Freedom and Flourishing in the Midst of Suffering

If 2018 was dubbed by me and Big Steve as the "Year of Exhaustion" for the Pappas family, 2019 will henceforth be known as the "Year of Suffering." 

2019 knocked the wind right out of me and Stephen over and over and over again. Even as I type this, the whole Pappas fam is battling a bug, and one by one we are losing. Stephen's fever is up to 106.4, and little Levi's fever reached 103.8. I'm doing much better now, but when it hit on the evening of Christmas Day, Stephen cared so well for me. We then went out to eat Sunday night, and Stephen remarked how the end of the year was turning out just as tough as the rest of the year. Little did he know he would be down with the sickness later that very night.

This year, we experienced depths of grief and groaning we weren't prepared for, but we were strengthened through it. We've been untangling ourselves from damaging ideology we were taught about women, modesty, and sex. We've learned about boundaries and practiced establishing them. And I just finished my first 8 weeks of therapy yesterday. Freedom and flourishing were the words I chose for 2019, and even in the midst of suffering, we were free and we flourished.

Freedom and flourishing in the midst of suffering. One of the great paradoxes presented to us in this life. Holding enough sorrow in our bodies to surely drown us, yet tilting our heads back to laugh anyway. Oh to be "grieving, yet always rejoicing" (2 Corinthians 6:10).

2019 saw us leave a church that we thought we would be a part of until our last breath. Unfortunately, the church was squeezing every last breath out of us, and it all fell apart when a leader sinned against me, refused to acknowledge the wrongdoing, and used the position and power to spiritually abuse me by being domineering and attempting to intimidate me into submission. For our spiritual health, we had to get out, but we've grieved and will continue to grieve the loss of what was, what we thought we had, and what will never be as we heal. We suffered. We grieve. We somehow still hope.

2019 saw us lose friendships we never imagined being able to live without because we were so closely knit to those precious people we love. While some of those friendships may be mended in the future, others are likely irreparable this side of eternity. We suffered. We grieve. We somehow still hope.

2019 saw us organize a rally for Rodney Reed, an innocent man on death row who still needs to be freed. Rodney Reed and others like him are suffering. We grieve and somehow still hope.

2019 saw me begin therapy and complete my initial 8 session commitment. Using the Internal Family Systems model, my therapist is helping me revisit the pain of my past, whether that's the little girl paralyzed by fear of the powerful men who should have protected her but harmed her or the almost 30 year old woman who was willing to accept that same treatment from a trusted spiritual leader because that's what love felt like to me all these years. It was easier to accept mistreatment and call it love because that was familiar. It's much harder to step out into the unknown. Now I'm connecting the dots, becoming acquainted with my patterns, and healing from my trauma. I've suffered. I grieve. I somehow still hope.

2019 saw me read books about emotional health and about race and the Church. The books I most highly recommend are The Emotionally Healthy Church by Peter Scazzero, Boundaries by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend, Boundaries for Your Soul by Alison Cook and Kimberly Miller, Be the Bridge by Latasha Morrison, Beyond Colorblind by Sarah Shin, One Blood by John Perkins, and The Color of Compromise by Jemar Tisby.

2019 also saw me turn 30 surrounded by faithful friends and desserts for days; 30 different desserts to be exact.

2019 also saw me get my first tattoo: eshet chayil, woman of valor, alongside two other women of valor.

My word for 2020 is "content." As I read Boundaries for Your Soul, I came across these words: "The English word content comes from the Latin word contentus, combining the words held and together. Being content implies an experience of being held together, contained, and well ordered internally, regardless of your external circumstances" (Cook & Miller, 2018, pp. 123-124).

Contentment has always been a struggle for me. Comparison resulting in envy and thoughts of, "If I could just be different, better like her in some way, I would be content" has robbed me of joy more times than I can count. Now, with the image in my mind of being held together, I am eager to enter 2020 and lead the parts of my internal family in peace and into peace.

My goals this year center around the word more, doing more of what holds me together and less of what threatens to push me past my limits and unravel me. Some of those goals are to read a book by a woman of color every month, laugh more, put my phone down more, play Duck, Duck, Goose more, read to my kids more, snuggle my (not so little anymore) babies more, go out on dates with Stephen more, and rest more.

We're not even a little ready, but 2020 is upon us anyway. Here's to contentment and continued liberation and blossoming in 2020. Happy New Year!

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