The Girl Who Dropped Jesus

We may think we see a painful situation clearly. Then, God gives more light.

Are there things you look back on, certain you have all the information?

For a long time, that’s how I saw something that happened in second grade. Then God made beauty from ashes (Isaiah 61:3) and strength from weakness.

He is my God of miracles.

Before I get to that, you might be wondering what I mean by “dropping” Jesus.

I don’t mean that figuratively. I literally dropped Jesus on the floor in church, and the clergyman screamed. As my classmates—from first to eighth grade—looked on, I thought I’d done something unforgivable.

If you’re wondering what happens when a kid drops Jesus, I can tell you. My brain got confused. It tangled the grief and shame of that moment with other hard things in religious settings later—until it all became a big, confusing mess.

After that (and other) experiences as a teen, I was quick to think God was “punishing” me whenever things in life went wrong. As my husband would later point out, I had confusing ideas about God, strange blips of social anxiety at church, and uncontrollable compulsions to prove my worth there. Unfortunately, over time, it got worse. Panic attacks and emotional breakdowns left me—and others—wondering what was “wrong” with me.

Fast forward many years, and I can see how my Savior was beside me the whole time. Little by little, He let in light. Then, He gave me a new normal—and words for my experiences.

Key to untethering myself from fear and shame, and false ideas about God, were two things: an evidence-based therapy through my church’s social services called EMDR, and my Savior being with me while facing old wounds.

As a kid, I’d always imagined storming into that clergyman’s office:

“You made me drop Jesus!”

“Then you shamed me in front of everyone!”

I had no idea God had something much better in mind. He helped me understand the past and my worth—even the worth of those who hurt me.

And He helped me not repeat patterns of coercion.

Decades later, I learned that the clergyman who shamed me suffered from mental illness. Returning from war, he had been expected to minister to others with little to no help healing his mind.

I also learned that teachers at my K–8 school had made sure that clergyman no longer led services for students. Knowing that would’ve spared me some anxiety as a kid—since I agonized every week, wondering if I'd come face-to-face with him again. But I can’t blame those adults for keeping it a secret; they were trying to prevent gossip among students.

Would you believe that when something similar happened years later, I didn’t handle it right?

When my own child was shamed by a church member during a similar church ordinance, I didn’t stand up for them. Instead of being the adult, I went home and cried—as if I were the child. But that, and my experiences as a youth, have cemented a few things:

Though setting boundaries in faith-centered relationships can feel scary or “wrong,” it isn’t always Christlike to stay silent.

Remember the difficulties Jesus experienced in His own faith community—like criticism from scribes and Pharisees? He understands because He’s been there. He can show us how to address imperfect behavior peacefully, in ways that reflect Him and leave everyone feeling better off.

This brings me to what my Savior whispers to me now:

If that clergyman yelled at church today, you’d be the one to advocate for his mental health needs.

These are the miracles God can do—even for a girl who once thought she had done unforgivable things (like drop Jesus).