Mothers, KNOW YOUR WORTH!
I Was Worth the Cost
It was somewhere in the winter of 2014 and into 2015 that I finally understood something that changed everything: I was worth the cost.
But let me start where I actually was—because I wasn't there yet.
I had quietly accepted what I believed was God's will. I was dying, and I had made a fragile sort of peace with it. Someone else would raise my children. Someone else would buy their clothes and make their meals. My heart ached at the thought, but eventually even the ache softened into a strange calm. They were His children first, I told myself. He would provide for them, even after I was gone.
That's the frame of mind I was in when a miraculous invitation came to serve and teach in Israel. I sold the things I'd bought over the years trying to heal—tools my family, I figured, wouldn't need once I was gone—and I went. Part of me wondered if this was my chance to draw close to the Savior before I met Him face to face. Every minute was a battle just to keep my mind and body moving, and I did my best to serve without letting anyone see my pain.
The last gift
As the trip neared its end, I realized I still hadn't found the right gift for my children. In my heart, I believed it would be the last gift I would ever give them, and I wanted it to leave a message they'd carry for life.
We wandered into a little wood-carving shop, and I was immediately drawn to a carving of the Savior washing one of His disciples' feet. It was perfect—because isn't that what life is all about, following in His footsteps? But when I saw the price, my heart sank. I couldn't pay it.
The shopkeeper came over. I told him I loved the piece but simply didn't have the money. He looked at me for a long moment and said, "I can tell by looking into your eyes that I can trust you. I'll mail it to you, and when you've earned enough, you can pay me then." I hated accepting something I couldn't pay for on the spot—but I knew that if I sold my piano back home, I could cover it. The carving arrived just in time for Christmas.
Then I deteriorated faster than anyone expected. I actually panicked that I might die before I could repay that kind man, and I made my husband promise to honor my debt if I didn't make it.
"Arise"
I was drifting in and out of consciousness by then. I had done everything the doctors—conventional and alternative alike—had told me to do. For four years I'd been pleading to go to Mexico, certain in my gut that the answers were there, and for four years I'd been told no.
And then I remembered a single word from an answered prayer I'd prayed in Israel.
Arise.
God had told me to arise.
I thought of my children. And something deep in my soul stood up and let out one final battle cry.
I am worth the cost. And I am worth it NOW.
Just like that, I stopped believing the lies I'd been hearing about myself. No—nobody could love my children the way I do. No—nobody would make sure they were fed and cared for the way I would. No—my children needed their mother to fight this with every last ounce of strength she had.
For the first time, I wasn't asking permission. I was telling my husband what I knew I had to do. "I need to leave for Mexico today."
They say a mother can lift a car off her child in an emergency—that love unlocks a strength that shouldn't be humanly possible. That's exactly how I made it to Mexico that second time. The first time we found answers but my husband forced me to return home without receiving any treatments. Alone. Unable to speak English, unable to write or drive, barely able to walk, my sight failing and my face half-frozen. With nothing but the clothes on my back, my ID, and the little bottles of essential oils I clung to for comfort, I made it back to Mexico.
Twenty-one days later, I came home—knowing, for the first time in years, that it would only get better from there.
What I learned in the humbling
I won't pretend it wasn't humbling. Over three months of treatment, the costs climbed past $25,000. I felt sick looking back at all the money I'd poured into trying to heal the way the world—and I—expected me to, when I could have been saving for the very thing God had been pointing me toward all along. I'd sold my infrared sauna, my healing tools, even needed to sell my piano. And after all of it, I still had to ask others for help to get to Mexico.
But here's the thing: the moment I let go of my pride and asked, the help came. Quickly, and generously. If I had let my pride stand in the way, I truly believe I would not be alive to write this.
Not long ago, I was telling my teenage son how deeply grateful I am for every course correction in my life—even the painful, embarrassing ones. We talked about the story of Moses lifting up the staff when the people were dying, and how those who simply looked were healed and lived, while others perished in their disbelief. For years, I had been listening to everyone else's limits and permissions, when God was quietly directing my own heart the whole time. It wasn't until I finally saw my own worth that I "looked"—that I acted—and lived.
I was dead in so many ways. God said, Arise. I obeyed. And this story has a happy ending.
To every mother who is struggling
"Mother love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible." —Marion C. Garretty
"I can do all things through him who gives me strength." —Philippians 4:13
If you're a mom in the fight of your life right now, please hear me: your children need YOU. Never, ever give up. Give it everything you have—and then some. See your worth, because it is real, and it was never up for debate.
And please, don't let pride keep you from asking for help. Reach out—for the practical help, and, if your heart is in a dark place, for someone to simply be with you in it. Asking is not weakness. Sometimes it's the very thing that saves your life. It saved mine.
Call on the Lord. In the Garden of Gethsemane, He already walked through your exact pain, and He did not give up on you—not even when it cost Him everything. Let Him wrap His arms around you and fill your heart with peace.
Together, you can rise. And together, you can overcome anything.
With much love,
Steffi
If you're carrying something too heavy to hold alone—or if the darkness ever makes you feel like the world would be better without you—please reach out today. In the U.S., you can call or text 988 any time, day or night, and someone will stay with you. You are so deeply needed. Please stay.
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