by Donya Dunlap | Apr 28, 2019 | The Single Life, Write Hard Things
Today marks three years since the worst day of my life. The day my mother died.
Losing my mom felt like an unraveling of my world and all I knew to be true. I lost my center, my best friend, my counselor, my identity. I lost history and holidays and comfort on a hard day. I lost my home, my ministry, my independence, and the ability to sing. I lost peace, happiness, and long chats about books we were reading.
That cloudy April day sent irreparable cracks throughout my being and the days to follow completed the shattering. I wished with all of my broken heart that Jesus would take me too. The fact that I kept breathing after she had stopped seemed the height of cruelty. I felt God had ripped her out of a life she loved and wanted and jammed me into the ragged hole she had left behind. Her home, her car, her husband…now all my responsibility. A life I didn’t want in a location I hated with constant reminders of her all around me…symbols of all her patience, wisdom, kindness, and love that I did not possess.
I felt undone, angry, lost, and alone. I felt as if I was suffocating and trapped—my life and dreams buried with the one person I loved more than anyone on earth.
Three years have gone by now. 1,095 days of inhaling and exhaling and relearning how to live. Through it all God has been so kind. He has sent friends to encourage and has provided opportunities for healing and growth. He has given me a new ministry—the very one I had been dreaming of for years. I still terribly miss singing with a community choir, but He has allowed me enough voice to sing along with the congregation on Sunday mornings again…most of the time. I still have days where the tears drown out the notes, but not every week like it was. I’m not the same person, but “shattered” no longer applies.
I think of the art of Kintsugi—an ancient Japanese form of repairing broken pottery with gold, making it stronger and more beautiful than the original. Jeremiah 18 talks of God as the Potter and His people as the clay. Instead of throwing away the broken bits ruined by death, he gently places each shard back into the whole, creating new life, new usefulness, and new beauty.
I still struggle as I sit at Mom’s table and eat dinner in the very spot where she left us all behind to live with Jesus. I still long for my home to reflect my taste and my memories, to establish new holiday traditions and winters without snow. In so many ways, I feel like my life is not my own, but then, has it ever been? In a way, this disjointed existence is a gift—a daily reminder that this world is not my home, I’m just passing through. And on my way, I have the privilege of serving people like my dad, my coworkers, and our clients. I have an opportunity to point them to Jesus, our Potter, our Healer, our Savior, and my dear Friend.
It’s not the life I would have chosen for myself, but now, after 36 months of living it, I can attest that God truly does bring beauty out of ashes and He is making all things new. Nothing will ever fully be right in this life. Our Enemy has seen to that. There will always be pain this side of Heaven, but pain is not the enemy. We avoid it like it is, but pain is just an indicator—a throbbing signal that something good, someone good has been taken from our lives.
But the pain also means that they aren’t really gone. They are with us in our tears and our wishing we could share this or that happy moment with them. They are in our dreams and memories and sometimes even looking back at us in the mirror. And they are part of that Heavenly cloud of witnesses cheering us on from the pearly gates, anxious to hug our necks and welcome us when we finally do make it Home.
So while it’s been three years since the worst day of my life, I have a feeling that some of the best days of my life are yet to come. I can’t wait to get to Heaven and tell Mom all about them.
by Donya Dunlap | Jul 21, 2018 | Write Hard Things
It’s been 814 days since my mother died. That number seems astronomical. 814 days without her voice greeting me over the phone, telling me about her day and how she beat my dad at cards…again. 814 days without an “I love you, Sis” or a hug around the neck or a summary of the latest book she just read.
Day 814 is different from day 14. The darkness comes less often. The memories seem sweeter. Less painful than before. I can smile when I remember her and share her story of cancer without crying…most of the time.
But for some reason, day 814 has been difficult. In a surprising way. Perhaps the overcast sky that made the house dark and shadowy like it was on day 1 has brought the tears back again. Maybe it’s the Saturday cleaning like we did nearly every Saturday of my growing up years that makes me miss her so much I can hardly think of anything else. Or the dreams I had during the night of seeing her signature and bursting into tears. Of going on vacation as a family and feeling worried because she says she’s fine but I know she’s sick and being brave for us.
