Easter Sunday, Frustration, and the Weight of Love
- lewaubunifu
- Apr 21, 2025
- 7 min read
Easter Sunday, Frustration, and the Weight of Love
April 20, 2025
Today was supposed to be a day of celebration. Resurrection Sunday. A day to honor the One who rose so that we may have life. But instead of feeling uplifted in the church, I found myself outside—in my car, tears threatening to fall, heart heavy, trying to catch my breath.
We were sitting in church, and once again, I was the one expected to bear the burden. My mother didn’t want to sit next to my brother. My daughter didn’t either. So guess who got placed in the middle? Me. The one who always has to “just deal with it.”
He had on his coat. He was clearly overheating, and my mother encouraged him to take it off. I said no—I knew better—but she insisted. And the moment he did, the smell hit me so hard I couldn’t breathe. I had to get up and walk away. Not out of disrespect, but out of sheer survival. And of course, instead of understanding, all I got was blame. “It’s your fault,” she said.
But is it?
My brother is living with me temporarily. He’s 38 years old, and yes, he was jumped and lost everything. I let him into my home out of love, out of obligation, out of the kind of care our own mother should’ve shown long ago. I gave him towels—mine, not extra, not fancy, but what I had. He threw them away. I took him to a clothing closet. He gave most of it away. I give him deodorant, soap, laundry detergent—and he still wears the same clothes every day. Still smells like the streets. And still, somehow, I’m to blame?
I’m on Section 8. I don’t have much. But I give what I can because I believe in helping family—even when it hurts. But I’m exhausted. I have a teenager of my own to raise. A daughter with special needs. And I can’t keep carrying this weight alone.
And you know what really gets me? My mother knew something was wrong with him when he was young. She saw the signs. But she did nothing. Her excuse? “Mental health wasn’t a thing back then.” He was born in 1987. That’s not ancient history. That’s neglect. That’s denial.
Now here I am, trying to help him get his birth certificate (done), social security card (in progress), and state ID (soon). Jumping through hoops with a broken system for someone who won’t even help himself. Who showers and still smells. Who discards everything I give him like it has no value, no meaning.
So yes, I left my seat. I went outside. I sat in my car and listened to T.D. Jakes’ sermon “Don’t Forget Who You Are.” Because I needed a reminder. I needed someone to speak to the storm inside me.
I am a daughter of the Most High. I am a mother doing her best. I am a sister standing in the gap for a man who doesn’t even know how to stand for himself. I am not the problem. And I will not let guilt or blame steal my peace.
Jesus is still worthy of celebration. He rose for me. For the broken. For the tired. For the overlooked. I celebrated Him today—not in a pew, but in the only sanctuary I could find: my car. My quiet place. My sacred space.
To anyone else out there doing what you can with what you have, I see you. You are not alone.
Stay strong, even if you have to do it from the parking lot.
Sermon Notes – Don't Forget Who You Are (Bishop T.D. Jakes):
Ruth 1:18-22
New International Version
18 When Naomi realized that Ruth was determined to go with her, she stopped urging her.
19 So the two women went on until they came to Bethlehem. When they arrived in Bethlehem, the whole town was stirred because of them, and the women exclaimed, “Can this be Naomi?”
20 “Don’t call me Naomi,[a]” she told them. “Call me Mara,[b] because the Almighty[c] has made my life very bitter. 21 I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi? The Lord has afflicted[d] me; the Almighty has brought misfortune upon me.”
22 So Naomi returned from Moab accompanied by Ruth the Moabite, her daughter-in-law, arriving in Bethlehem as the barley harvest was beginning.
God is a moving God. He is not stagnant—He is always moving. God has a rhythm. He is a rhythmic God. Life has a rhythm. In order to connect with God, we have to catch and move with His rhythm. Every rhythm is not the same. Everything He created has a rhythm. He creates things in rhythms and in cycles.
Anytime the rhythm is broken, health is compromised. The first thing they do when they take you to the emergency room is check your pulse—because your circulatory system has a rhythm.
Don’t make all of your decisions in the morning. What you think about at 20 is not what you will think about or see at 60. You can make a decision at 20 and mess up something for yourself in your 60s because you are caught in a cycle and a rhythm. What was true when you started might not be true later when it happens. Give yourself room to move, to vacillate.
Life has a rhythm. Stop hanging around people who can’t deal with your pulse. You need like-minded people who understand your flow and vision—who can catch your pulse. Even if they can’t, you have to know your rhythm. You have to know your pulse. You have to know when it’s time for you to move, when it’s time for you to make a change.
I’m tired of trying to stand up and be what other people expect me to be at the expense of being myself. I would rather you be ticked off at me because I refused to live like you think I ought to live or wear what you think I ought to wear.
We give birth through a rhythm. We rock through a rhythm. You can’t be with me if you don’t have my rhythm.
God is never late. He puts you in the right place at the right time. You can’t run with janitors and think like CEOs. You can’t hang around employees and think like entrepreneurs.
When you have a rhythm and other people don’t, they will try to kill you out of embarrassment because they don’t like your rhythm. When you’re in the room with somebody who has your rhythm, it stops you from doubting yourself. It stops you from losing your mind.
When people leave you, forgive them—they don’t have your rhythm. Stop being mad. Stop being angry. Stop being bitter because they couldn’t keep your flow.
You have a destiny. You’re so busy trying to help other people that you hold on to those who weigh you down. If you have my rhythm, you can ride with me.
Naomi lost two sons, but she had not lost her rhythm. So it’s possible to have rhythm and lose your relationship with yourself. Life brings loss. If you don’t have loss, you can’t have increase. Loss brings increase. Loss is how you make space for what God is about to do in your life. Loss is how God makes room for what He has for you. All He’s doing is making space—giving you a window to receive a blessing you won’t have room enough to receive.
This is about how you see yourself. It’s not what you say about me that does the most damage—it’s what I say about me. I can block other people. But it’s hard to say “Talk to the hand” when it’s your own hand.
Naomi lost herself. You can’t change your name just because you change your season. You get in a season and want to rename yourself because the season cost so much. You can lose so much that you actually lose your identity.
Don’t rename yourself. Don’t forget who you are. Don’t get bitter because you are in a season—even if it’s a hard and painful one.
Your identity does not change because of the season.
I’m not there yet, but I’m going to be. And I’m not where I used to be. Every step I take gets me closer to what God has for me. Nothing I lost is going to stop me from getting there. I may have to get down on my knees, but I’m still going to get there. I may have to crawl on the floor, but I’m still going to get there.
The enemy is trying to move you from your blessing because you’re in a season. In a season, you can become bitter. It can mess with who you are. It can get you out of character. It can make you say things to people that make them question whether you’re even saved—because they caught you in the wrong season.
The secret of life is to get to the right place at the right time. The only way you can do that is: Don’t forget who you are.
Hurt—but I’m still walking.
Tears in my eyes—but I’m still walking.
Land was stolen—but I’m still walking.
Kids mad at me—but I’m still walking.
Heart got broken—but I’m still walking.
Because I believe that if I keep walking, I’m going to walk into my harvest.
Don’t forget who you are—because the enemy knows, and he’s doing all he can to convince you that you’re too old, that you’ve made too many mistakes, that God’s not going to give it to you.
The devil is a liar.
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