Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

Please Be My Strength

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I was driving down a picturesque stretch of scenic road, by myself, listening to music. The sun was shining, vast green pastureland stretched out to either side, and in the distance large mountains looked down upon me. The words from the car radio caught my attention.

“Please be my strength.”

I lifted my right hand into the air; a charismatic Christian, worship regular, signaling my agreement and reaching for my Jesus. Then it struck me. He wasn’t somewhere up above, beyond my extended hand. He was here. In my car. I looked over at the seemingly empty passenger seat, and I imagined my Savior riding shotgun (even though He always has the wheel). I stretched out my hand into the side seat, rather than the air, and I closed my hand around His, our fingers intertwining.

Please be my strength.

I can categorically and emphatically say that the past year of my life, basically 2022 in its entirety, has been the most difficult of my life. Harder than bootcamp, tougher than an unexpected divorce in my late twenties, and even more stressful than being an ICU nurse in the height of a pandemic.

I’ll stop here to warn you. If you don’t know me personally, understand and be aware that I’m going to share very personal things. If you think you will possibly read my outpouring with judgement, perhaps you should just stop right here. This post has been on my mind for a few weeks, but it’s been difficult for me to share my inner turmoil with not only trolls hiding behind anonymous computer screens, but also, and sadly for the most part, because of the people close to me who judge me the harshest. Maybe you should stop reading here.

You can always think you will know how to react to a situation, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know little to nothing. As a young woman who only dreamed of children, I imagined how I would parent. Then I actually had children, and it all went out the window. Most of it, anyway. I got the epidural instead of a natural childbirth, and I co-slept rather than letting my baby cry it out in their crib. I never had the time for every night bedtime stories, and I’ve yet to start a single college fund. Sigh.

The enormity of what I don’t know about parenting, or life in general for that matter, crashed upon my head shortly after Christmas. My oldest, natural born child, my eleven year old started to change overnight. She gave her fidgets away, and she decided she hated the color pink. She started spending more time in her room, and stopped swimming in our pool, or even going outside to play with the neighborhood children. I had seen her height increase dramatically, her hips begin to take shape, while her waist thinned. Along came the budding breasts and hair in places they shouldn’t be for an eleven year old, in my humble, late-bloomer opinion. So, I blamed it all on hormones.

Sure enough, she started the dreaded red wave of womanhood shortly thereafter, and I thought, “maybe this will be a sweet release to the angst she has been feeling.” But that was only the beginning of the tsunami that was heading our way.

In the middle of pre-teen distress, our family, like most of yours, I’m sure, was experiencing a changing economy. It was getting harder to keep the pantry full for a family of five on a single income. I couldn’t help people like I had gotten used to doing, barely having enough extra to financially float my own family. I had taken a job away from bedside nursing to rest my Nightingale wings, but we decided as a family, I could get more bang for my buck by going back to the trenches. At the time, the best paying job was three hours away. No problem. It would only be for a short, three months, to get us back on our feet.

We all hated it! There is a big difference between coming home from your twelve hour shift to your family, and coming home to an empty, one bedroom tiny house. And while the quiet was blissful the first week, it quickly lost its shimmer. The driving back and forth on my off days was exhausting, and then there was the little issue of life upending hundreds of miles away.

We prayed and sought the Lord over the decision of that job, and despite the difficulty, I do believe it was God’s will for me to be alone in that little cabin. See, He was working on me too. I’m a fixer. That’s what I do. At work, and at home. But what do you do when you can’t fix it? I look back now understanding that the little rental house I stayed in three days a week, it was my green pasture. The place I had to lay in while I gave my lambs to the shepherd. If I would have been there, I know I’d have been trying to yield my rod and staff all over everything, forgetting where my strength came from.

Remember the pre-teen angst? Well, it was more than that. I knew it. There was new anxiety. I’m talking about hyperventilating, arms breaking out in hives, absolute panic in crowds, anxiety. Where did it come from?! Why was my formerly, social butterfly unable to walk in Aldi without having to stop and deep breathe?!

There was depression. Real depression. Sadness so deep that it was like a thick fog, and I could barely see my baby through the darkness of it. I recognized the mood. It was one I knew too well, on a personal level, but also a familial one.

This part of our journey was probably the most frustrating for me. When I reached out to trusted people I loved about my baby, I wasn’t met with the support I expected. I actually felt quite the opposite. It seems my child’s battle with anxiety and depression was simply a spiritual attack that I had the power to stop. All it took was some laying on hands. And don’t forget, the doorway to my daughter for Satan to harm her was my own doing. I was/must be allowing things into our home that opened the spiritual realm for my child to be attacked.

