kevin Costner's final words have been echoing in my mind all week... 

"So off you go, Whitney.  Off you go.  Escorted by an army of angels to your Heavenly Father. 

And when you sing before Him, don't you worry...
                            You'll be good enough."

He already knows

Have you ever been in the middle of telling someone an elaborate story about yourself, when you suddenly realize (or perhaps they remind you) that you've already told them the story before?  Or that they were there with you when it happened?  And you feel all kinds of silly, because you wonder how you forgot about the fact that they already knew about it? 

No?  Just me?

(awkward silence)  *crickets chirping*

Okay then, moving on...

Sometimes I catch myself talking to God as if I need to explain things to Him.  I tell Him a story in the same way in which I'd explain it to a friend, or even a complete stranger.  I lay out all the circumstances, define all the terms, tell Him about my past experiences, and explain what I'm thinking and why.  I do this for His benefit, so He will understand.

And then I suddenly get that silly feeling.  Because whatever it is that I'm trying to describe for Him, He already knows.  When (fill in the blank) happened, He was there.  He doesn't need my explanations.  He doesn't need me to give Him my detailed history.  He was there.  And He knows what I'm thinking already, so I don't need to explain it to Him for His benefit.

Oh, there are times when I need to explain things for my own benefit.  I'm an external processor, so putting things into words is how my mind makes sense of them and sorts out the thoughts and feelings and events and realities.  Sometimes I need to tell God a story so that I can start to see the event more clearly, and let Him shine His light on it.  Sometimes I need to tell God a story so that I can let go of it and be released from the need to tell it again.  Sometimes I need to tell God what I'm thinking so that I'll hear my own words and realize that my thoughts aren't lining up with the Truth.  Sometimes I need to tell God how I was hurt so that I can begin to see my hurt through the eyes of His compassion, and so I can receive healing.  Sometimes I need to tell God what I'm feeling so that I can put my finger on what I'm feeling and deal with it instead of blindly being driven by it.  Sometimes I need to tell God what I desire so that I can leave it in His hands and accept that I don't have control over whether I receive it or not.

But never, ever do I need to tell God anything for His benefit.  He is all-knowing and all-seeing and ever present.  He knows where I've been.  He knows all the stories.  And He knows the stories behind the stories.  He knows the thoughts.  And He knows what's behind the thoughts.  He knows every emotion I will ever feel, and He knows what's behind those emotions.

I often begin my prayers by telling God (which is really reminding myself) what He knows already.  He knows how I feel.  He knows what I want before I ask.  He knows how much (or how little) I love Him. I don't need to inform Him of anything.  This keeps me humble.  He doesn't need anything from me.  I approach Him because of who He is, and because I need Him.  He loves me and wants me to come to Him and surrender my life to Him, but He doesn't need me to do or say anything in particular when I pray.

It also changes how I spend my time when I pray.  When I remember that God already knows everything...

I spend more time listening and less time speaking. 

I spend more time laying my desires and requests before Him, and less time lobbying for the response that I want. 

I spend more time sitting silently in His love, and less time trying to convince Him to love me.  (Or, for that matter, I spend less time trying to convince Him of why He shouldn't love me.)

I spend more time praying with my spirit, and less time praying with my mind. 

I spend more time seeking to understand Him, and less time trying to get Him to understand me. 

I spend more time being empowered by Him, and less time trying to convince Him to make me strong. 

I spend more time focusing on who He is, and less time focusing on who I am. 

I spend more time letting Him remind me who I am, and less time telling Him who I want to be.   

I spend more time receiving and less time asking.

I spend more time seeking, and less time striving.

I spend more time talking TO God, and less time talking AT God.

grace and math

I've been wrestling with this grace thing lately.  And I really do mean wrestling. 

I thought I had accepted it.  I thought I understood it.  I spent so much time telling other people about it.  God's grace.  Unmerited favor.  We don't deserve forgiveness.  And we certainly don't deserve favor.  But He gives it to us anyway, not because of anything that we have done, but just because of who He is.  That's called grace, and it's what God does.  Pretty simple, right?

Maybe it is simple.  And maybe that's my problem.  I've been known to overanalyze a little.  Ok, a LOT.  To a ridiculous degree.  So when it comes down to just accepting that God loves me when I haven't earned His love...my mind just doesn't know what to do with that. 

