Exchanging Anxiety for Joy

Although I’ll always have blurry spots in my memory of it, the trauma that shaped me has remained crystal clear. That’s what our minds do; they jumble information from our past when it becomes too hard to carry it. In processing unfathomable experiences, however, this can help us find our way through to the other side.

The last six months of 2000 held alternating hospital visits and major surgeries in my family, and in November my brother-in-law succumbed to cancer. I was weary from the stress, and in early 2001, we decided I should spend ten days in Oklahoma and Texas visiting family and friends. I packed up my youngest daughter, and we traveled halfway across the country to seek laughter and peace.

Just a few days after I arrived, my husband called to say his remaining older brother had passed suddenly, and he would be traveling to California to oversee his funeral. I offered to come back home, but he urged me to stay. “You may never get another trip like this,” he said. He was right in ways neither of us imagined.

The next day I went shopping with my cousins and then out to eat at one of their favorite places for Chilis Rellenos. (I had dreamed of the cheesy goodness for several months.) After lunch we made our way back to my cousin’s van. My daughter was already buckled in as I loaded her stroller into the back compartment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man running toward us. At first, I thought he was a panhandler, so I just yelled at my cousin to “watch out.” But then, as I made my way to the driver’s side and my older cousin was stepping out of the van, the man held up his hand, as if wielding a badge, and yelled, “Police officer! Get out of the car!”

He reached through the open back door, unbuckled my daughter’s car seat, and tried to yank her out of the car. My cousin joined me in fighting him as he slid into the driver’s seat and put the car into reverse. The driver’s side door caught us, and we were both knocked over, my cousin behind the van’s left front wheel.

I heard someone scream, “Dear God, he just ran over her!” Then he put the vehicle in drive and drove over her again with my daughter dangling upside down in her car seat. As the van pulled away, I watched helplessly from the ground. I remember trying to scream, “Help me! He took my baby!” But because I was just recovering from a cold, the words only squeaked out.

As the crowd gathered, I struggled to make sense of the chaos and check on my cousins. Somehow, I was able to give a waitress my husband’s cell phone number. She caught him just two hours from his destination. He pulled off the road and headed back home.

Something happens to you when your child is suddenly separated from you. I couldn’t seem to move from the place I last saw her, and the emergency service personnel had to convince me to get into the ambulance. They assured me they would bring her to me as soon as she was found. But before we even left the parking lot, we were informed that she was safe and on her way back to us.

The half hour that elapsed from then until our reunion felt like an eternity. Exhausted from her ordeal, my daughter slept all the way to the hospital as she lay across my chest. We were both checked out and then released.

My cousin spent a few days in the hospital and months recovering from her injuries. The would-be kidnapper was caught, and he hasn’t seen a day of freedom since. Fortunately, I returned home to a trusted counselor, but sleep eluded me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw images of the van being driven away with my daughter inside, and I couldn’t shake the memory of her stroller flying out the back. Anxiety was building even though we were home safe. The ordeal was over, but it was difficult to leave it there.

I found encouragement in the words of a friend based on 2 Corinthians 10:5: “Take your thoughts captive.” At her urging, I began to meditate on a familiar verse my mom had quoted for years. Matching the words with my thoughts gave me a unique tool that’s proved itself countless times since then. The verse says, “Whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things” (Philippians 4:8 NKJV).

One by one, I sent each invading thought through the filter of what was true, noble, just, pure, of good report, virtuous, and praiseworthy. Replacing them with the truth found in Scripture not only calmed my anxiety, but I began to reclaim joy.

Along with joy, a feeling of peace began to permeate my soul. On those occasions when the memories invaded, I found myself more able to breathe deeply. Rest returned with a newfound appreciation for forgiveness. Of course, understanding that this doesn’t keep someone who’s harmed me from being held responsible, I still testified in court. I write letters whenever the possibility of parole comes up. What I don’t do is keep myself in a jail cell of anger, and I refuse to harbor hate. Pondering what’s beautiful has been a gateway to freedom and healing.

Life brings both sorrow and joy, and when offenses come, I find it far too easy to close myself off. But when I put my hope in God, peace enters my soul and heals my mind. Those virtues he’s asked us to embrace find their way into who we are as his children. They’re a reminder that we can trust our Savior to hold all things together, even when the unthinkable happens.

Jemelene Wilson is a passionate storyteller who writes of faith, hope, love, and food. She’s madly in love with her pastor husband and mama bear to two daughters. Grace is a fairly new concept she is exploring with her life and words. Mama Jem believes we should live gently and love passionately. You can find more of her writing at jemelene.com.

Photograph © Caique Silva, used with permission