There is a thief in the house that is stealing slumber from my aging mother. A once brave and unstoppable woman who modeled strength and independence for me has slowly begun to fade into the abyss of lost memories and increasing fear. My mother has slowly become my daughter.

So, where’ve you all been? Oh wait. It was me? I’m the one who ghosted you? Uh… sorry? I was a little busy uh… getting a doctorate. (Okay wait… that’s not a brag!!! Hear me out. It’s a freakin complaint! That was hard!! Don’t be impressed! Remind me never to do that again!! And before you ask, “what kind of a doctor are you?” Let me just tell you… I’m the broke kind!) Anyway, two years later, here I am. This lil doctor missed you!

Hi friends. It’s been a while. I’ve started countless blogs in my notes app but have failed to finish due to the demands of life. 

Which brings me here. 1 am and a very awake momma who is navigating anxiety for the first time in her 81 years. 

Anxiety has become a familiar word in a world that has adopted therapy language as the cornerstone of human behavior. The high priests and philosophers of the day seem to be those with the most buzzwords to define human behavior regardless of worldview. So tell me, experts, how do I explain anxiety to a woman who was raised in a foreign land where the concept of “therapy, emotion regulation, coping skills and grounding” is not only abnormal and strange, it is complicated and hard to comprehend.

My mother comes from the boomer era where hard work and determination ruled human existence. Born and raised in Mexico,  in a family of nine, she was never taught emotional intelligence. Having married an abusive man who kept a tight leash on her, he dimmed her light and clipped her wings, and she never experienced the joy and freedom of having self expression, open dialogue, or even a best friend to gab with and confide in. He didn’t allow her to learn the language, go to school, or drive for fear that she would leave him. In short, my mother never had the space to take up space. She bore him six kids and raised them well to the best of her ability. 

After decades, when she reached her limit and outgrew the fear, she fought back and chose to learn. She taught herself a new language, new customs that gave way to new ambitions. She learned business and began pursing the dreams she never imagined she could have. She left him, saved her children and raised them in the church. Wonder woman, no. But pretty darn close. 

Having been single for 42 years, she has accomplished much despite her lack of emotional understanding. For my momma there isn’t much that homeopathic remedies, essential oils, and positivity cannot cure. And now, we find ourselves at 81, with her memory fading and her growing fear of night. My mommy has become my baby and I find myself in the big girl shoes that I am ill equipped to fill. 

So here I am. Lord. Unable to be an adequate caregiver. I’ve yet to catch you (dear reader) up with the other changes I have. Needless to say, the current season of life I find myself in is exceptionally hard. 

Sadly, I’ve been here before. I know that I am not able to handle this, again. But alas, here I am. The beginnings of what appears to be dementia. My mom, who has always been exceptionally strong is now, incredibly weak. She looks to me with hopeful eyes, anticipating answers. She comes to me to vent her fears and asks that I sit with her till she falls asleep. Today she asked permission to go see my brother next month and to sleep over at his house to spend time with the grandkids. I granted it to her and told her she could do anything she wants, as I took her for her daily walk around our neighborhood. She is passionate about reading scripture and gardening still. Although she does so with fear now, as she is scared to accidentally lock herself out of the house, which has become a common occurrence. 

My momma, my tiny little momma is slowly fading away. And despite her medical diagnosis, the thief of peace these days is insomnia. A thief that is stealing more than just her sleep. 

I’ve been meditating on the reality of believers having a real enemy of their souls. An enemy who seeks to kill, steal, and destroy. An enemy that seeks to take picturesque color filled  realities and taints them with the gray of death and destruction. 

My mother’s world has been a rich vignette of technicolor and slowly it is fading to gray. Anxiety has crept in and convinced her that she indeed is, “never gonna sleep, never gonna sleep, never gonna sleep.” She has walked with Jesus for forty years and all of a sudden, she is questioning His very presence. Full of confusion, she is grasping at remedies to sort out the desperation she feels. It is agony to watch those you love suffer under the weight of this type of deception. 

The devil is a liar. Deception is his weapon of mass destruction and without even realizing it, we sometimes fall prey to his game. How many of you have ever thought to yourself, 

“I’ll never be skinny. 

I’ll never stop bingeing. 

I’ll always be addicted. 

I’ll never be able to stop. 

I’ll never find love.

I’m not worthy. 

I’ll never be good enough. 

I’ll never fall asleep.”

And so on, and so on. He knows what works. Jesus himself called him, “the father of lies” (John 8:44). Jesus actually specified that satan speaks his native language. Which is deceit. Lies. It’s all he knows to do. 

Contrast this to scriptures that tell us God does not lie (Num. 23:19), it is impossible for Him to lie (Heb. 6:18), and that He is incapable of lying (Titus 1:2). He is truth (John 14:6) and His word is truth (John 17:17; Psalm 18:30; Matt. 24:35, and MANY more). Jesus can only speak truth. Yet, we are so prone to believe the lies. 

In this journey through eating disorders, disordered eating and weight loss I have dropped 175 lbs. I don’t talk about this often, cause I’m so much more than a number… but that is an entire grown adult human being and still I hear the voice of the enemy telling me that it is not good enough. I am not enough. I will never hit my goals and never be set free, he whispers. He tells me everything I have ever done wrong. He highlights my humanity and dances little jigs of glee on my flesh and yells, “na-na-na-na-nana” while I entertain his nonsense amid fearful insecurity and question the truth that the Lord has spoken in His word. Promises that He alone will set me free or that He will finish the work he began in me. I am often held hostage by the weight of my sin. (See what I did there?) 

My friend, the prison of Satan’s lies is a sentence we need not bear. There is a Savior who has paid your ransom. It is possible to move from darkness to light. From lies to truth. 

This insomnia that has stolen my mother’s peace is a desperate ploy from an enemy that is coming against a woman who has put her whole life in the capable hands of the Father. Her mind is set on Christ. Despite diagnosis and the death that  took place in the garden and ushered in sickness, my mother has given her everything to King Jesus. Because of His goodness and grace, she remains in His grip. Despite insomnia, anxiety, or dementia. She is His. She will remain His. By the goodness and grace of God, my lil girl is secure in her faith. Her identity has been secured. 

So I ask, has yours? 

I admit that I am secure in my faith. But I also admit that doubt still comes a creepin. Cause sometimes the lies we rehearse in our heads are often more comfortable than the truth Jesus died to give. Sometimes our rebellion is our safety. In fact believing the truth can sometimes feel like the lie. In a sin saturated world that convinces us that up is down and left is right, we must stand firm and set our minds on things above, on Christ alone (Col. 3:2), who is the way, truth, and life. 

So in the battle of truth versus lies, which will you choose?