1995 was a year of a lot of strife for me.
I had gone through a hard divorce three years prior, making me a young, single mom. I had just started a new career, purchased my first home after moving out of my parent's basement, and experienced deep heartache over the ending of a significant relationship. I kept my married name because I wanted it to be the same as my young son’s as he grew, which made his and my initials both JC.
Ironically, that season of my life was very reflective of late fall, which was when a sort of miracle happened. I lived in New England, near where I grew up. Many things around me were dying, falling away, just like the leaves were falling from the trees, and despite some of the new, exciting things, I was in a very dark place. I felt very alone, lost, abandoned, uncertain, and confused about all that had happened over those past few years.
God was always “somewhere” in my life. I grew up Catholic but purposefully sought other “spiritual” connections. I experimented with the New Age movement that was so popular back then, with the occasional church hopping.
I took my son to church a few times and bought him a children's Bible that we read a bit, but nothing consistent. I cried out to God often and bounced between isolating myself and seeking places to find relief. I spent a lot of time outside, hiking, biking, and deep in my thoughts, trying to find some solid ground. Music was often the one place I found the most solace - music and writing.
I was struggling with many things. Depression and anxiety ran in my family, and I experienced panic attacks in my early adult years. Now, as a single mom with a new job and new home, I was feeling pressure from all sides. My divorce had not been easy, and I felt like a failure. I hated that my son now came from a broken family and missed him terribly on weekends when he was with his father.
I had good friends and came from a good family, but I didn't have a reliable, healthy support system. Many of my friends lived far away and turned to alcohol to raise their spirits. Everyone in my family was busy with their own lives and significantly older than I was. I felt like a burden asking for help. In all honesty, a feeling of shame accompanied asking for anything. Feelings of unworthiness, inadequacy, and incompetence ran rampant. I was so, so lonely.
One Sunday morning, when my son was with his dad for the weekend, I felt particularly alone, lost, desperate, and hopeless.
I remember dropping to my knees next to my bed, folding my hands, and crying to God to please let me know He heard me, that He saw me, and that I was not alone.
I felt incredibly desperate. I remember explaining to someone once that I felt like a caged animal looking for escape, being constantly stabbed by hot pokers I couldn’t get away from.
I had the whole day to myself and was trying to avoid things I knew weren’t good for me, like meeting friends for drinks and lunch. So, I decided to go to one of my favorite spots, an Audubon sanctuary with a beautiful walking trail I would frequent often, alone and with my son. It had clear, safe paths, with a few small trails off it, and a large boardwalk with a place to sit and take in the beauty. A big pond surrounded it, so you couldn't get far if you didn’t stay on the marked paths.
I parked in the lot and grabbed my camera, which I frequently took while walking. I loved snapping pictures of the beautiful nature and any cool wildlife I might stumble on.
I meandered down a familiar path. This was my favorite place to come alone, to walk in silence and seek guidance and peace.
I walked along, crossing the boardwalk over the water to a very wooded section. I passed what looked like one of the smaller trails. As I passed, I felt a prompting, but I could literally see the water through the trees. I kept walking, knowing it led nowhere.
But the prompting nagged. It felt as if someone was telling me to go down THAT path.
So, I turned around and started down the tiny, heavily treed little path to nowhere. It was pretty overgrown, with branches and leaves jetting out, and I had to duck around them constantly. Tons of little gnats hovered around my head as I kept swatting them and the tree limbs away.
As I walked further in, a small clearing opened up, and I saw a downed tree about 50 feet in front of me across the path. As I approached it, my heart stopped. I literally gasped out loud.
There on the downed tree in the path in front of me were my initials.
JC
PLAIN as day.
I stood there in quiet disbelief, staring.
As what I was looking at sank in, I softly heard the words “Jesus Christ” in my head like a gentle whisper. Even though the initials were mine and my son's, I heard the words "Jesus Christ" like a soft breath.
That name had been a mystery to me. It had always made me a bit uncomfortable. I never had a problem with the word, or name "God." Saying God’s name, talking to Him, and acknowledging Him in that manner had never made me uncomfortable. The name of Jesus, however, for some reason, was something I typically felt awkward saying.
But not that day. That day was not awkward or uncomfortable. It was intimate and full of grace, acceptance, and love.
I immediately started crying. I sat on the downed tree and sobbed for, I don’t know how long. I knew, without a doubt, that God had heard me and that He had sent me down that path to see my initials, my son's initials, and Jesus Christ's initials. Jesus met me where I was that day. He saw me. He was there, waiting for me. He made me realize that He was, and is, with me, always.
I have talked about and revisited that moment countless times. The following weekend, I took my son to show him and tell him what had happened in the best way I could and in a way that he could understand; I explained what led me down that tiny path.
I visited "our miracle tree" quite often over the next few years until I moved out of state. I always found such peace and comfort there. On that day, I felt an assurance that I’d carry with me forever.
Although I still stumble, that moment always reminds me of God’s presence in my life. The knowing and assurance I had that day come back to me every time I remember my experience.
I hope sharing my story will help others. It is hard sometimes to understand that God sees us, but He does. He hears us. He loves us. He is always there waiting for us. He meets us right where we are.
Take time to reach out to God. Listen to the small voices. Make room for enough silence to hear Him speak. Trust in Him. He is there, and He is FOR you.
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