I'm a math-minded person.  Give me some numbers to crunch, and I will happily go to work and enjoy every moment of the process, especially the part when I come up with an answer.  THE answer.  The only logical, not-to-be-argued-with solution.  Simple algebra is my favorite, because there's always a concrete, finite answer.  The unknown number is now known.  The boundaries are set.  But grace isn't like Algebra.  It's not like math at all.  It doesn't matter what numbers we plug into the equation, when we solve for x, the answer is always...GRACE.  He loves us even though we haven't done enough to earn it.  We don't deserve His love, but God gives it to us anyway.  It doesn't make sense, but it's true anyway.  Because God is infinite.  He doesn't think like us.  He doesn't act like us.  He doesn't love like us. 

Do you have any idea how this messes with a mathemetician's very busy mind?! 

I thought I had finally come to peace with the concept of grace.  Thought I had finally accepted that I was loved and valued and forgiven and favored, regardless of any good or bad behavior on my part.  I was walking in confidence, because I believed that God loved me and forgave me.

And then...

Then I went and messed with the numbers.  I messed up.  And what the mess-up was really isn't all that important to you who are reading this.  Because we all have our mess-ups.  Some big ones, some small ones, some in-between ones.  We all have them.  Some happen daily, some only occasionally.  But we all have them.  And I know what mine are.  And you know what yours are. 

And we place numbers on our mess-ups.  Big numbers for some, small numbers for others.  And we don't often use the same numbers that God would use.  But we do use numbers.  And sometimes we try to do the math ourselves.

"I did this thing, that's pretty bad.  Negative 75 points for me.  And I also did this little thing. 
Ok, not a big deal.  Let's call that a negative 5.  But I did give ten bucks to that guy begging on the street downtown last night.  So that earns me back 25 points.  And I went to church on Sunday even though I had the sniffles.  There's another 10 points.  And I read an extra five chapters in my Bible this morning.  It was Leviticus, so I definitely get bonus points for that.  When I punch all that into the calculator, it doesn't look too bad.  I think God can forgive a negative 5.  That's grace, right?"

No, I don't do this consciously.  But it does go on in my head sometimes even when I don't realize it.  I think I'm really relying on God's grace, trusting that He loves me no matter what I do.  I think my confidence is completely in Him.  But in my head, I'm still doing the math.  And my confidence, at least partially, is in me and my own efforts.  I give His grace enough credit to make up a small gap between my performance and what I think my performance should be.  But when that gap gets too big for my mind to bridge, I get shaken.  I get insecure.  I get unsettled.  Because while I sing "Your grace is enough for me" from the stage on Sunday morning, I start to realize that I don't believe those words as wholeheartedly as I thought I did.  I thought all my faith was in God and His grace, but suddenly I realize that a large part of my faith wasn't in Him...it was in me. 

I know the facts.  I know what the Bible says about this...

Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ's love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture...I'm absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God's love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us. Romans 8:38-39

In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding.  Ephesians 1:7-8

“My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

...he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.  Titus 3:5-7

God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.  Ephesians 2:8-10

This truth is powerful and simple.  We're saved by grace, through faith.  It's not a reward for good things we have done.  Just because of His mercy.  And nothing can separate us from His love.  NOTHING.  His grace is all we need.

But this truth is also totally contrary to any mathematical equation that my human mind can think up.  You mean I don't have to earn ANYTHING?  Not even a little?  I don't even need to keep the score close enough?  Even when I fail so miserably, even when I fall over and over again, even when I can't seem to get anything right...even then, You love me and forgive me?

Sometimes it seems TOO simple.  And that's why I wrestle with it. 

That's why sometimes I have to step back and say "Wait a minute...God, what was that stuff you said about Your grace and Your love?  I know I've heard all this before, but could you please explain it to me again?  Please tell me again.  Because I'm just not sure I get it yet.  Not in my heart.  Please tell me what's true again." 

And because God is big enough to handle our questions and doubts, He patiently starts all over and explains everything to me yet again. 

And then it comes down to this: I'm a math person because I like to be in control.  I like to understand.  If this grace thing...this totally undeserved favor from God...if this is really completely true, then I don't have any control over it.  I don't control whether God loves me, or how much He loves me.  He just does.  Completely.  The only control I have is whether I choose embrace it or not.  And sometimes my math mind has a hard time choosing to embrace something that I can't control or understand.  So I wrestle.  I wrestle with my math mind.  I wrestle with my pride.  I wrestle with my emotions.  I wrestle with satan.  I wrestle with my will.  I wrestle with God Himself. 

