I was a nervous wreck as I sat in my store manager’s office waiting for her return. I had just filled out pages and pages and pages of evaluation questions concerning every imaginable aspect of my job. I was nearing my 1 year anniversary at the company and all the questions I had just answered boiled down to this: Did I rate myself as having the skills and attitudes of a 1st Year Employee, a 2nd Year Employee, a 3rd Year Employee, or a 4th Year Employee? I rated myself as a 1st Year. I hoped I wasn’t being overly optimistic. I was trying to be authentic. But I always felt like I came up short and I was hoping my manager didn’t see my insecurities as blatantly as I did.

As I walked out of that office half an hour later, I was shocked. Third year. My store manager rated me as having the skills and attitudes of what they expect a 3rd Year Employee to possess. How did that happen? I was hoping, best case scenario, to be considered a solid 1st Year. And she rated me as a 3rd? Unbelievable.

So, why the discrepancy between my evaluation of myself and my manager’s evaluation of me? Why did I see myself as being so far below what my superiors saw me to be?

This haunted me. I had to figure out why I had such a poor self-image while at the same time recognizing that I consistently went above and beyond? It didn’t make sense. I thought back over the years and tried to figure out when my insecurities began. I was a happy child. I was raised in a loving, supportive family. So, when did these feelings of not being good enough, begin?

As I look back over the past 60 years of my life, one event stands out from all the rest as having the largest impact on how I learned to view myself and relate to life. Unfortunately, the lessons I learned were not good.

It was early 1973 when Betty Anderson’s death shattered my world and sent me on a tailspin that would continue to spiral for the next 45 years. As a result of this amazing woman’s horrible death, I learned the following heartbreaking lessons:

• I learned that the world was not a safe place.

Up until this point, I saw the world as beautiful and perfect. I had everything I needed. I was loved and I was safe. But Betty’s death changed all that. My eyes were opened to how truly vulnerable we were. Horrible diseases could strike out of nowhere, destroy a person’s body, and send them to an early grave. And none of us was exempt. My safe world crumbled and in its place, fear and uncertainty took hold in my tender 15-year-old heart.

• I learned that God could not be trusted.

On a cold, dark, winter night my mother and I, along with other members of the New Lothrop Church of the Nazarene, expectantly gathered in the sanctuary, dropping to our knees, and begging God to save our dear, sweet Betty. Beloved mother, wife, and pastor’s wife, we couldn’t imagine life without her. So we beseeched God’s mercy for her healing.

Despite the sobs and wails that still echo through the halls of my memory, apparently, God either didn’t hear us or didn’t care enough to help because Betty died two months later. The day before Valentine’s Day, no less. How ironic. We were stripped of her presence on the very day we should have been able to celebrate her life.

• I learned that I wasn’t good enough to have what my soul longed for.

In the throws of the imminent changes about to take place in his life, the boy I liked, my best friend and Betty’s son, broke up with me. He told me that his family had to move out of the area, away from all the painful memories, and as a result, his dad had told him he had to break up with me. I found out 45 years later that it was not his father that caused him to take such a stand, but his own fear of loving and losing again that prompted him to cut all ties with me.

In his absence, another boy who had been anxious for the opportunity wasted no time in making himself available in my time of loss. This boy jumped in to fill the gaping hole in my heart which was desperate for any kind of consolation I could get. But I didn’t like this boy. Not the way I liked Betty’s son. However, he did fill my time and thoughts and realizing this was the best I could get, I tried to be satisfied.

In doing so, I learned to settle.

My newly developing insecurities led me to the idea that I must not have been good enough for the boy I liked. Otherwise, God wouldn’t have taken him away from me. My damaged self-esteem continued for the next 40 years, evidenced by me settling my way through life.

This tainted coping mechanism not only manifested itself in relationships but in jobs as well. As a highly creative individual, I suppressed this God-given gift because surely I was not good enough to actually make a living writing and designing. So, I took mundane jobs that anyone could have done half asleep because, apparently, I wasn’t good enough for what my heart and soul desperately longed for.

Forty-five years later, I’m still learning lessons, albeit, healthier ones.

• I’m learning that even though the world is not a safe place, there is safety within the arms of God.

Meaning, whatever happens, good or bad, I am never outside the reach of God. Does this mean I can be dying a painful death and still be safe? As a child of the living God, yes. I can safely pass through death’s gate and safely arrive in Paradise with formerly passed loved ones anxiously waiting to greet me.

When my dad was in hospice care two years ago and facing the end of his earthly life, the chaplain understood my reluctance in letting go of him. I didn’t want to lose my daddy. We had been close my whole life and I couldn’t imagine life without him. True, dementia had stolen him from me long ago. But I still had his body and the occasional lucid moment where my dad was once again my daddy. He had just turned 87 which by most accounts, was a good long life. But it wasn’t enough for me. He had two great-grandchildren who deserved to grow up knowing their great-grandfather’s love and attention. And the truth was, I just wasn’t ready to let go.

But this wise woman of God told me it was all a matter of perspective. As we on earth lament the passing of a loved one saying, “Oh, he had so much more to give! He had so much to live for,” those in Heaven are celebrating our loved one’s arrival saying, “It’s about time! What took you so long!”