I love Jesus. I believe in forces of darkness and principalities of evil. I believe in prayer, I believe in deliverance, and I believe in healing. Truly. I also believe in science, a God-given knowledge of how our bodies work, sometimes against us, and how God gave mankind the tools both spiritually and physically to combat these issues. I was a suicide attempt survivor. I had a grandfather kill himself, and a mother who tried to end her life many times from my childhood up into my early thirties. That kind of family history will have you well versed on generational curses, but also heredity and chemical imbalances in the brain.

Had I not prayed countless hours every day for my child?! Had my husband and I not laid hands on our child, sought healing, but also wisdom for what (if anything) in our environment and home was causing a problem?! Of course we had. I had not stopped praying and crying daily in the shower for months. I thought of my own battle with anxiety and depression, and how I spent years trying to pray harder, read my Bible more, and call out the forces of darkness bringing me down. It was not until I sat in the bathtub on Christmas Eve, wishing I could go to sleep and never wake up, that I sought the help of a doctor. It shook me that a blessed woman, with an amazing husband and adored children would want to die on the happiest day of the year. It shook me to think that I had waited so long, and I vowed to do everything I could for my baby.

Against the advice of well-meaning guidance, I took my child to a therapist. Every week, out of pocket, since most insurances don’t consider mental health a needed health benefit, but that’s a topic for a whole other blog.

I’ll stop here to apologize, as this is getting longer than I anticipated, but I did tell you I haven’t shared in a while. So, let’s get to the message.

I get a message, at work, just before it was time to give report to the oncoming shift, and it was a message that rocked my world. I have been blessed with a relationship with my child where she tells me everything. So, it was killing her to keep her pain a secret, and that day she told me she had been hurting herself. She sent photos of cuts she had made into her arm. She asked me not to be mad! Mad?! I just wanted to hold her!

I drove 40 minutes to my little house, after my 3rd twelve hour shift, packed a quick bag and drove the three hours home. I cried to my sister on the phone (hands-free), while driving through a tropical storm, and later thanked God I didn’t mess up my car when I hit that median. The downpour had been so torrential, and the night so dark, but I had to get home.

I cried incredulous tears to my sister. Why was this happening to my baby?! Didn’t this sort of thing only happen to foster kids in a bad situation, or abused kids, or kids with bad relationships with their parents?! My child had not experienced any kind of trauma. I knew this to be true. Why was this happening?

As a side-note, I’ll add here, that I have since learned how common self harm is in teens. My child has even shared with me other girls, from good, “Christian,” happy homes, who have admitted to her they cut also. They had not told their mother, so I guess I had that going for me. Hey, you hang on to any little thing you can in these situations.

This wasn’t the end. More conversations revealed more issues. Suicidal ideation. We hid sharp objects, called doctors, had emergency sessions with the therapist. It had been spiraling to this out of control moment, but it wouldn’t stop spinning. It kept going.

There were bright moments. Her neurologist believing her puberty had changed how her seizure medicine affected her, causing the suicidal ideation and self harm. Us getting off the medicine, her brain scan being free of seizure activity (making a new medicine unnecessary), and the emergence out of that darkness that tried to take her. But still, there was more. I could see it.

When you are raised in an Evangelical Christian environment, you’re taught how to handle certain situations. You’re taught about sin, but there is also major focus on particular sins that are especially heinous. The ones that we stand on a firm foundation to fight for. Other sins can be pushed to the side. I mean, they’re still “bad,” but not worth making a social media post about. My husband and I are both divorced previously, but I cannot recall anyone telling me how disappointed God was in my actions not to reconcile with my ex. You think you know how to handle certain situations, that you have it all figured out, but then it gets personal, and that puts a wrench in everything.

One of my daughter’s disappointments in herself was that she didn’t feel like she belonged. She didn’t feel normal. All her friends and cousins spoke about dating and boys, but she wasn’t interested. “This is normal,” we said. “You’re just a kid.”

But to her it was more. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t interested at the present; the thought of ever being a woman romantically or sexually attracted to a man seemed inconceivable to her. It seemed off. It seemed “not her.” We had entered a period of her trying to understand why she felt so different, and honestly, this place of questioning and sharing is what brought my baby out of her dark place. I’d like to think my loving counsel was a help, and I’m sure the therapy and psychiatrist were a benefit, but I believe in my heart that her honest questions and seeking of her true self brought about the emergence.

In Christian circles you are taught how to approach the subject of LGBTQ. You “love the sinner but hate the sin!” But there’s a problem that surfaces when this happens to someone you love more than yourself.