In my dreams, she’s just as she was before. I can almost hear her voice, but not quite. It’s more like I feel it echo inside. I know what she’s said and how she’s said it, but the decibels escape me. I feel the dissonance between what my unconscious is imagining and what I know to be true. I’m watching her but I know she isn’t really there. It’s a dream. The churning in my gut waking me. The heartache coming back in waves.
There was a time when every day felt like day 814, And in some unexplainable way, it feels good to hurt again. It proves to my heart that current peace and happiness don’t negate my love or my loss. She would be happy to see me happy…and yet it feels like a betrayal of sorts. I suppose that’s why they say love is complicated. Conflicting emotions existing simultaneously. Each giving space for the other.
They say life is never the same after loss. You only come to know a new normal. At first, I couldn’t believe this emptiness in my heart could ever equal normal—yet it has. The wound is still there. The grief just as potent on days when it demands attention. But I have changed. I have grown in my capacity to experience more than just missing her.
Now the missing weaves itself into daily life, the black of the thread creating a contrast that somehow makes the picture more beautiful than before. There is a depth and breadth to every experience that could not be grasped without first going through the narrow, suffocating, blindness of losing her. There is a sadness that is softly present—a wishing that she could see what is. A wanting to tell her about my day, knowing she would be so glad to hear it. To show her pictures that would make her smile.
In these moments she lives on. Ever a part of my life as she is ever a part of me.
by Donya Dunlap | Jan 5, 2018 | The Spiritual Life, Write Hard Things
For a few years now I’ve noticed others choosing a single word or phrase for the new year. This is meant as a resolution of sorts. Instead of making goals to reach, they choose a word to live by. I considered this for several days leading up to the new year. On December 31st I flew to Atlanta to take part in the Passion 2018 conference (post to come later – read last year’s here). I sat in an open, nearly empty part of the airport waiting for my friend to arrive and asked God what my word should be for 2018. The word I felt rise up in my heart is “authentic.”
“Authentic” Defined
Merriam-Webster.com defines “authentic” as:
- (a) worthy of acceptance or belief as conforming to or based on fact; (b) conforming to an original so as to reproduce essential features; (c) made or done the same way as an original
- not false or imitation: real, actual
- true to one’s own personality, spirit, or character
Reading the definition gives further assent to the stirring I’ve received in my heart from the Lord. 2018 is to be the year of me…the real me.
Confirmation from the Critic
“The year of me…sounds a bit arrogant, doesn’t it?” That was my first thought. My first response to the Lord answering a prayer was a knee-jerk reaction of fake piousness.
See, my internal critic is a “good girl.” She’s always telling me what I should and shouldn’t do based on what other people might think. “You can’t make a whole year all about you. That’s selfish. That’s arrogant. You can’t blog about that. You’re supposed to be setting a good example.”
I’m choosing to ignore her. Why? Because my internal critic is a hypocrite and a jerk. She knows God wants to make changes in me. To grow me. To make me more useful for His kingdom purposes. And that makes her afraid. And fear shows up as fake humility, persuading me to take a step back, be small, be insignificant. It sounds good on the surface, but God is not the author of fear.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. – 2 Timothy 1:7 KJV
“Courage, Brave heart.”
No, my God wants me to be strong and courageous. He wants me to keep my head held high, my shoulders squared, and my eyes fixed on Him and the calling He has on my life.
“Courage, Brave heart.”
Three words penned by C.S. Lewis in a children’s story I found myself scribbling on my mirror in eyeliner. I needed this reflected back to me every morning to remind myself to not give in to the fear. To shake off the words of shame heaped upon me by others. Three words I found myself clinging to through the pain of the holidays for hurting people hurt people and there is no hurt greater than the loss of love. And on the heels of such brokenness, I feel the Lord whisper…
Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you. – Deuteronomy 31:6 ESV
Why “Authentic” and not “Courage”
As I reflected on the year, the progress I’ve made, the trials of recent days, my constant, ongoing battle with fear, I considered “courage” as the word I should choose. But “courage” did not resonate with me as “authentic” did. Courage feels like work. Like a stirring up of will. Like showing a brave face to the world despite my misgivings. What I want is freedom.
