Growing up is a never ending process.

This past year we have all definitely had the chance to grow in different areas. Quarantine will do that to us. If this season of Covid-19 and quarantine has taught me anything, it’s that there are many places in the depths of my heart that aren’t as “pure” as I would hope them to be. There were and are certain entitlements, certain anxieties and certain faithlessness that I have had to contend with in these times.

Forgiveness is hard. Forgiveness doesn’t come easy sometimes. I know many times for me forgiveness has been repeating the words, “I forgive” daily and again and again until I start to mean it. Forgiveness isn’t natural, its supernatural.

The word at the very beginning of this verse is ‘Then.’ What provoked Peter to THEN go to Jesus? What had Jesus been teaching before?

You’ve been there before…sucker punched.

A deal falls through.

Something fails.

A hope comes crashing.

Broken, fear filled, painful, heart stricken.

The blue October sky turned bleak.

My son comes in to hurry me as I stand, struck hard. I wasn’t prepared for this blow. I didn’t realize a battle was ensuing. I forgot that battles were never ending. I kiss my husband, ask if he is good and he reassuringly says he’s not worried and that it will all work out. I trust Him. I can’t disappoint my kids, I have to keep going, so I grab the keys and go.

To the zoo. On a beautiful October day. Heartbroken.

I lay in my hammock and enjoy the breeze of the day. Laying on my hammock has become my happy place.

During quarantine we spent so much time in our yard and have made it an oasis during this time of drought. We have planted seeds and watched them grow, we have cleaned, we have created a place of rest.

I begin to pray and spend time with Jesus, fully intending to leave all the stress and worries and anxieties at His feet. There are so many things that make my heart break. The chaos of the world, the sickness, the economy, the conversations I am having with my children, and the simple struggle for a sweet summer.

In the midst of living busy, over scheduled lives, where home was simply the place you laid down your head before the next succession of days, we began to believe that living happens outside of the home.

Our best lives were lived on vacation and at backyard parties, yet Home is where you live. Home is where you really are alive, because home is your sanctuary.

Church on our couch during this pandemic has been wonderful in many ways. We are worshiping and engaging in service together as a family and we are usually on time! Every week after the sermon, we have sat and answered questions and have engaged in really great conversations.

One such conversation that has continually come up these past few weeks has been the importance of reading our bibles.

She came downstairs for the third time. It was about midnight. I was tired and frustrated and annoyed. Not a good place for mommy to be.

“What’s wrong now.”

“Mommy, I’m sorry, I just feel weird. I can’t stop thinking about stuff.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just dumb stuff. I’m just worried about if people like me. I’m nervous about my play. My mind just won’t stop and I’m just thinking about all kinds of stuff and I don’t like it.”

In that instant my frustration was swept away.

In that instant I saw myself in her blue eyes.

In that instant I was reminded that she wasn’t a little girl with little girl fears, she was growing into a woman with real emotions and hormones and insecurities and fears.

The first time I heard the Lord’s prayer was when I was nine years old.

A neighbor who attended the local Catholic school invited me to mass one Sunday morning. I was so impressed that she knew when to sit, stand, kneel, and recite this prayer. I had only ever visited Presbyterian and Episcopalian churches with my family, though mostly on holidays or special occasions.

When I was twelve, my parents divorced and my mother encouraged me to attend an Episcopalian church with her. I welcomed the idea and volunteered to be an altar girl on Sunday mornings and I committed to memorizing the Lord’s prayer and the Apostles Creed.

I couldn’t breathe. I could feel panic setting in and I knew I wasn’t okay.

My mind began to race. I thought I was delivered from anxiety Lord! I thought you had saved me from these fears. I was so confused. I felt broken. Again.

It had been years since the darkness covered me in such a way. It had been years since the looming black cloud had made its way into my life.

I refused to go back there.

I refused to lose myself, my faith or my hope.

I refused to pick up the chains of slavery, when I had been set free and delivered.

My dearest friends were sitting in the living room. We had been looking forward to our girls weekend for months. Sadly, for much of the day I found myself struggling in my heart. We were laughing, having good conversations, enjoying our time together, but lies began to befall on me.

Feelings of insecurity plagued my thoughts and I couldn’t shake them. Despite my trying to filter truth, the feelings of unworthiness were persistent. As the day wore on, I was struggling in my mind and soul.

In a timid voice, I finally spoke and said, “I am struggling with so much insecurity and I don’t know why.”

In that moment the thoughts I had been battling in the depths of my heart for the entire day were cast into the light. The dark lies from the depths of hell no longer had a hold on me. Immediately, these women who know my sins, my pride, my hearts desires and greatest fears spoke life into the darkness, gathered around me and prayed for truth to deliver me from my tumultuous thoughts.

Truth was returned and my faith, the substance of all my hope, despite whatever isn’t seen or even often felt, rose up within me.

During these days of crisis, as a pandemic beats its way into our lives, I’m reminded of that evening and the power of confession.