Showing posts with label mothehood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mothehood. Show all posts

Monday, September 19, 2011

behind and blessed

we clearly need help.  today clinched it.  it was just that kind of day -- a reminder of how unbelievably inept we are (i am).  from the moment the day started moving, i felt far behind. way behind.  while trying to get five kids out the door for school, i realized we were low on lunch fixings and completely out of milk.  

how can we possibly be out of milk?  

i run to the grocery store at least 17 times a week.  we should absolutely never be out of milk. years ago, my husband made a rule.a plan.a policy:  if ever we step foot in the grocery store we must pick up a gallon of milk. no matter what. no exceptions.  considering the amount of times my feet cross the threshold of our local market i should have a reserve of at least a dozen gallons in my garage fridge at all times.  but this morning, we were out of milk.  and waffles.  and the dog had eaten the bag of bagels the day prior.  that was the start of our day: no milk. no waffles. no bagels. and a potentially sick dog.


dropping my children at carpool, the 8 year old boy turned back to me, tears in his green eyes.  "please don't be late to pick me up today, mom."  he waivered, clutched the door handle, and then closed it quiet. i watched the sad slump of him join the stream of school children.  he threw one last look over his shoulder for emphasis causing a hard swallow deep in me.  i drove away in my pajamas and slippers and frizzy hair and thought, are you kidding me?  what have i done to cause this deep sense of insecurity in my boy so young? it's not like we ever left him at church after a christmas eve service...that was his older brother. we've hardly ever left this one.  by the time he came along we had older, more careful, children, helpful in their prompting to remember everyone.  we've hardly left or lost a child in recent years.  but i drove away low.  clutching my cold morning coffee as the youngest whined in the backseat for her lovey and juice.  we had left both on the counter at home in our hasty departure.  and she was left to stare out the window,  thirsty and lovey-less.


later that morning, the theme of "left behind" continued steady and strong. while sitting in a meeting, a text popped up on my phone:  "i left my lunch in dad's car."  this from the oldest girl.  almost 16 and in high school and my immediate thought, we'll that's just too bad sister...this one's your deal.  wow. i was somewhat surprised by the defensive thoughts which bubbled up to the surface of my sympathy.  i mean, i truly was sorry for her.  she faced a long day at school and a late practice and, remember, we had had very little breakfast available in our home that morning.  but there was nothing to be done.  i very rarely helicopter in and rescue my children. i am not much of a swooper. it not only goes against my grain, but it is not remotely possible with five of them.  my rescue helicopter is officially on overload these days. i texted her back, "so sorry honey." 


it was 1:30 and i made the preschool pick up on time.  i'd just like to note i was there with the sign in the car window and plenty of gas in my vehicle. (not always the case).  i had a smile for the teacher and the lovey and juice cup waiting for that thirsty preschooler.  all of a sudden,  i felt quite accomplished.  look how well i was doing.  the day seemed redeemed, i was back on my game.  an hour later we headed for the 3pm pick up.  remember the 8 year old's tears?  i was determined to be there not just on time, but early.  it took everything in me, but i made it.  he looked absolutely shocked to see his little sister and me standing curbside. gone were his mom's slippers and pjs and frizzy hair.  here was his mother, early and pretending easy efficiency. no biggie - i can do this.  be early, be on time, and occasionally wear heels and lipstick. how hard can it be?


the rest of the day didn't go quite so well. my facade fell apart when a neighbor, with a need, stopped by unexpectedly.  i ended up late getting middle girl from her volleyball practice at 5pm.  and strangely enough, rick was even later picking up oldest girl from her practice (that had nothing to do with me, by the way).   i won't go into the details...but there truly were good reasons and unavoidable situations.  it is just what happens in our home.  it is called life.  i am not looking for a way to excuse tardiness or justify the possible lack of planning, but is it not okay for our children to sometimes have to wait a little? i am thinking a little neglect is not particularly a bad thing for these well fed, well loved and well cared for children.  


we live in a culture which allows little girls to walk around wearing t-shirts advertising, it's all about me. we call it cute and yet wonder when our kids can't share or serve or wait for something.  what are we doing when we make our kids the absolute center?  don't get me wrong, i adore my children, but i also do not want them thinking anybody, including their mother, rotates around them.  this doesn't mean i don't take my motherhood seriously.  i consider it my highest calling.  i do.  but in our home, we are a team. we work together and help each other.  there are no superstars or MVPs.  (i think they all are pretty special). but everyone is expected to do his or her part. everyone is expected to help themselves and help each other. it is what we do.  and sometimes the team captain or coach or whatever you want to call me, needs help too.  she needs grace...needs a little extra wiggle room and somedays (like today), she needs a lot.

dinner was on the table by 7:30 that night.  children fed.  dishes done. homework completed.  three were tucked in and two continued late in their studying.  i headed for our porch and reflected on our left behind kind of day. somedays it seems my family of seven is all squished together on a hamster wheel, running and running and running.  i suppose we could get off.  move to the country.  take off our watches. turn in our phones. put our feet in a brook and our nose in a book.  homeschool and bake peach pies and grow something good. raise chickens and children. we could trade in the giant SUV for a tractor and pickup.  (don't tell my boys i wrote that).  i've thought about it.  i've dreamed about it. we've even talked about it.  is there a more idyllic or ideal way of life?  maybe.  i am pretty sure busy-ness and being late though can follow you to the country. i am positive it would follow me.  i am not sure that's the answer.  i am not sure there is an answer, except to embrace fully the crazies and give grace in the daily.  tomorrow is new, i think to myself. i'm not sure we'll do any better. but we'll try. we are busy and behind, but mostly, we are blessed.  and though i might forget to pick up the milk or a child here and there, i don't ever want to forget the blessing.
  

