Wounded

"Terrifying."

"It was really awful."

"I almost lost it."

These are my typical responses when asked about the events of a few days ago.  It was really hot this week, and the local pool was not yet open for the summer.  A friend of mine invited my kids and I over for the morning and offered to let the kids play with all of their backyard water toys, including a water table, pool, and sprinkler.  The kids were so excited and were playing really well.  What an ideal morning - the kids were using their imaginations, experimenting with water, working on social skills with friends!  My friend and I were getting some good time to catch up.  We were having a great time!  And then there was an accident.

I was in the kitchen when it happened.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the two boys playing on the back porch, their arms reaching up high.  Next I heard the screaming.  Dashing outside, I found Andrew on the ground, covered in blood.  Thankfully, I remembered a warning about the profuse bleeding that typically accompanies a child's head wound.  And we were just blocks from the hospital.  It was only a short time until we arrived at the hospital, and the stitches were in, and the CT scan was clear, and the only evidence of Andrew's fall was his red hair.  But a few days later, the cut is deep and raw.  It still feels bloody and in need of some healing.

A few days later, I'm still having vivid memories of the first moments after the fall - the desperate cries, the blood, my holding Andrew's head together.  I know - it really could have been so much worse.  And I'm grateful to have the privilege of cleaning Andrew's wound, of watching him to confirm that everything seems normal, of having to ask him repeatedly to slow down and rest.  But I'm scared.  I was scared before this happened, the fear of something bad happening to my kids causing me some underlying anxiety that impacts my thinking and my relationships.

This incident confirms that, try as I may, I can not prevent bad things from happening to my children.  I can not control all of their life circumstances.  And now, how do I respond?  Can I place them in the loving arms of a Father who created them, knows every detail about them, has good plans for their lives, and is the One who can give them true security?  This is my hardest test as a mother.

Victorious

The first hint of light through the roof window wakes me.  I roll over and check the clock.  6:56-nearly an hour later than I intended to wake up.  I'm already behind.  The battle inside begins.  My mind's insistence that it's time to get something accomplished takes on my body's weariness and propensity to give in and go back to sleep.  After all, I've already pretty much slept through my early morning window of time to do something productive (read, pray, run, etc.); what's 10 more minutes?

My mind wins out.  I go downstairs and try to put myself together in the bathroom.  I creep, I slip, I stay in the dark.  The bathroom is next to my children's bedroom, and I don't want them to hear me or see me.  My son walks into the unlit bathroom.  He announces that he's ready to start his day, and walks toward the stairway.  Little sister cries because her partner and protector has left the room.  I give in and carry her downstairs.  The onslaught of questions and requests begins.  It's 7:10, and I already feel as though I've lost today's battles.  I feel beaten-down, defeated.

Well-acquainted with these feelings of defeat, I'm upset that this morning isn't going as planned.  But I think it's more than just this morning's losses that weigh heavily on my body and my mind.  And it's more than just this morning that hasn't gone as planned.  Maybe that's why my son's request for a second breakfast evokes an angry response.  I'm not happy, and I'm honestly not sure how to fix myself this time.  I feel confused and tired and ashamed.  I have everything a girl could want: a handsome and loving husband, two healthy and beautiful children, a warm home, plentiful food and clothing.  Why do I feel this way?  Where did I go wrong, and how do I get back on the right path?

I want a formula.  An engineer by training, I'm comfortable with questions that have definitive answers, with problems that can be remedied.  I've tried what I know to do, but my efforts to fix myself (i.e. if I can just find the right fill-in-the-blank, then I will be happy) aren't working this time.  I know I should be grateful for this opportunity to depend on God.  But honestly, most days I'd rather depend on myself.

I am reminded of some promises in Isaiah 35: that those with fearful hearts have reason to have courage, that the voiceless will break into song, that streams will flow in the desert, that it's impossible to get lost on God's road.  The battle may not be pretty, but I'm hoping these promises will help me to rise up...to throw off my burdens and enemies, to be victorious in today's fights.

 ^1-2 Wilderness and desert will sing joyously, the badlands will celebrate and flower—
Like the crocus in spring, bursting into blossom,
   a symphony of song and color.
Mountain glories of Lebanon—a gift.
   Awesome Carmel, stunning Sharon—gifts.
God's resplendent glory, fully on display.
   God awesome, God majestic.
 ^3-4Energize the limp hands,
   strengthen the rubbery knees.
Tell fearful souls,
   "Courage! Take heart!
God is here, right here,
   on his way to put things right
And redress all wrongs.
   He's on his way! He'll save you!"
 ^5-7Blind eyes will be opened,
   deaf ears unstopped,
Lame men and women will leap like deer,
   the voiceless break into song.
Springs of water will burst out in the wilderness,
   streams flow in the desert.
Hot sands will become a cool oasis,
   thirsty ground a splashing fountain.
Even lowly jackals will have water to drink,
   and barren grasslands flourish richly.
 ^8-10There will be a highway
   called the Holy Road.
No one rude or rebellious
   is permitted on this road.
It's for God's people exclusively—
   impossible to get lost on this road.
   Not even fools can get lost on it.
No lions on this road,
   no dangerous wild animals—
Nothing and no one dangerous or threatening.
   Only the redeemed will walk on it.
The people God has ransomed
   will come back on this road.
They'll sing as they make their way home to Zion,
   unfading halos of joy encircling their heads,
Welcomed home with gifts of joy and gladness
   as all sorrows and sighs scurry into the night. (Isaiah 35:1-10, The Message)

Someone To Watch Over Me

My husband's had a rough few weeks at school.  For whatever reason, this time of year seems to be especially burdensome for him as a teacher.  Last year, I think it may have played a part in Dave's running injury.  The one that kept him from running his marathon earlier this year.  But that's another story.  Anyway, I hate to see him this way, walking in the door late at night, the weariness written all over his face.  Frequent questions about his competence as a teacher, and really, as a person in general, beg for the comforting response from me.  But sometimes my encouragement and reassurance are not enough.  Dave is tired, and he continues to feel anxious, powerless, overwhelmed.

A few nights ago, as we were tucking our kids into their beds, Andrew was complaining about having to go to sleep.  This happens quite frequently in our house, as I expect it happens often in most households with young children.  Kids don't want to miss out on anything, even if it means jeopardizing their much-needed rest.  As Dave was tucking Andrew in, ensuring that he was "snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug", he told Andrew that he wished he could be like him:  that he could go to bed at 9PM, that he wouldn't need to worry about finishing projects long overdue or about what people think of him.  In that moment, Dave was reflecting on what it was like for him during his childhood.  He wanted for nothing; all of his needs were provided for.  His job was simply to enjoy his life, and love the people around him, and be creative, and be loved.

But isn't that how life SHOULD be for us too, even after our wrinkles and gray hair expose the truth that we are way too old to be kids anymore?  Do we really need to worry as much as we do?  How can we be responsible adults, but still live more like children?

These are some my questions as I anticipate Christmas's arrival.  The Bible describes God as a loving Father and us as children.  In this relationship, we don't need to have all of the answers for life's problems and struggles.  We don't need to scramble to provide for all of our own needs.  Our Father is taking care of it for us.  And He provides for all of our true needs in Jesus.  As I struggle to believe this today, I try to picture my Father, tucking me in, speaking quiet and calming words of love, encouraging me to rest.  And I surrender to sleep.