I'm so thankful that God is big enough to handle my wrestling.  And strong enough.  And gentle enough.  And merciful enough.  And loving enough. 

And I'm thankful that, even when I can't bring myself to embrace it, His grace really is enough for me.

Just get back up.

My 4 year old son is one of the happiest people I've ever met.  He's just wired for happiness.  While most kids wouldn't get too excited about receiving clothes as a Christmas gift, he bubbles over with joy at the sight of a new pair of pajama pants, hugs them to his chest, and exclaims with every ounce of feeling in his little body "Oh Mom, FANK you for deez JAMmies!!!"  He's a happy little guy, and it takes a lot to get him down.

But there's one thing that can unravel this happy little boy in a heartbeat: failure.  Whenever he makes a mistake, he completely melts down.  If he spills a glass of milk, it might take me five or ten minutes to console him through his heaving sobs and snot and tears, and to assure him that it's okay, he is still loved, he's a good boy, he is forgiven, everything will be okay, and accidents happen.  This morning, he accidentally knocked over the TV speaker and it landed about a foot from his baby brother.  There truly wasn't any harm done.  The baby was fine, and he hadn't been roughhousing or anything.  It was a simple mistake.  But my son thought it was the end of the world.  So I hugged him and held him as he cried, and reassured him with some of the things I always say.  "It's okay, Son.  You didn't mean to do it.  Your brother is going to be just fine, and he knows you love him very much.  I forgive you, your brother forgives you, and God forgives you.  You'll be more careful beside the TV next time...you learned something, so that's good.  Let's not waste time crying about it...it's all over.  You're forgiven.  Smile and go play.  You are a wonderful boy, I love you, and I'm so glad that I'm your mommy.  You're going to be just fine.  Everybody knocks things over once in a while.  It's okay.  You're okay."

As I was saying some of these things today, I looked into my son's heartbroken little eyes, and I saw something.  Something familiar, like I was looking in my own reflection in those deep hazel-brown eyes.  Because when I fail, I feel the same way he does.  Just like my son, I sometimes run head-on into the reality that I'm not perfect.  And I'll never be perfect...not in this world anyway.  And when I do, I feel the same way he does.  For a moment, it feels like the end of all hope.  All I can think about is what I've done, and who I've hurt, and how I should have done things differently, and how I want to be able to go back in time and make it un-happen.   And sometimes I think of the people who saw me fail, and I wonder what they think of me now, and how disappointed they must be in me.  And then I start wondering what God must think of me now.  He must be so disappointed.  I'm so disappointed in myself. 

In those moments, I feel like I've fallen face-first into the dirt.  My knees are skinned up, my clothes are all dirty, there are clumps of grass in my hair, and I realize that I'm not who I hoped I was, and not as strong as I thought I was.  I'm not infallible...I'm not even pretty good at life...I'm just a dirty, bruised-up girl with the wind knocked out of her, trying to spit the dust out of her mouth.

And usually as I'm sitting there trying to brush myself off, I look around me and start comparing.  This hole that I tripped into...it's so much worse than the stuff that other people struggle with.  Look at those girls over there...they never fall this hard.  Or if they do, it's no big deal compared to the mess I'm in.  Why couldn't I at least fall into that hole over there?  It wouldn't be as bad as this.  No one else's failures even compare to mine. 

It's at those moments, when I'm sitting there in the dirt trying to catch my breath, tears welling up in my eyes, that I need my Father to hold me and say many of the same things that I say to my son..."It's okay, Daughter.  You messed up, but you're forgiven.  You learned something, and that's good.  You can't change what happened, but I will work even your failure for good.  Let's not waste any more time crying about it.  Everyone falls down sometimes.  I created you, I think you're wonderful, and I'm glad you're my daughter.  It's okay.  YOU are okay.  I'm with you.  You're going to make it.  Just get back up."

Because my Father is just that loving and gentle and gracious, He is always faithful to hold me close during every face-in-the-dirt moment and gently reassure me until I can see hope again, and I'm willing to get up and walk again.  And sometimes He even sends other people to come alongside me and speak those same words of hope to me.  "God still loves you.  I still love you.  I fall sometimes, just like you.  See that hole over there?  I fell into it twice last week.  You messed up, but it's over now.  You're not alone.  This too shall pass.  You're forgiven.  You're going to make it.  Just get back up."

