Living Your Truth

Nicole Johnson reflects on the impact of worldly opinions and the challenge of living the truth of who God created us to be.

It’s the look I’ve seen no less than a hundred times before, and it cuts through me in a way only those in the special-needs parenting club can truly understand. I had just arrived at school to pick up my daughter who was in the midst of an unusually long period of dysregulated behavior. I hurried into the building to find about eight staff members surrounding my little lady. She was lying flat on her back, practicing her deep breathing in her best attempt to find her rhythm again and work her way out of what had clearly become an overwhelming and unmanageable situation.

Eight staff members equals 16 eyes locked on me as I peeled my daughter off the floor and wrapped her in a hug. Sixteen eyes unaware of the story their gaze was telling. The slightly furrowed brow, the sad eyes and tight-lipped upturned grimace all screamed the misinformed opinion that the behavior they were witnessing was in any way a fair representation of who my daughter is.

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When God Speaks

“God doesn’t have an opinion of you. He knows the truth.”

I read this recently and it stopped me in my tracks. It was one of those rare moments when I was quiet enough to listen and was gifted with the exact answer to a question I didn't realize I was asking. Somehow, in the quiet, when I’m willing to let go — or maybe just too tired to fight for control — the answers I find always, mercifully, seem to address what sits heaviest on my heart.

This simple statement goes so much deeper than “I love you” — dissecting the sentiment while adding so much depth and reasoning. I want my children to understand. “I know the truth about you.” I held you in your most vulnerable state, as a new entry into this world. It was long before the bombardment of worldly influences, the imparting of a multitude of opinions, the effects of the ups and downs of daily living and — yes — the many mistakes I’m sure I’ve made along the way. I knew you long before all of these realities pulled and shaped you in different ways.

My daughter lying on that floor? I know the truth. I know this tough behavior doesn’t define her. I know that tricky extra chromosome complicates her world in ways no one understands and I know she doesn’t yet have the capacity to explain all she is feeling inside. And while I pray my worries remain unfulfilled, I know that, maybe, she never will.

But it’s all OK, my sweet girl. I know the truth, the truth of who you are. I know the many misinformed opinions that sit heavier on my heart than your own don’t belong attached to you in any way. The same holds true for you, my sons. I know the truth of who you are. I held you when you took your first breath, supported you when you took your first step and was there to witness, absorb and watch in awe as you grew. You didn’t do it all perfectly; none of us do. But you should know I hold no opinion of you because ... well, because I don’t have to. There is no place for opinions where the truth is known.

I remember being out to dinner with my parents one night on a visit home from college. I had lived the stereotypical freshman year of good-girl-meets-freedom and had participated in my fair share of partying. Well into my sophomore year, I had come to a place where the parties had lost their lure and the guilt weighed fairly heavy. I remember sitting across from my parents and unloading my truths.

“I’m not perfect,” I admitted. “I’ve taken advantage of your support and spent too much time partying. I’ve skipped many a class to catch Days Of Our Lives with my bestie and had no problem lying to my professors about why I was not there. And, if I’m letting it all out, you should know I haven’t put a vegetable in my body for most — ok, all — of this semester.”

I unpacked it all and waited anxiously for their response ... which was so casual and lighthearted, I was almost insulted.

They quickly dispelled my assumption that they knew nothing of my shenanigans and made it clear that my more undesirable decisions in no way affected their love for me. They have always known the truth, the truth of who their daughter is. And in the comfort of this understanding, they always trusted that, with their unconditional love and support, I would grow into the person I was created to be. I would live my truth.

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