It’s all a matter of perspective.

Therefore, if pain and suffering and death are not to be feared, then what is?

• I’m learning that God can be trusted.

Trust says, “As long as I am within your care, I am all right.”

I’ve read horse trainers will oftentimes gentle a skittish horse by exposing him to something he doesn’t understand and therefore finds frightening, such as a big red plastic ball, while talking to him in gentle tones, caressing his face and neck, and even giving him a special treat. The objective is to show the horse that even though there is a big red scary thing in front of him, he is safe with his trainer. The hope is that the horse will learn not to react to the scary thing, but to respond to the trainer’s gentle reassurances that all is fine.

I apply the same thing to God’s training of me. He doesn’t take all the big red scary things out of my life, but if I look past them and to Him, I receive the soothing reassurance that all is fine. He is in control. And He will safely see me through the worse life has to offer.

Therefore, I’ve come to believe that God always heals. He either heals in life or in death. But He always heals.

• I’m learning that I don’t have to settle for what the world has to offer; I was created to live fully within the will of God.

The desires of my heart aren’t wrong, but my method of meeting them often is.  My timing is off. I either rush into a situation that is not yet ready, or I lag behind letting my fears paralyze me.

A lack of trying hard enough isn’t my problem. A lack of wisdom and discernment is. My understanding and knowledge only go so far. I see the world through foggy lenses. So, when I recognize a need in my life, I tend to grab the first thing I can get my hands on, afraid a better opportunity won’t come along (hence, settling) instead of waiting and watching for God’s best.

But God knows the whole picture. He knows the way He made me and I will never be satisfied until I am living within His will. He isn’t here to make my life miserable through senseless rules and regulations; that’s how the world tries to define me. He has come to set me free.

The world tries to pound me, a round peg, into the square hole of its own making, using force and intimidation, guilt and shame. On my own, I don’t recognize what’s truly happening and I fall victim to the lies that I at the same time, defend.

God made me as a round peg to perfectly fit into the round hole He has created for me. He uses gentle pressure to mold me, thus easing me into the life that fully invigorates, challenges, and satisfies.

I often wonder what life would be like today if cancer had not stolen Betty Anderson in the prime of her life.

Certainly, the trajectory of countless lives switched course that day. I can only speculate and only God knows for sure. But this is where faith and trust find footing. I have to believe that even then, God was in control. In the midst of Satan’s attack to steal and destroy, and despite the doctors’ inability to reverse the dreaded disease, God still had the upper hand. Betty was safely within his care throughout the whole process.

Even as she told her son his class ring was beautiful, the one she couldn’t even see as a result of the tumors pressing against her eyes. God was there.

Even as she told her husband to remarry so their two young daughters, only 8 and 3 at the time, would have a mother to raise them, God was there.

We look at this and question how a loving God could have allowed such heartbreak.

I have no answer.

All I can say is that I have to believe that throughout the past 45 years, God has been with each one of us, and even now, he is gently patiently bringing us to the place we each need to be – firmly within his perfect will and everlasting arms.

Betty is safe. And, one day, when it is our time to go, we will reunite with her, never to be separated again.

Because of the journey I’ve been on since that life-changing day in February 1973, I’ve come full circle. I was a naive, innocent 15-year-old who didn’t know how cruel life could be. I found out, all too well. Not only because of the loss of this beautiful woman, not only because of her family disappearing from my life for the next 45 years but also because of the fears and insecurities and poor self-esteem that firmly took hold in my life as a result of these events.

It wasn’t until five years ago that I started coming to grips with why I was so self-destructive in the choices I was making. Even now I’m still working through these issues. This post is an attempt to pull all of this together in such a way that it makes sense to me and brings a degree of peace.

This past January, through the help and encouragement of a dear friend of mine, Betty’s children came back into my life. After 45 years! It was nothing short of amazing how God brought us back together. All part of his perfect plan. The circle was made complete.

Reverend Anderson passed away several years ago and joined his beloved Betty, so I was never able to see him again on this earth. But I am finally reunited with their three children who were such an important part of my life back then. And, I’m sure we will never lose touch again!

It’s been a long, difficult journey for all four of us. Our perfect childhood world dissolved, our psyches were scarred, and our values were compromised. But we survived. We’ve made it to this point and thankfully, we are in each other’s lives once again.

The circumstances of our lives are different, no doubt, from what they would have been had Betty lived and the Anderson family not left New Lothrop. Better? Worse? Again, I can only speculate.

But today, the truth I stand on as my cornerstone is that God was always there, even when we couldn’t see Him working. His love for us was steadfast, even when we denied His existence. His watchful eye never faltered, even when we were lost in an uncertain world. And He provided exactly what we needed each step of the way to bring us exactly where we are today. Back in each other’s lives and back to Him.

We are no longer naive children. We have been refined by fire.  We now see the world, not through the rose-colored glasses of innocence, but from a place of compassion and grace and peace; despite the uncertainty and unrest that continues to surround us.

We’ve experienced the best and worst life has to offer. And somehow, faith tells me, we’re better people today because of it.