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In the late 1960’s single parent households were not yet common place. Neither was using food stamps, buying clothes from the thrift store or checking out roller skates from the "Toy Loan" in my upper middle-class town, but for me that was my normal. Add in some layers of dysfunction, a mother with mental illness and "voila", you had my family. Saying we were trend setters might be stretching it a bit, but we managed to create some beauty out of the ashes (or granules as the case may be.)
One Saturday my mom sent me to the neighborhood market to buy a few items. Grocery money was tight, but was given premission to buy one penny candy since my rock selling business had hit a slump. The errand was going well until the moment Art handed back all that change. I still don't remember purchasing a sackful of sweets, but I do remember eating my trophies of goodness as I made my way back down the sidewalk.
As I turned onto my street I started sobering up.
"What have I done? I spent our grocery money on candy?!" Fear began to fill up every part of me. As quickly as I could, I consumed the remaining clues and hoped for the best. By then I was three houses away and could see mom sitting on the porch waiting for me. This was not going to go well. Being the clever kid I was, I blurted out my crime - which was a pretty good idea since my face was covered with confectious shrapnel.
"Sugar? You want sugar?! I'll give you sugar - wait here!!" my mom shouted at me.
As quickly as she set foot in the house, she charged back out with a one pound box of C&H Brown Sugar in her right hand and a spoon in her left. With a controlled desperation in her voice she shoved them in my face and said, "Sit down and don't get off these steps until you've eaten all of it!" With that, she stormed back into the house letting the screen door slam behind her.
By the second mouthful I was rethinking my whole "treat diversion therapy" and went into creative survival mode. Looking down at the flowerbed on my right, it occurred to me that the same spoon in my hand could serve me well as a shovel. Casting a quick glance to see if the guard was making her rounds, I frantically started digging, flinging dirt everywhere like a Water Wiggle sprinkler. When I heard her steps coming closer I tearfully inserted another spoonful, grit and all. We locked eyes. A wave of panic swept over me wondering if my little excavation project was out of her line of sight. Thankfully it was and she marched back into the house. I’m not sure how long the whole process of emptying the box took, but eventually all parties concerned were happy to see it come to an end.
To my mom's dismay her punishment did not deter me from consuming candy, but I did vow to never eat brown sugar again. It wasn’t just the taste, but the very smell of it was a reminder of all the hardships that had impacted my family. By the time I was 14 my mom's mental health issues had taken it's toll on all of us and she was committed to a psychiatric hospital. Various relatives stepped in to help raise me, but I didn't feel connected; I lost interest in school and made one bad decision after another.
When I was a senior in high school I moved in with my best friend's family and life finally started stabilizing a bit. One night as I cooking up some fries at my night job, a co-worker shared her faith in Jesus with me. I had never met anyone like her; someone who was excited about Jesus and actually read the Bible. After attending church with her for a few months I decided to make Him the Lord of my life too. I didn't know how I was going to hold up my end of the bargain to trust God, but I knew He wouldn't let go of me. How to forgive and heal from my past was still a mystery. Brown sugar I avoided like the plague.
Several years later, married and a mother myself, the Lord helped me to heal through a unique gift. My husband’s ministry was relocating out of state and one week before the big move we learned he had relatives in that same town. Uncle Ron and Aunt Judi not only invited us over for dinner upon our arrival, but asked us to stay with them when our moving truck was delayed. Between their kindness and faith in Christ we bonded instantly.
The following week there was a knock on the door. When I opened it up there stood Judi smiling ear to ear and in her arms was a 25 pound bag of brown sugar! I can't begin to describe the conflict of emotions that began swirling around my head...
Aunt Judi - Yes! Brown sugar - Nooo!!!
In her sweet sing-song voice Judi explained, "Ron and I wanted to buy you some groceries. We got you paper towels, coffee, cereal, blah, blah..." (shock was setting in and I couldn't quite decipher what all she was saying) "....and this bag of brown sugar. Christmas is coming up and I thought we could bake some cookies together."
Before I could say a word, she plunked that enormous sack in my arms unknowingly violating my "No Brown Sugar" policy. I just stood there, frozen in the doorway. For years I had successfully avoided brown sugar and everything attached to it, yet there it was in my arms the size of Paul Bunyan’s pillow. Baking cookies sounded like a wonderful idea, (something I had never done with my mom or my own children), but I knew this wasn't about me enduring a cooking lesson.
Brown sugar was a trigger of all the heartache, fear and crises that I had endured as a child. However, in that moment I sensed the Holy Spirit say to me;
"Brown sugar is sweet. I intended it for good, not for evil."
I let that soak in. There was a layered truth in that message. The truth that I had battled my memories on my own and the truth that my brokenness had prevented me from experiencing a fuller life.
I wondered, "How many other things had I avoided that the Lord intended for good? Do I want anger, shame or fear to be my filters or do I want God to rescue me from their grip?"
Back on the porch, the bag and the weight of the moment were getting heavier by the second. Taking a deep breath, I decided I was ready for whatever the Lord had in mind and marched my gritty granules into the kitchen.
The following spring my mom experienced a housing emergency. She needed a place to stay and I was the only relative whose bridge had not been completely burnt. I was hesitant to help. My life was so separate from hers and I had kept it that way on purpose. I resolved to help her through the crises and managed our two worlds under one roof until we found an appropriate place for her. I visited often and kept our chats lighthearted. Other times I didn't know how I could survive another minute of her cutting words or extreme behavior. In spite of those struggles, the Lord gave us treasured moments over the next 10 years. She passed knowing I loved her and I knew she loved me. Someday I will see her again and she will be her best, whole self. I miss her every day.
The other issues that I needed healing from have faded (as things do when they are in the Light) or end up on my "Need to Forgive Again/Leave it With Jesus" to-do list. Another indicator that the past is not so much a part of my present is that brown sugar and I have made amends.
Is there something you are avoiding that God intended for good? Maybe it's a broken relationship. Maybe it's a common day experience or item that conjurs up pain instead of the joy it was designed to bring. If so, ask Jesus to start your healing and join in on the process. He will be faithful to be with you every step of the way.
And the next time you see someone hugging their mom or smiling as they sprinkle brown sugar on their oatmeal, keep in mind you just might be witnessing a sweet healing.
“Taste and see that the Lord is good" Psalm 34:8
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