I don't know whether everyone struggles as much as I do to stop sitting there in the dirt crying, but I imagine I'm not the only one who sometimes needs to be reminded..."Just get back up." 

Today, a friend reminded me of a song by Bob Carlisle that I heard years ago.  It simply says...

We fall down, we get up. 

We fall down, we get up. 

We fall down, we get up. 

And the saints are just the sinners
who fall down
and get up.

I do not trust in my bow

"I do not trust in my bow,
I do not count on my sword to save me;
You are the one who gives us victory over our enemies..."
Psalm 44:6-7

These words from Psalm 44 are underlined in my Bible, and it seems like they keep coming back to me again and again.  At first read, it seems like a really simple concept.  God gives the victory, not man's weapons.  But when I look below the surface of these words and confront the reality of what they mean for my life personally, they seem much more complicated.

I may not be fighting for my life in a physical war, but I do have battles to win, victories that I'm seeking, and just everyday tasks to accomplish.  And whenever I read Psalm 44, I always ask myself ...What is my bow today?  What is it that I'm trusting in or counting on to save me or give me victory? 

Usually I can find the answers to those questions pretty quickly by thinking of what brings me the most peace of mind in a situation, or what would cause me the most trouble if it were taken away. 

For example...When I'm feeling overwhelmed with all the housework that needs to be done (when you have up to 8 kids in your house each day, housework does qualify as an overwhelming task), and the dishwasher is acting funny, I get really anxious.  Why?  Because I'm trusting in my dishwasher, as if my dishwasher alone is going to give me victory over the task I need to accomplish. 

When I'm struggling to change an unhealthy habit or a sinful pattern in my life, what do I count on?  Is it my own strength and determination? 

When I'm having a down day, what do I count on to bring me back up?  Is it my friends?  Is it the sunshine?  Is it Facebook?  Is it my own hard-earned knowledge about how to handle a down day? 


When I'm leading worship at church, what do I trust in?  Is it my own ability?  Or my familiarity with the songs?  Is it a perfectly functional in-ear monitor? 


When I need wisdom, what do I count on?  Do I count on my own creative ideas about how to get to where I need to be?  Or to I look to God and ask Him for His wisdom?


When my child is sick, what do I look to for peace of mind?  Is it his doctor's wisdom?  Is it the medication that he's on?  Do I trust God's care for my child as much as I trust those physical tools that He may be using at the moment?


Our bow and sword will only get us so far.  Maybe we will win some battles with them.  But ultimately, it's God who gives us the victory.  If we trust in our own ideas, abilities, stuff, or strength, we will eventually find ourselves in a situation where it's obvious that those things are not enough to win the battle. 

Or maybe we'll suddenly be in a situation where we have no bow or sword at all.  Where we're standing in front of our own personal Goliath, and we have no real weapons to fight him with.  No wisdom or knowledge to go on, no talent, no medical answers, no allies to fight alongside us, no strength of our own, no preparation...nothing.  It's at those times when we realize that everything...from the smallest detail to the biggest life-and-death battle...is in God's hands after all, and no human weapon or strength or wisdom is enough to give us the victory.  It's at those moments when we realize that trusting in our "bow", whatever that may be for us, is always misplaced trust. 

God is the one who gives the victory, and He really doesn't care whether the odds are for us or against us.  Even if we're perfectly prepared for a task in front of us, if He does not give us the victory, we will fail.  On the other hand, even if we are standing alone in front of a thousand enemies ready to flatten us in a moment, if God gives us the victory, those enemies will fall at our feet.  He sees us.  He knows the enemy that we're up against.  He determines the outcome, and while He might call on us to use our bow and sword in faith, He is the one who will ultimately give the victory. 

I find this truth a little unnerving sometimes, because it means that I'm not in control.  But it's also so freeing...because it means I'm not in control.  I'm learning to appreciate the times when I don't have a bow or sword to trust in, because they build my faith in the One who gives me victory.

through the fire

Two years ago, I was ready for a new season in my life.  I was just learning to walk in the freedom God had given me from so much junk in my life.  I was just beginning to understand that God was making my life into something beautiful, and that He could use even me as a display of His splendor, to share His love with the world.  And I was ready to get on with things.  I was ready to jump out of all those past struggles into a season of...well, I might not have put it into these words at the time, but I was hoping for a season of nothing but happiness and victory.  I was ready for life to be easy and joyful for a while.