You start to wonder, “how can I love them best? How can I say I love you in one breath, but tell them what they feel in their heart, mind, and soul is wrong, in the next breath? How can I show the love of Jesus best? How can I respond to this situation without crushing the spirit of this child I would literally die for?”

Tough questions. A tough year. In the end, you love the only way you know how. All in. In the middle, you question everything you’ve ever been told. You read scripture, study, pray, have long talks with your spouse, and come to a place of acceptance, of unconditional love for your child, no matter their gender identity or sexual preference.

I remember a conversation with my husband where we agreed we did not have all the answers. We didn’t know what was right or wrong. I’m gonna tell you… you can imagine you know how to handle issues, but after you’ve discovered your child is so confused and hurting that they would rather die, you start to rethink things. Everything turns upside down, inside out, and pouring from the seams. You question what’s of eternal significance. Is it being right about what is a sin and what is not? Or is it leaving some things to God and admitting your own failings instead? Is it focusing on the spirit nature of us all, regardless of slave, free, man, or woman, and understanding we are all one in Him? Yeah, we didn’t want to mess things up, but we knew our Father held it all in His hands. We knew our job was to love our child, to show them the heart of Jesus, and to leave what we didn’t understand to Him. I was back in that green pasture. And I am there still.

He is my strength. He is love. His love strengthens me, and His love pours out of me. That is good enough for me. To see your child on the edge of a cliff, and then watch them emerge bright, confident, and happy being themselves, is priceless. How could I not support that? I am so proud of my baby. Now and forever.

The Lord Loves Chicken

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The Lord loves chicken, but more than that, He loves people. I was reminded once again how religion stifles that love and how we, as the church, can point out the sawdust in someone’s eye better than anyone. A recent story emerged in the media, and like the good, obedient children we are, we slurped up what the angry masses were serving.

How dare Chick-fil-A back down from their Godly principles and give in to the masses for the sake of money?!

If you missed the hoopla on social media, it seems the popular chicken chain stopped supporting Christian charities. Specifically, it had ceased support of two particular charities with a history of opposing same-sex marriages. So sayeth the media. Articles erupted detailing how the restaurant would no longer be donating to charities that stood in opposition to the LGBTQ community, and we all know how our favorite fast food joint had received flack in the recent past from the Left due to their support of “anti-gay charities.” Had Chick-fil-A finally caved?! Well, that seemed to be the religious sect’s stance. Even politicians came out of the woodwork with their opinions.

Never mind that people are dying of hunger or children as young as eight are being sex trafficked. Let’s focus our energy on fast food politics.

Personally, I first heard this announcement on a news channel in my patient’s hospital room over the weekend. Such an important news story, it seemed. When will we open our eyes to the division the media promotes?

My first thought (as a Southern, Christian Woman who loves Jesus), “oh, I get it. They want to show love without bias. Makes sense.”

Like, I never even thought, oh my gosh. I can’t believe they’re backing down from their convictions! The world is going to Hell in a hand basket!

No, I didn’t see this as a backing down move. I just saw it as a sign of love. I’m reminded of another unpopular opinion I hold as a Southern woman. As a Mississippi native, I am in favor of replacing the state flag of Mississippi. Forever it’s been the Confederate flag, and the majority of my peers from our state desire to hold on to it for reasons of “standing true to their Southern Heritage.” And while I’m all for pride in heritage, moreover I’m all for loving people. If something I “stand for” hurts a large group of people (such as the African American community) then I will lay down my pride in favor of love. Is that so crazy?!

But this post isn’t about flags, rather it’s about our innate ability to become offended about anything. It turns out it wasn’t even like the media made it sound. Chick-fil-A didn’t suddenly withdraw their financial support to appease protestors, but rather restructured their giving when the contractual obligation came due to renew. I mean, I’ve given to Christian radio stations in the past, but as God led me to different areas of giving, I’ve rerouted my funds to say the homeless and shelters for those who have been sex trafficked. Does that mean I no longer stand for Christian music? Of course not.

But even if it was a thing (and not just a media fabrication to cause division among the church), what would be so wrong with a Christian influencer within the community, such as Chick-fil-A deciding it wanted to remove itself from a controversy that made it appear judgmental and uncaring.

You might remember a story from around 2,000 years ago. It seems that this radical lover was causing quite a stir for his association with prostitutes and thieves. You might recall reading about it.

