It always amazes me how daunting this blank page can be when I start out and stare at it thinking, what will this turn into?.
Many of my posts center around my children and I guess that may be because they are such an important part of my life. These past few weeks have been a bit of a challenge blessing with my 10 year old.
The last time I had a 10 year old I was 34. At 51, I am not sure if I don't remember having similar challenges, If I am just wiser, or a combination of or neither of the two.
The dynamics are a bit different in that I am obsessed that my adopted 10 yr old gets every opportunity that my two birth children had. There are obvious differences in our race but other than that there is no difference in my love for him.
That said I have been hypersensitive to his behaviors. Before you get the wrong impression, Cameron is a good boy, a loving kind hearted boy however he is 10!, and a boy.
Why do I worry so much about who he will become? Did I worry that much about my other children and their futures? What has happened is that I am so obsessed with his future that I am losing the now.
When we live with the urgency to take control of people and situations with a demand of "How things should be" we are not present in the moment. When we worry about improving others we cannot enjoy what we are in the midst of. Chaos and disappointments are a part of life, learning how to live well in the middle of that is the extravagant love I am striving for.
I don't want to control Cameron's life, and though at times it may seem I am and maybe in fact I am, how do you separate control from teaching? How do I allow him to make a decision that may not be in his best interest if I can help him avoid that? How do I teach him Grace and forgiveness while I am instructing him as to what friends he should be with. Is he too young to make the right choices?
I love his spirit, I love his sense of humor. I do not want to crush his individuality I just have this extreme desire to control teach him everything one needs to know to be a good man/person. I mean he is ONLY 10 why do I worry so?
He isn't sending me any danger signals, he is still my loving little boy, but he needs me less, he is becoming more of an independent thinker, (a good thing).
He is making choices that he isn't wise enough to make yet.
The message here is it is me! I have this need to see into his future and know all will be well. Is it because he is black and we are not? Is it because I love him so fiercely and can't control his future? I know he faces differences my birth children did not have to and I can't protect him from that.
I know that God meets us in our every need and he wraps his arms around our neediness every time and it will be no different in this journey.
In the words of 17th century poet George Herbert;
And here in dust and dirt, O here,
The lilies of His love appear.
In weakness we find strength and and when we surrender it to Him Peace blossoms
An illustration I once read went something like this;
God holds each of us by a string, when we fail, we cut the string, then God ties it up again , making a knot therefore we are closer to Him. Again and again we fail and we cut the string, and with each additional knot God brings us closer to Him.
I think in a way as parents we do the same thing. When our children make mistakes we pick them up and bring them closer to us however we use it as a teaching moment (not a bad thing) hashing it out,explaining what could have been done differently, and God he just ties the knot and draws us to Him, loves us even if we have dozens of knots in our string.
I think I will stop counting the knots and tie a little tighter!
Aging is not something that I think much about. Today I looked down at my hands and I thought, my hands are beginning to look older. When we see people we know and love we may see other signs like, graying hair, wrinkled skin, but I never look at any ones hands and think their hands are beginning to look older.
I began thinking about the journey my hands have been on. As a young girl they were always busy be it with my baby dolls or coloring, learning to button, zip & tie my own shoes. They were my vehicle for writing in school. They were instrumental in learning to drive. Perhaps though the most important job they have had is they are the hands of a mother.
These hands showed strength as I pushed my babies into this world and seconds later were gentle in caressing their faces. Before long these hands were changing diapers, washing faces, blowing noses, feeding mouths, holding little hands, then later pushing swings, letting go of bikes, bandaging knees, drying tears.
Later still these hands braided hair, tied ties, held little hands that were afraid, these hands packed many lunches, wrote many notes, washed many loads of laundry, and still dried tears.
These hands signed adoption papers that allowed me to start all over again when I wasn't ready to stop mothering.
These hands waved goodbye to college bound kids , placed a veil on my daughters head, pinned a boutonniere on my sons lapel on his wedding day, and these hands again dried tears.
These hands wrote cards and letters to a son serving his country, they packed boxes filled with love and longing to reach out and use these hands to touch him.
These hands came together in prayer many times for his protection, And these hands again dried tears.
These hands had the privilege of painting and designing a nursery for my first grandchild but what a greater Honor they had to be useful during my daughters labor. These hands that once were young and caressed her tiny body now rubbed her back and her feet while she was performing a labor of love. These hands held her hand as she brought forth a new life, and these hands once again dried tears.
Grandma hands that what I have now. I think they are still beautiful. These hands get to hold this precious child, they have the opportunity to teach a new generation.
Take a look at your hands and if you are a mom thank God for all the ways he has allowed you to use your hands to Bless your children.
I have concluded that my hands have played an intricate role in the life of my children. I held their hands as long as I could and then these same hands lovingly set them free to begin using their own hands to Bless the lives of others.
Today I had to have an MRI of my head and inner ear. I arrived at my scheduled time and changed into the fashionable gown that is ever popular among medical facilities. My I.V was started and we were ready to begin. I placed myself on the table, requested a couple of blankets to try and bring some warmth back into my now purple toes. The technician gave me ear plugs, placed the helmet like cage over my face and rolled me in. Almost immediately I felt immense cold run through my body, my heart was racing, and I was in full blown panic mode.
I began to yell out for help and no one responded which as you can imagine made me only more nervous. I began moving my legs in hopes that I would be noticed.
I heard the technician say O.K I am coming. She took me out of the tunnel and I told her I have never been claustrophobic and didn't know what happened. I just knew there was no way I was going to be able to go back in there. She had me take deep breaths and my heart began to slow down. We had not even started the first part of the test let alone the dye injection (which is what I was initially nervous about). She then said "let me give you the panic button" Perhaps it would have been good my friend to have that the first time.
I closed my eyes and began to pray for Peace, Please Lord send me this peace.
I thought of scripture and favorite worship songs and said o.k I can do this.
The technician then placed a mirror on top of my cage like helmet so that I would be able to see out of the tunnel and see her.
I slid back in the tunnel, deep breathing and hoping as she began I would be able to do this. Then it happened; as the MRI machine began to do it's stuff the sound mimicked exactly, without a beat, mom's old ringer washing machine. Inside I smiled and immediately had images of mom doing laundry in the kitchen of my childhood home. The many loads she put through that ringer. I could see her running them through, reaching around and running them through again so"they will dry faster" My thoughts were warm, nostalgic. My visions followed her outside to the clothes line where she would meticulously hang everything to dry. I saw her I felt her. I thought, I wonder if while the technician is looking at my brain she sees my happy thoughts.
Before I knew what was happening I was coming out of the tunnel for phase 2. The dreaded dye injection, only guess what I was not nervous about it, I was not worried I could have a serious reaction. I was calm, relaxed and ready to go back in that tunnel with my thoughts, with my mom, please start that machine up again- and there it was, and there I was a young girl again, feeling peace in the most awkward of ways. Watching mom do laundry.
When I was finished, dressed and walking to my car I felt like I had been somewhere nice. I got to work and for the first time today I looked at the date
April 3rd. Teary eyed I realized 16 yrs ago today my mother lost her battle with cancer.
I thanked God for him bringing me peace not only in the scripture I relied on, or the worship songs, but through an old ringer washer.