One morning two years ago, some friends and I were each given a scripture verse written on a little strip of paper.  Each verse was different, and they were "randomly" distributed, but they had been prayed over, that God would give each person a verse that applied specifically to them, a truth that they could claim and use as a part of their spiritual armor. 

On that morning two years ago, I knew just what kind of verse I was going to get.  It was going to be about victory!  It was going to be about healing, about overcoming, about going into all the world and telling the good news.  As the verses were passed out, I caught a glimpse of the one given to the person next to me.  I don't even remember now what verse it was, but it was exactly the kind of verse that I was sure I was going to get.  How exciting!  If she got those awesome words, surely mine would be even more amazing...after all I had been through, surely God was going to give me some wonderful words of celebration!

I eagerly accepted my little slip of paper, and I went over to the corner to open it, because I was just sure I would have to sing for joy when I read it.  I opened it up, and...

(You've probably guessed the punchline by now.)

"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 43:2

What??? 

I wanted to give the paper back.  Something must have gone terribly wrong.  Surely the person next to me had gotten the verse meant for me.  I seriously considered going to her and telling her that there must have been some mixup, and asking if the verse I had meant anything to her. 

Waters?  I've had enough waters!  Rivers?  I've passed through plenty, and I'm done with that, thank you very much!  Fire?  No way I'm walking through fire.  This verse didn't mean anything to me.  All these thoughts ran through my head until it was practically spinning.  Eventually, I came to some sort of peace with the situation by convincing myself that there was a mixup and that verse hadn't really been for me. 

A week later, my dear friend's son died 30 minutes after he was born.  As I held that precious baby in my arms and watched my friend's heart breaking right there in front of me, I thought about grief, and how it really does make a person feel like rivers are about to sweep over her and carry her away.  And I thought about that verse that had been given to me. I didn't embrace it, I just thought about it.

Two months later, I turned the key in the lock of my mom's apartment door one night and found her body lying dead in the ruins of her self-destruction.  And even in my shock, my first impulse was not to despair.  My first words to my husband were "Honey, it's okay. God's got this."  Even as the words came out of my mouth, I had NO idea where that faith came from.  How could I have such confidence when I was in the midst of a nightmare that should have made me crumble?

I didn't sleep much that night.  Okay, I didn't sleep at all that night.  As I tossed and turned, images of what I had seen and the reality of what I had learned were flying around in my mind faster than the speed of light...questions that would never have answers...guilt beyond description...memories that I wanted so badly to erase, and other memories that I was so afraid of forgetting.  I was overwhelmed at the thought of what was ahead.  I had many more gut-wrenching phone calls to make.  I had a funeral to plan.  And I had to break the hearts of my two little children by telling them that there would be no more sleepovers or fun outings with their Mammaw, who they adored more than anyone in the world.

I don't remember the precise moment when the words of Isaiah 43:2 came back to me.  But in the days, weeks, and months that followed, I held onto those words like I was holding onto life itself...because those were WERE life to me.  Sometimes I remembered those words specifically and spoke them out loud.  More often, I simply operated out of the imprint of faith that they had burned into my soul. 

The almost two years that followed brought even more pain.  I endured loss after loss after loss through the death of family and precious friends, unexpected life changes, serious health problems, lost friendships, and almost total isolation.  It really did feel like I was drowning at times, like I was alone, like I was walking through fire.  But somehow even when I didn't feel like it could possibly be true, I held onto God's promise that He was with me in the waters, that the rivers would not sweep over me, that I would not be burned by the fire.  Sometimes I held onto that promise with confidence.  Other times, I clung to it as my very last thread of hope while I desperately pleaded with God to make the pain stop.

Today, two years after I received that little piece of paper that I wanted to give back, the waters have receded around me, at least for now.  I've come through the fire, and I will never be the same again.    I'm beginning to see the beauty of the story that God was writing in my life during the hardest times.  And I'm more and more awed by the kindness of my heavenly Father, who knew the exact depth of the waters I was about to pass through, and who knew the intensity of the fire that I was about to walk through. 

I'm so grateful for a Father who knew from before I was even born that, on that morning two years ago, I would be standing with a group of friends taking a tiny strip of paper from someone's hand.  I'm grateful for a Father who made sure that I got exactly the right strip of paper....the one that contained the words of life that would sustain me and protect me in what I was about to face.