Through a Different Lens

Surfing Through Memories

I was lazily scrolling through short videos when one caught my attention. A little boy was riding a surfboard with his father.

The expression on his face struck me. He looked terrified!
I thought, poor kid, get him to safety!

And then I read the comments:

     “What a great dad!”
     “How fun is that!”

I sat back and blinked.
     Seriously?

I was stunned that I had seen the same video so differently from everyone else.

Maybe he’s just concentrating, I thought. Maybe this isn’t their first ride. Maybe his dad has been taking him surfing ever since he could barely sit up.

Of course, I don’t know his story. Maybe he was scared. Maybe he was thrilled. Maybe he was both. But if his dad is safe, fear doesn’t have to mean danger. Sometimes it simply means, “I’m trying something new with someone I trust.”

But I never had a dad like that.

Why was my reaction so different from everybody else’s?

When I was five or six years old, someone took me horseback riding. They galloped down a big hill as fast as possible, scaring the livin’ daylights out of me. They were having fun. I was not.

I learned that what felt like fun to someone else could sometimes leave me feeling unsafe. No wonder I saw that little boy so differently from everyone else.

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Snapshots

Recently we walked through a stuck memory surrounding the traumatic death of my grandfather. It surfaced after I noticed myself having an emotional outburst that seemed far bigger than the situation warranted. I found myself asking, “Why am I reacting like a four-year-old?”

Grief and trauma didn’t create every false belief I carry. Sometimes they simply expose what is already hiding beneath the surface.

As I worked through the memory, I discovered that part of me was stuck and believed wholeheartedly:

I am all alone.
I am abandoned.
No one knows how to care for me well.
No one has an explanation.

I never used to understand that these undercurrents of belief affected me.

We don’t have to understand the neuroscience to recognize that childhood beliefs can echo into adulthood.

As I continued exploring this memory through the series, I discovered something surprising.

The three-year-old on the porch wasn’t the whole story.

I wasn’t as alone as I believed.

I was more loved than I knew.

In that memory I was stuck, but that was a snapshot, not a video.

It captured what three-year-old Debbie believed in one vivid moment.

It did not tell the whole story.

God wasn’t finished writing it.

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Memory Making Events

Life has a way of shaking us.

Sometimes it isn’t the event itself that changes us.
It’s the meaning we quietly attach to it.

Grief does that.
You lose a parent…
     “I’m alone.”

You lose a marriage…
     “I’m unlovable.”

You retire…
     “I don’t matter anymore.”

Your health changes…
     “God is done with me.”

A child rejects you…
     “I failed as a parent.”

Sometimes life’s upheavals expose what has been quietly shaping us for years. They bring into the light what needs the Master’s touch.

Events happen.
We make meaning.

And sometimes those meanings become the lenses through which we see everything else.

We don’t have to stay stuck in the false stories we’ve mistaken for truth.
We do need the gentle, persistent way God invites us to replace them with His truth.

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Listening for Truth

Read through the Psalms and you’ll quickly discover that God isn’t afraid of our emotions. Praise, exaltation, and thankfulness feel good and holy. Despair, anxiety, and anger have often been politely told to hide from public view.

However, emotions can be powerful messengers. When our reactions seem bigger than the situation warrants, it is a good time to become curious.

That is a good time to pause and invite God into the conversation.

Instead of shaming yourself, you might want to explore what was behind the reaction. We can’t change what we don’t recognize.

You don’t have to dig through every memory looking for hidden wounds. God is an excellent guide. He has a way of bringing to light exactly what He wants to heal when you’re ready to walk with Him through it.

That’s exactly what happened as I finished writing this article.

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Untangling Another Knot

I still don’t know whether that little boy was terrified or thrilled.
But I do know this.
I wasn’t really watching him.
I was watching my own story.

Then I realized God was showing me another knot to untangle with Him.

As I was writing this article, I noticed the connection, but I didn’t yet understand it. I had watched a little boy surfing and immediately read terror into his face. That reminded me of a horseback ride when I was about the same age.

So I stopped writing.

Instead of assuming I understood the connection, I invited God into it.

“Lord, what’s the connection between my wild ride and the surfing boy? Please show me what is true.”

Then I started asking simple questions.

What do I know for certain?

What am I assuming?

What am I believing?

What is most likely true?

Is there anyone who could help me fill in the blanks?

Lord, what do You want me to see?

Throughout the process I kept bringing it before God, asking Him to guide me through Scripture, prayer, and His Spirit into His truth.

One of the first things I noticed is that I wanted the father to be safe. That’s when I realized how much I still carry the hole left by losing my father.

And the Father keeps reminding me,

     “You’re my girl.”

Thank You, Father, for that constant reminder.

Then I looked deeper into the memory. The man who took me on the ride was one of our florist shop employees. I know for a fact that he was a safe person and he liked me. From my experiences with him, I know he never intentionally tried to scare or harm me. He probably assumed I had ridden our horses far more than I actually had.

So, as I thought and prayed, I realized that once again, I was not alone. I was with a safe person who was simply having a blast taking a little girl horseback riding. He simply forgot to ask whether I wanted to ride like the wind.

And, like always, Jesus was with me. I’m pretty sure Wilbur and Gus were along for the ride too.