I tilted down the visor in the car and reapplied my lipstick. As I got out of the minivan and stepped out onto the dry grass, I smoothed out the wrinkles in my shorts and straightened a few things on my children’s clothes and hair. Before we got to the front door, it swung open and Rena ran out. “Anna! I’m so glad to see you!”
She had a few more wrinkles on her face and shorter hair than I remembered, but I would have recognized Rena anywhere. She wore jeans and a classic polo shirt. My mind flashed to happy times with her in Mexico, learning to cook beans and caring for her children while she made proselytizing trips with my father. My fondness for Rena was the only thing that could make such a reunion possible. Seeing her for the first time in a long time brought a flood of emotion, which I kept in check, as usual. I kept reassuring myself that Rena was safe, even though doubts plagued my mind.
We hugged for a long time, so tightly I didn’t want to let go.
Rena finally pulled away. “And here are your beautiful children.”
I introduced her to David and each of the kids, whom she fussed over equally. “Come on in! There are a lot of people very excited to see you.” As she went around the room pointing out relatives and saying their names, I couldn’t keep from smiling. I didn’t need her to tell me their names, because I recognized each person in the room. One by one, they came forward to hug me. I remember that moment as such a precious time —tears, hugs, and more introductions. Through that initial time together, I was able to reestablish contact with many family members.
At Christmastime, my half-brother Robert, one sibling who had been estranged from me for decades, came to the annual family gathering. We hadn’t seen each other since we were kids, and far too much had happened in the years since. Robert paid a high price for his part in our family history. Seeing him brought back all the devastation I had experienced years earlier. As I embraced my long-lost brother, the emotion I had held inside for years came out in a torrent of tears. He held me in his arms in a giant bear hug as my grief threatened to overwhelm me. Like many others affected by those who had done my father’s bidding, I had come to understand that on their own, these people would have made very different choices. I also knew I finally had nothing more to fear.
On Christmas night, I took a short walk by myself. As I stared at God’s handiwork in the stars, I thought about all He had accomplished in my healing journey. His timing was perfect. I’d finished my therapy with Joy and had moved to Austin because He knew I was ready to begin reestablishing ties with my estranged family.
We spent several years reconnecting, and God used me as a bridge for other family members who initially wanted nothing to do with certain relatives I had reunited with. The holdouts expressed curiosity, but they didn’t want to forge a connection. Not yet, anyway. All that would take time, but it turned out to be another big piece of the healing journey.
In October 2002, my brother Hyrum’s wife gave birth to twin preemies who tragically passed away soon after they were born. While I was making arrangements to attend the funeral, I called Mom to coordinate my trip with hers. “When do you plan to be there for the funeral?” I asked.
“I’m praying about it.”
Those words triggered something deep inside me from my counseling days with Joy. I let Mom have the full force of my pent-up fury for all the times she hadn’t been there for me and for my many siblings. I leveled all my palpable tension at her. “Mom, what kind of religion makes you question whether you should show up during the darkest hours of your children’s lives?”
Knowing she had no defense, Mom eventually relented and allowed us to buy her a plane ticket to attend the funeral. I found myself revisiting this moment again and again in my mind. That conversation served as a pivotal moment for me —one in which I stopped being afraid of my mother and began to speak truth, to say to her what needed to be said.
On December 31, 2004, David and I moved to Dallas for my job. We started attending Gateway Church in January, and I read about a program called Freedom Ministry that was offered at the church and taught by Bob Hamp. Nervous but excited, I showed up for the introductory session titled “Levels of Change,” which asserted that in order to be set free, believers must understand their identity in Christ. If I want change to happen, I need to be secure in Christ.
I left class with a bookmark that read: I am accepted. I am secure. I am significant in His Kingdom. I repeated this mantra to myself several times every day, allowing its message to burrow deep into my heart until I came to accept its truth. The Freedom Ministry class impacted me so deeply that I dived in and absorbed it as if it were my job. I eagerly pressed in to God and grabbed hold of every ounce of freedom in Christ.
Over the following weeks and months, the idea that I was accepted, secure, and significant in His Kingdom slowly moved from head knowledge to heart belief. Nothing can ever separate me from the love of Christ. During that period of time, I really came to believe —and not just repeat something because it was the right thing —that I was secure in His grasp. Nothing can ever separate me from Him! I belong to Him! I am His daughter.
That message became palpably real one day. I was having a tough time, overwhelmed by work and mothering five children. I knew all the plates I had in the air weren’t spinning correctly —some were more wobbly than others and a few had already crashed to the ground. I was in a hard place emotionally and felt like I couldn’t keep it all together much longer. I condemned myself for being inadequate and unable to measure up to my own standards.
Immediately God spoke to my heart. “Anna, if you keeled over dead right now —smack-dab in the middle of the mess of your thoughts and emotions —I would say to you, ‘You are my beloved daughter, and I am well pleased with you. Well done, my good and faithful servant.’”
In the span of a few seconds, I understood completely, for the first time since I’d invited Jesus into my life at youth camp all those years before, that my relationship with God had nothing to do with my performance or with my being able to handle all of my obligations. Instead, it was about knowing Him and being loved by Him. I also understood that God knew He could finally say these wonderful things to me because, at last, I was able to receive them, know them, and believe them. That’s when the transformation began. For the first time, I realized I didn’t have to do anything to make my heavenly Father love me. He loved me and accepted me just as I was.
I sank to the couch, burying my face in my hands and letting healing tears flow down my cheeks. I could almost feel the arms of God embrace me as I sobbed deeply, recognizing what He had always seen —my righteousness in Christ. Finally, I accepted that the Cross of Christ was enough. I didn’t have to work to be good enough; I didn’t have to perform to an impossible standard. He accepted me because of what Jesus had done for me. I sat there, overcome by His deep love for me, possibly for the first time ever.
God had finally completed the work He had begun in me decades before at J Bar J Ranch.