Matthew 9:10-13 (NIV)

10 While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew’s house, many tax collectors and sinners came and ate with him and his disciples. 11 When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”

12 On hearing this, Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. 13 But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’[a] For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

This was my first thought when I heard the story about Chick-fil-A. I didn’t assume they had laid down their guns out of fear or for monetary gain, but rather to break bread (and chicken nuggets, if you will) with everyone who would come to the table. Once there, you can’t help but notice the friendly staff, the faithful favor of God in the business, or that amazing sauce. After all, it’s at the table where Jesus gave of Himself to those around Him, and we as Christians will never be able to pass along His love if we’re making restrictions for the dining hall.

Jesus said, “come to me, all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28).

What He didn’t say was, ‘come to me, everybody, but only if you’ve read my laws and are abiding by them completely! Then we can talk.’

If that were the case, I don’t think any of us could come over for dinner. Just saying. You invite folks over; God will take care of the rest.

Listen, I’m all about the Bible. I’m all for calling a sin a sin, and I’m all about standing firm in my convictions. The problem that occurs is we get so caught up in “the law” and pointing out wrong from right that we neglect the awesomeness of grace. We forget that we’re all sinners, unworthy of the gift we’ve been given, but thankfully saved by His great grace. Yet instead of paying forward that mercy that was given us, we pull out the judge’s gavel.

Do y’all remember that parable Jesus told about the master who forgave the huge debt his worker owed him? If not, allow me to summarize. This dude’s debt was totally forgiven, wiped clean and let go. Awesome, right? Well, this same fella comes across a worker of his own who owes him some change, and instead of passing along the grace he was given, he demands repayment. So when the big boss finds out, he locks up the first fella for not forgiving as he was forgiven.

Do you see where this is going?

It’s all good to stand for what you believe, but if you throw stones to do it, what does that say about you? If you can’t open up your table to the folks who are the most hungry, what kind of servant are you?

Don’t let the enemy succeed in separating the children of God. Don’t fall into the trap of the religious Pharisees. Don’t condemn a man with sawdust in his eyes; you’re missing the plank in your own.

The Lord loves chicken, I’m certain He does, but more-so I know for a fact that He loves people. If what we’re doing doesn’t reflect that, then maybe it’s time to change the recipe.

Here’s Your Sign

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I saw this sign outside of a public bathroom in the downtown Orlando area recently, and while I’m sure it’s commonplace in metro areas, it’s actually the first time I had seen this particular pictogram in person. I wasn’t the only one; my nine year old daughter also inquired of its meaning.

“What’s that mean, mom?” She asked, pointing to the half-dress, half-slack clad person.

I measured my words carefully and answered, “there are some people who may not be sure if they’re a girl or a boy. That’s a private bathroom just for them.”

And that was the end of it, for her anyway. I, on the other hand, have thought back on it a time or two. I felt like God was prompting me to speak on this sign, but I was hesitant. See, I have a lot of friends, from many different backgrounds, from all over the world, with varying beliefs, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt a friend. I believe in speaking truth, but I also believe in not causing pain.

But still, the nudge continued. So I asked myself, “is it possible for a Bible-believing follower of God to talk about the trans community without judgement, but in truth, with love, and in a way that conveys the Father Heart of God?”

Let me try.

Y’all, our world is changing, and it’s changing quickly, right before our eyes. Parents who try to shield their young children from homosexuality will find that difficult if they turn on their television at all, take their kids out in public, or even enroll them in school. You see, what was once taboo is now commonplace, and what might have been hidden merely twenty years ago, is now celebrated. The world is changing, and I think it’s possible to keep up with that without burying yourself in a time capsule underground.

I don’t claim to know everything. I can’t find my keys sometimes, much less the concrete answer to all of life’s dilemmas, but I do know where I go to try and figure it out. I go to God’s Word. There’s a whole lot in there, y’all, and it’s easy to pick out one scripture for our use at the moment without drawing from the truth of others. It’s like our Bible has become a Google search engine, and we enter in a single word, like one word is what makes a person who they are, and we aim that scripture at the issue. For example, you can easily find what the Bible says in regards to homosexuality, but you can utilize that verse without also carrying the commands like found in Corinthians to “do everything in love.” We can ignore the ones we don’t want to hear, like the one that says if you get divorced and remarry you’re guilty of adultery. Well, here I stand an adulterous woman.

When I looked at the depiction of half a woman and half a man, I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel righteous indignation as a Christian woman. Instead I felt sad. I felt sad for a human heart that wasn’t sure who to be. I felt sad that it has to be that way. I believe in the Bible where it says God knew us in our Mother’s womb, and that He knew us before we were even formed. In that belief I don’t think God would create specific physical parts but then place a different spirit within that same body. I just don’t. But then (I’m a nurse, after all) I’m reminded of babies that are born with both male and female sex organs. I’m reminded of babies born with deformities of all kinds. Would a loving God do that?!