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

reaching arms


“He reached down from on high and took hold of me; He drew me out of deep waters.” Psalm 18:16 

bella does this funny little thing when she sleeps. she constantly reaches out with one arm. she is reaching for me. even in deep slumber her hand pats across the bed in tender search for her mama. 
she wants to know i am there.

we've had her in our arms--and, on occasion, sleeping in our bed--for just a few months now. but recently, i realized why she might be doing this. i was thinking back to her little bed in the orphanage. i stood beside it that day we visited last july. the room was set up with 26 or so beds, and every two cribs were attached. she had spent two years sharing a small wall of rails with another child and i am certain bella and her tiny crib mate reached through the bars of their separate beds for one another. 

they reached for warmth. 
they reached for connection.  
they reached for comfort.


i understand that reaching.
last night i went to sleep and felt myself reaching through rails of my own fear. reaching all night long.  reaching for comfort. reaching for warmth. reaching for my Jesus. 

yesterday i was diagnosed with breast cancer. i sat under a clear, blue sky and the front yard tree of my friend's home and i listened to a doctor say, "unfortunately..."  i heard little else after that first word. from that unfortunate moment i have felt myself falling. falling deep and fast and dark. my hands came out quickly to stop myself. i was all arms and limbs flailing. attempting to brace myself for the smack of concrete. trying hard to stop the hurt of this hit. i wanted to catch myself. to clutch up the wind knocked out of my chest. to put it back. to fill it up. to hold it close. 

but i couldn't. no matter how hard i have tried in these past 12 hours of my diagnosis, i know only one thing this morning: my arms are not able. they aren't long enough or strong enough or even soft enough to stop. cradle. catch. hold.

and so i reach.

i will not pretend in this news to be calm or in control.  i will not pretend to embrace this awful. i don't. i can't. right now, i want, instead, to put down my legs and run. run fast away from the news and the decisions and the horror. i want to run from the plan and the next steps and the one-day-at-a-time talk. i want to flee from the telling. the telling of mother, sisters. oh, dear Lord, the heart-wrenching telling of my children. 

i don't want to share this news. i want to fling it down and smash it to smithereens with my smoldering, angry as hell heel. i want to obliterate the screaming word which has seemingly seared itself across the flesh and fabric of my future. i want to run fast and then collapse and curl up in this blanket of breath-snatching fear and close up everything inside.  

but i cannot.
i know this is not an option.

and so i reach.

i reach with arms weak and scared. dangling and shaken. useless arms, except for the reaching. i know what i walk into is beyond me. beyond my strength.  there will be no arm wrestling winner in this contest of cancer.  this morning i have strength enough only for feeble reaching. that is it. that is all. 

i have walked from room to room already before the sun's own waking. i can find no answer in the silence. i have touched things: walls, coffee pot, woolen rough blanket, countertop, a window pane. my searching hands feeling their way and wishing to uncover how this all happened. wanting to scrape off my layers of disbelief. knowing i will find nothing. no sense of peace and no thing secure in any concrete object. no answers.

i can't begin to know why this happened. my fear and disbelief and even my outrage feel blinding. there is no sense. i have five children. they need me. they need their mother well, healthy, whole. 
why Lord? why is this happening?

i feel satan must be dancing wildly at this sad girl's questioning ... her wondering, pleading, crying. his hands clap in great rejoicing at the suffering and doubting which might very well run rampant in my home today and tomorrow and in the weeks ahead. i am sure of it.  

and yet, i reach.

oh Lord, it is the hem of your garment for which my fingers long to feel. The Hem. like the bleeding, trembling, fearful woman in the bible, "when she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, 'if i just touch his clothes, i will be healed'...."then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth.  He said to her, 'daughter, your faith has healed you.  go in peace and be freed from your suffering.'"  (mark 5).  

i don't bleed, but i tremble. oh, how i tremble this april day. and in my great fear, i know i must reach out for His cloak, even now, this first morning of this unwanted news. i am certain it is the only place for my grasping arms to go. there is nothing else. no doctor. no report. no plan. no percentage. nothing which can replace the hem of my God's garment.

and so, with the weakest of arms, i reach for Jesus.
i turn to what i do most mornings, and reach for my devotional and His word. i've been spending time these past few months in a devotional called Jesus Calling.  this morning after a cancer diagnosis, i read today's message---
 

i may very well be weak in my reaching. my arms nothing more than frail bones blowing weightless in heavy wind, but my Father--my cloak-wearing-hem-healing-Father--My Father Holds Me. this has nothing to do with my strength. this has little to do with my limbs. my Father holds me tightly by my right hand and pulls me close, whispering soft into my troubled spirit, "I am here, child.  I am here. I am here."

and He reaches for me.

“He reached down from on high and took hold of me; He drew me out of deep waters.” Psalm 18:16

"with a mighty hand and outstretched arm; His love endures forever.  ~ psalms 136:12