I know within me is a woman of power. She is brave. Her eyes shine with the confidence of the Holy Spirit within her. She boldly pursues her passions because she knows God has given them to her. They are His heart and her calling.
But despite all the ways I have grown and changed, this powerful, Spirit-fueled woman is still buried beneath layers of fear and shame. She is wrapped in worries about being wrong and making mistakes, about people laughing and whispering behind lifted hands. Past experience says, “Stay small. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Failure hurts. It’s better not to try.” These are lies from the Evil One. I long to be free of them. And while the path to freedom requires courage, it’s authenticity I seek.
“Not false or imitation: real, actual”
As I shared in my
last post on vulnerability, our relationship with Jesus has to be one of naked trust. I have to believe He is good and He means good for me in my life. I can read Romans 8:28 and Jeremiah 29:11 all day long, but unless I truly believe God loves me and will always do what is best for my life, I will never experience the deep connection with Him as He designed when He created me.
To be authentic is to be real. To remove those layers and walls we hide behind. Sometimes this process is painful. Sometimes joyful. But always necessary to live in freedom and power.
In the book, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the one referenced above written by C.S. Lewis, there is a boy named Eustace. Because of his selfishness and greed, Eustace had become a dragon. He longed to be rid of his scales and become a boy again, but scrub as he might, he could never come clean as before. It took Aslan’s sharp claws to peel the dragon skin from Eustace and return him to his true self. In Eustace’s own words,
Eustace was afraid at first so he tried going his own way. Desperation forced him to turn to the One who could bring about real and lasting change. All Eustace had to do was lay down and ask Aslan to intercede on His behalf. Once free of his dragon skin, Eustace could again swim, and play, and be joyful.
What “Authentic” Means to Me
This naked realness is authenticity. To be stripped of all things not belonging to the original, forgiven, loved, called, gifted, daughter of the King of Kings God created me to be. Fear ignored. Shame removed. Giving my all. Embracing my gifts. No more feeling small and incapable when God has given me the power to do all He has asked me to do.
I can do all things through him who strengthens me. – Philippians 4:13
It may take all year for the layers to come off. Maybe more. I suspect the process of healing will never fully terminate this side of heaven. But my focus for this year is to be authentic. To be the real me in my body, mind, emotions, and spirit. To not be afraid of what God has for my future, but to fully embrace my now knowing each part of today is His gift to me. I am laying down before God and asking Him to strip me down to my real self. Will you join me?
by Donya Dunlap | May 24, 2017 | The Spiritual Life, Write Hard Things
A year of firsts has come and gone. Mother’s Day. Then the first birthday. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s came next. February brought the first anniversary of when we were told Mom had stage IV gall bladder cancer. April 28th the first anniversary of her going to see Jesus.
One year of life without my mother, my dearest friend, my cheerleader, my confidante.
The pain, though not as sharp as at the beginning of this journey, still runs deep. An undercurrent to everything I do. Mom visits me in my dreams, happy, whole, and smiling. Always smiling. I cry through worship nearly every Sunday. I fight back tears when I smell her perfume in a crowd. The sorrow is now part of me, shaping my thoughts and emotions as I navigate through life with a giant hole in my existence.
In the midst of my heart pain, I’ve been dealing with physical pain as well. A few months ago I dislocated my shoulder in my sleep. It took a while to diagnose the problem. During that time my muscles tightened around my shoulder, protecting it from further injury. And though the joint is now where it should be, my muscles are still tight and unyielding, reducing my arm’s usefulness. In order to get back to full range of motion, I have to work on breaking up the scar tissue that has developed and stretching out the muscles. The process is painful, but it’s the only way I’ll have true healing. The spiritual implications from both experiences of grief have been evident throughout.
A Biblical Response to Emotional and Physical Pain
Because we are tripartite beings, (body, soul, and spirit) physical suffering and emotional suffering can both impact our spiritual lives. Withdrawing protects ourselves from potential sources of additional pain. Lashing out at others for the slightest grievance becomes common, using our pain as an excuse. We can act defensively and self-protect, causing increasing harm to ourselves in the process, or we can do the hard work of healing, turning to our Great Physician for guidance and help to face the hurt.