No.

I think that’s the sin part. This world is far different from the one He created in the Garden of Eden. When sin entered the world, it changed everything. We brought on ourselves sickness, deformity, and sadness. Along came wickedness and people who hurt others. Mothers who don’t care if they neglect their children or harm them physically. Fathers who aren’t really fathers at all. Not like God intended them to be anyway. Fathers who wound their children physically, mentally emotionally, and who raise young men to continue their vicious, poisonous cycle. Sin brought us children who don’t know who they are, adults who can’t decide who they want to be, and people who change who they are hoping that becoming someone else will bring them love.

Love. That is what we are all lacking. When I can’t figure out how to approach a situation, even after reading God’s Word for guidance, I stick to love. The greatest command.

Love makes me cherish the young man who feels better dressing like a young woman. I certainly know that’s how God sees them. He isn’t standing on a cloud up high glaring in anger, posed to throw a lightening rod and holler, “I made you a boy!”

God sees the things we cannot see. God sees the heart of us all. He sees where we hurt, where we feel broken, and where we feel empty. After all, we are all cracked, vacant vessels eager for His love. Those of us (like myself) who have suffered with sexual immorality or alcoholism know all too well how feeling that need for something (love) can make us fill our vessel with whatever we can to feel better. Some fill it with food, becoming morbidly obese. Some fill it with drugs, ruining the lives of everyone close to us. Some will run through numerous relationships and marriages searching to cure the ache. Some will push people away, surrounding themselves with cats, and denying the need for human interaction at all. How about the wealthy man who builds his life on his pursuit of more? Is it not an idol in his life that actually breaks the Ten Commandments?

Here’s a thought. What if the divorced woman (me) is no different that the pedophile? Oh gosh, that can’t be right. What if the transsexual is no different than the girl who gets pregnant out of wedlock, the habitual liar, or the pastor’s wife who gossips at the lady’s meeting about so-and-so who’s not there?! Gulp.

“But Jesus said, ‘go, and sin no more,'” we say.

If only we could. It’s a sin issue, and this world is full of it. We are a broken people just struggling to feel like we’re worth something. The liar lies to make themselves sound better. The man leaves his wife to try and make himself feel happy again. The effeminate young man seeks a partner who will make him feel adored. We ink our skin (three tattoos here), we get plastic surgery (yep, guilty), and we dye our hair (got me again). We put on what makes us feel beautiful, maybe for the first time ever.

I’m not saying this is a sin, or this isn’t a sin; I’m saying it’s all sin. This world is chocked full of it. From the moment we get out of bed until we breathe our last breath, we’ll battle it. Every single person on this planet. It’s not just a sin issue, though. It’s an issue of lack. From the moment sin separated us from God we became lacking, and we’ve spent the last forever trying to make ourselves not feel that way. Thankfully, it’s not just sin that changed everything. Jesus came along, and He changed everything too! He’s that bridge to close the gap, and the best way to usher in His presence is to follow His greatest command He gave us. Love.

I don’t want the first reaction people perceive of me as a Christian to be one where I start highlighting sin in their life. I want them to see the Father Heart of God, and then He can lead them to His truth. That’s what He did with me. It’s what He does with me still! People will never be filled of their empty places by throwing them a Book of the Law, but they will be filled by the Holy Spirit’s wondrous love. And as you fall deeper in love with the Father, the desire to follow His laws come.

Even then, we will not find our complete and total wholeness until Jesus comes back. We can get closer (I’m living proof), but we won’t find all that we lack until Heaven. It’s a sin issue, and we are a busted, broken bunch. Every one. Sin makes God angry. You bet your bottom it does, but He never decides to not love us, give up on us, or turn His back on us because of our sin. He loves His children, all His children, even the children who don’t love Him back. I think sometimes as Christians we think Jesus only died for those who accept His sacrifice, but in reality He died for all, or in His words, even the ones “who knew not” what they were doing.

The forgiveness of sin is for Jesus to give, not the church. He gives out the pardon, and we better be glad, because 9 out of 10 of us have sinned twenty times today and don’t even realize it. I’m thinking that when we see sin around us we shouldn’t be eager to point it out in pride, or turn our nose in disgust, but rather we should have a broken heart like the Father, offer love like He does, and pray that we all may become more aware of the sinful nature we each reside in every day.

So here’s your sign.

John 8:7 (NIV) When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

1 John 4:10 (NIV) This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.