It’s been a couple of years since I’ve written one of these reflections on the anniversary of my Mama Sarah’s murder. We’ve had quite the past year, my adapted mother’s year long illness and death, church conflict, so much. It’s been a hard year, hard couple of years. But for the first time, maybe in life, I have peace today.

For most of my life, April 16 has been a hard day. This is the day forty-six years ago when my biological mother was murdered. This is also my adopted mother’s (my grandmother, her mom) birthday. These muddled factors can cause you to see why this day has always been a great challenge for me. On one hand, you want to celebrate the life of someone you love. On the other hand, this day brings great pain to that person.  

Birthdays have always been confusing for me. To further complicate things, my birthday is soon. So, all in all, it’s made that concept quite complicated for me. 

For years, I thought the reason why this day was hard was my grief over what should have been. As loving as my parents were, I never knew my mom; she never witnessed my life, and she never had the chance to walk through me, meet my wife, or meet her grandkids. Of course, we imagine what may have been in light of perfection, which is not the case. The life I have lived has been complicated. The life that was not would have been complicated as well. 

But I have come to understand that “what could have been” was not what I greived today. I grieved, but I had internalized the untruth that my mom’s death was my fault. She was killed because she was leaving a broken and abusive marriage because she did not want to raise her child in such a context. She was leaving to make a better life for me. 

My over-functioning brain took that truth and said, “It’s your fault. If you had not been born, she would not have left, and she would still be alive. It’s your fault.”  There’s a line by Jason Isbell from his song “Children of Children” that, for the first time, really said what I was feeling: 

You were riding on your mother’s hip
She was shorter than the corn
All the years you took from her
Just by being born

My brain had told me this. I was not the victim of a tragedy. I was the cause of a tragedy.  

Now, saying this out loud sounds literally insane. There is no way that I caused this. But I needed this to make sense. And if it was my fault, then there was someone to blame, even if it was me. As hard as that thought path was, as much as it complicated my life, at least it gave me someone to blame. Me.  

It’s taken several years of good therapy, the love of my family, and most of all, the grace of God to understand this. I was not the cause of this tragedy. I was the victim. Thinking it was “my fault” for years made me feel unworthy of love, unworthy of grace, unworthy of good things. It has taken me years to understand that for what it is – a lie.  

I have come to understand that just existing makes me worthy of love. I don’t have to undo anything, make anything happen, or anything. I can breathe and know that I’m loved. I’m worthy of Jesus’ love, no matter what.

You are, too. You are loved today. No matter what has happened today. You are loved. Seriously. You don’t have to earn it. The fact that you are here makes today a good day. You are loved. You have worth. You have value. You matter. You are important. 

So much pain and our unworthiness come from internalized thinking that we are not worthy of love. You are made in God’s image. The Bible starts in Genesis 1, not Genesis 3. You are made in His image before you are broken. That image is your primary identity, not your sin, failure, or anything else.  

It has taken me years, years, years, to believe that I am worth love. Not every day, but more than I used to.  

Today, you are worthy of love.