1 Peter 5 speaks to our suffering in a powerful way. Peter reminds us that Christ understands our suffering. In suffering He became our Good Shepherd. We are to follow His example by shepherding those in our care with love, gentleness, and above all, humility.
Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him because he cares for you. – 1 Peter 5:6-7
Humility may seem like an odd response. You may be thinking that pain is the issue, not pride. But what I believe Peter is saying is pain, or suffering, is a catalyst. It is done to you or happens within you. Our response to pain can either be pride or humility. We can turn our focus inward, causing caustic attitudes and further damage to ourselves and our relationships, or we can submit ourselves to what God is doing in our lives. The proper response, according to Peter, is casting our concerns and anxiety on Christ’s shoulders, freeing us up to love those we encounter daily rather than withdrawing from them.
Working out our spiritual scar tissue is a difficult task. One God never intended us to endure alone. This is why He sent Jesus to take on the pain of this world at Calvary. Every minute of every day we have to choose to give our pain and concerns over to Him. Our suffering never truly goes away this side of Heaven. It’s part of this fallen world. Part of us. But it doesn’t have to limit us.
I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world. – John 16:33
We will always have scars, but we don’t have to be bound up with scar tissue or walk through life with open, festering wounds. Humility brings healing. Humble yourself to God and others. Seek His face through your tears. Let Him help you carry your load, so you, in turn, can help others.
by Donya Dunlap | Nov 11, 2016 | The Single Life, Write Hard Things
When I wrote Forgetting the Fairy Tale, I talked about finding our true love in Christ. I wrote how no human can ever fully satisfy us, and frankly, neither will Jesus while we still live on this earth. We were built with a longing that can only be met in Christ upon complete union with Him in the next life. Until then, we strive to glorify Him in every area of our lives. We embrace the struggle, not numbing the longing or filling it with people or things.
Many have told me they were surprised the book is not anti-men or anti-marriage. It seems a dichotomy to be both pro-marriage and pro-singleness. But that is where I stand because that is where the Bible stands.
God’s purpose for marriage
I believe God created marriage as a beautiful picture of His relationship with His bride, the church. He wanted us to understand the depths of His love for us, so He created marriage and sex and He called it good. Sadly, as with all things, sin has distorted this sacred bond. Sin has caused women to distrust men, men to objectify women, and families to be destroyed by the mutual brokenness.
The easy road against marriage
The easy road is to be cynical about love and marriage. To protect our wounded hearts from further damage. Culture says, “It’s just sex. It doesn’t mean anything.” Hurting women find it easier to believe “all men are pigs” rather than face both bad behavior and good men.
But in protecting ourselves, we keep God from doing a miraculous work in our lives. We build walls around our hearts, hindering the Holy Spirit from administering healing. True intimacy is a risk. We are afraid of being fully known so we cover ourselves with our fig leaves and pretend everything is okay. Friends, I am here to tell you everything is not okay.
Why marriage terrifies me
I confess to you…marriage terrifies me. Approximately 50% of all marriages fail. Of the pastors, leaders, and friends I know, I can count on one hand the marriages I would want to model my own after. These are good people mostly. Many couples I love and respect. But I would never want their relationship. This grieves me. And yet, I have hope. And not in a jingle bell, fairy tale, romantic sort of way.
The redemption of marriage
When the Godhead conspired to create the world and human relationships it was good. Until it wasn’t.
When Satan planted those first seeds of distrust in Eve’s heart, he was using her as a pawn to inflict pain on his Creator. He’s been doing it ever since.
But God initiated a plan to redeem what was broken. This is the beauty of marriage.
Every time a couple says “I do” a union is created. A holy trinity. Husband, wife, and Spirit. And every time disunity is planted and this same couple says “I still do” they are exemplifying God’s love for us.
Yes, it is hard. Yes, it is imperfect. There are tears, harsh words, and broken promises. But there is also magic, miracles, love, hope, restoration—all of this throws up a big, bright rainbow to the world that says, See! God is here! In this marriage flooded with the sin of two imperfect people there is redemption. Redemption and love you too can have in Jesus’ name.
Marriage is still a maybe
So even though the thought of marriage terrifies me for all the potential brokenness, it also calls to me for all the beauty that is two people living out God’s covenant amidst all the destruction Satan can muster.
