Which is what brings on this blog post. The adversary discovered he could use my wonderful son against me.
It started small. I couldn't even say exactly what the beginning point was, so I'll just jump to the point of realization, which was last Monday, his most recent prep day. It went like this - I hate my phone making noise at me all day, so I leave off the notifications. One of the first things I've started doing Monday morning is turning on e-mail notifications so I'll see when his e-mail comes in. Anticipation for a few hours, then hooray, it's arrived! This week Jamie was even home, so we gathered everyone together and read his message. So so exciting to read! As we e-mailed short response letter back and forth for a bit, the thoughts started coming...
He didn't say anything about the letter you wrote him.
You aren't important to him.
You shouldn't spend so much time thinking of good things to write him, it doesn't matter.
Nobody cares what you have to say.
And on and painfully on.
Jamie headed off to work and the thoughts continued. I started to wonder, did he even get my letter? I had attached some pictures from the week. Maybe that's not allowed? Maybe he sat and read letters from everyone else and is wondering why I didn't write. I imagined him confused, wondering why so early on in his mission his mom already isn't writing. I sent Jamie a text about that, and he called (probably realizing something was up). About 5 seconds into the call I was in tears, so consumed with all the negative hurtful thoughts I was having.
Poor Jamie is not used to having a fragile, weepy wife! He did his best, and even sent Adam an e-mail (which I still need to delete) solely to say, please mention your mom it would do a lot of good. I'm chuckling now as I write this. He married a tough gal, and had no idea what to do with the person he was talking to at that moment. I'm very grateful he was trying!
That wasn't the first episode, but it was certainly the worst. Satan found a golden opening to derail me, using my motherly desire to be important to my children, and I was so consumed by it that my children at home got a cruddy mother.
Maybe the voices were getting louder and easier to see for what they are, but thankfully this time I recognized everything for what it was, and that night I went to bed drained from it all, praying for a miracle to help me close it all out.
The next morning I wrote this in my journal:
"Satan doesn't know who he's messing with.
I am a daughter of God! I have made covenants that bind me eternally to His work. I know He loves me, and that my Savior loves me. Without them I am nothing. With them, I can do anything. My life is in their hands, to further their great work on this earth.
I may still discover chinks in my armor for Satan's fiery darts, but these will be quickly discovered and strengthened. But still the armor is there, every day.
I am enlisted. Battle on."
The adversary is real and always watching for a weak point. It's one thing to love my children, and quite another to base who I am on them, what they do, and if they tell me thanks for what I do.
The seriousness and strength of it all seems so stupid and weak now. But I also recognize this battle might not be completely over. We shall see.
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