Opening my heart to marriage doesn’t eliminate the fear. It’s risky. It’s messy. But it is also right, and good, and Christ honoring to take down those walls and let Jesus do what He feels is best for me.
Does that mean I’m getting married? Maybe. Maybe not. The end result isn’t as important as the honesty and freedom I am receiving from the Lord in this place.
Nothing has changed in my circumstances. I am still a champion for singleness and single women everywhere. I’m just choosing to not allow fear to determine my destiny. I encourage you to do the same.
In case you missed it, be sure to read Whitney Pendell’s post on Preparing Yourself To Be a Godly Wife.
by Donya Dunlap | Sep 13, 2016 | The Spiritual Life, Write Hard Things
I remember like it was yesterday. Taken off guard, eyes tearing in the middle of my work day. I had never heard the words before. But as they danced along the radio waves they burned themselves on my heart.
She loves her mama’s lemonade,
Hates the sound that goodbyes make.
She prays one day she’ll find someone to need her.
She swears that there’s no difference,
Between the lies and compliments.
It’s all the same if everybody leaves her.
And every magazine tells her she’s not good enough,
The pictures that she’s seen make her cry.
She would change everything for happy ever after.
Caught in the in between, a beautiful disaster,
But she just needs someone to take her home.
Beautiful Disaster
by Jon McLaughlin
She’s a beautiful disaster, and she is everywhere
I see her every day.
Online. At the grocery store. Walking her dog across the street.
I read her story in the headlines.
Suicide. Cutting. Body shaming. Rape. Teen pregnancy. Abuse. Trafficking victim. Orphan.
I see people shake their heads at her wondering what went wrong. I try not to shake them and scream.
We went wrong. We did this to her.
Church members. School teachers. Relatives she thought she could trust. We look, but we don’t see. Smiling and nodding and moving right along. Clicking our tongues. But do we help? Do we love? Do we go beyond the how are you to find out what’s really happening in their world? In their heart?
Maybe she is you
Praying that someone will want you, need you, love you. Feeling very much alone. Not measuring up to the ads on tv, the magazines, the Instagram models around you every day. Pressured on every side to give yourself over to the lust in another person’s heart. Wearing a mask of normalcy and hoping that no one can see how you really feel. Willing to give up everything just to be happy. Just to be known. Just to be loved. Only seventeen, or twenty-three, or thirty-one…but oh, so tired.
You need to know…
You are not alone. I know it feels that way. I know it seems that there is not another soul on earth that understands you.
But you need to know, the God of creation formed you in love exactly how He wanted you to be. Then, knowing that sin would keep you from His presence, He sent His own Son, Jesus, to pay the penalty for your sin. That penalty is death. Jesus died in your place. There is no greater love than His.
Jeremiah 31:3 – I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you. (ESV)
John 3:16 – For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. (ESV)
Psalm 147:2-4 – The Lord builds up Jerusalem; he gathers the outcasts of Israel. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the stars; he gives to all of them their names. (ESV)
We are all God’s daughters
He created us, but He also gives us a choice. To join His family or to go our own way. Where we start does not determine where we end.
We must give our hearts and souls to the One who loves us all with all He is. His Word says even now He is preparing a heavenly home for those who put their faith in Him.
Will you give Him your heart in return? It may be battered, bruised, and worn out from being used by those that promised love and didn’t deliver—but He can make it whole again.
We have a responsibility to each other
Maybe you aren’t the broken one. Or maybe you were and God healed you. You have a responsibility to show His love to the hurting around you.
Sometimes we need to pause long enough to see the pain behind the fake smile. It takes just a minute to give a hug, lift a prayer, or send a text. But it can mean the world to someone who just needed to know another living soul cares about them.
Be that person. Be the one to pull off the mask of “I’m okay” and share a much needed hug. We’re all in this thing called life together.
If you feel I wrote this post just for you, I also wrote a book just for you. It’s called Forgetting the Fairy Tale and a version of this post is included as the Preface.
I want you to know that I see you. I’ve been you. Somedays I still am. But you and I, we have hope in Jesus. He has changed my life and He can change yours too. I hope you will read the book and tell me tell me what you think in an Amazon review on Facebook or in a message. I’d love to hear from you.
