Feeling the Let-Down

The back door swung open as I slid the key back out of the lock. I breathed in the familiar, almost  comforting, scent of the house as I crossed the threshold and took a look around. 

Home again. 

Not the home of days gone by, filled with children's jostling laughter, school project deadlines, and piano practice. Instead, in moments like these, the walls seem to speak the memories in quiet whispers, mere echoes of those busy days . . . all the more dear to me now. 

Part of me is grateful for the silence after a somewhat hectic week of playing with small grand-boys, cuddling a new-born, cooking for a crowd, savoring laughter and conversation with my daughters, son-in-law, and even some new friends, trying to sleep in a strange bed, and driving miles to and fro. Good times. Yet, a part of me grieves. As I put things away, the stillness serves as an ever-present reminder of how life has changed. Time has slipped through my fingers, as time is prone to do . . . 

And yet, I come home to more than silence, for I somehow bring my children's concerns with me. I carry their uncertainties, their fears, their everyday challenges. With intention, I recall our late-night conversations and their whispered what-ifs . . . our acknowledgment that control is an illusion and there are few guarantees and that our only hope is trust in a great big God who lovingly writes our life stories with purpose, even when it makes little sense to us now. I treasure these conversations. Both their concerns and victories matter to me.

I am their mother, after all.

Can you relate?

I've grown to appreciate the practice of Job, who brought each of his ten children before the Lord in prayer on a regular basis (Job 1:4-5). Although not a parent in the physical sense, Paul wrote about the deep concern he felt for all the churches, i.e. his spiritual children (2 Corinthians 11:28). Another first century Christ-follower, Epaphras, wrestled on behalf of the early believers in his prayers, that they would "stand mature and fully assured in all the will of God" (Colossians 4:12). 

We're not alone in our care for the circle God has entrusted to us. Yet, I find a bit of tension between concern for others and focusing on what God has given me to do. These three questions help me better sort it out: 

• What is my role? 
• What role do others play? 
• What is God's role?

So, what is my role? To daily (and often) bring each one to the throne of grace (Hebrews 4:16), to cheer them on, to initiate as appropriate, to be available . . . to love them as only a parent can . . . and to believe in them.

As I stow my suitcase in its usual place in the attic, I find myself turning a proverbial corner, focusing on getting back to normal . . . at least for the few days before the calendar beckons me to deck the halls and my Christmas gift list pushes me out the door. I am grateful for the gift of family, of community, and of a faithful God who always plays His role perfectly - both when I'm away and when the stillness welcomes me home. 

Scrawled on the Back of a File Folder . . .

Some years ago, I found the following poem hanging on the wall in a waiting room and copied it down on the only paper I had with me - the back of a file folder. I could find no author's name. I filed it away and just recently ran across it. Perhaps some good thoughts to consider as a new school year begins . . .

Help Me Grow



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Please

Be consistent with me,

Then I can trust your words and actions.

 

Comfort me when I'm scared, hurt, or sad,

Then I'll know I'm okay even when I'm not feeling strong or happy.

 

Take responsibility for all your feelings and actions,

Then I also won't blame others and I'll take responsibility for my life.

 

Communicate when you feel hurt or frightened or angry,

Then I'll learn how to constructively deal with my feelings.

Tell me clearly and specifically what you want,
Then I can hear you and I'll also know how to
communicate my needs in a positive way.

Express to me that I'm okay
Even when my words or behavior may not be,
Then I can learn from my mistakes and have healthy self-esteem.

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Balance your life between work and play,
Then I can believe that I can grow up,
be responsible, and still have fun.

Remember what you wanted when you were my age,
Then you'll better understand my needs and interests.

Understand and accept me.
I may be different from you and that's okay.

Treat me as an individual,
Then I'll know that I can be my unique self.

Hug me and tell me that you care about me,
Then I'll feel lovable and I'll express caring to others.

Thank you for hearing me.
I love you!

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A New Appreciation

Sometimes I take everyday gifts for granted . . . but don't realize it until they're not there, even temporarily. Can you relate?

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My husband's  been out of commission for a week and a half. Intense pain brought us to the ER, the primary care physician's office a couple times, and finally to the fourth floor of the hospital. The surgeon removed the pesky problem--or so we thought. It's been a rough recovery, though, which leads me to question if there's isn't more to the issue . . ..

The recliner has become Barry's bed. He's finally keeping clear fluids down . . . yet I wonder what tomorrow will hold. He has tried to engage, but exhaustion has a way of taking its toll. We miss his take on the newspaper headlines, his "living encyclopedia" answers to our questions, and his sense of humor. He can't mow the lawn and trim the yard, take the garbage out, weed the flower beds, or plant the broccoli . . . We've managed to pitch in and take up some of the slack, but we realize one thing more than ever. He does a lot around here!

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So thank you, Barry, for all you do every day--and more importantly, who you are to all of us. Please get well soon. We love you!

What gifts do you appreciate, perhaps even more because of changes in your life or in the lives of those you love? 

Rolling With Our Roles

The other day when I weeded the garden beds along one side of the house, I happened to look up--and froze.
 
Tucked between a petunia plant and the house, all curled up, lay a tiny baby deer. I stared in awe. So perfect . . . so miniature . . . so helpless. I drew back a step when it briefly opened its eyes. By this time, the sun's heat beat down on the little creature. Was it thirsty? How long had it been here? And where was the mama?

A quick call to the Game Commission assured me that the doe would be back. After giving birth, rather than draw attention to her vulnerable baby, Mama finds a safe place for it to rest, then later comes back, feeds it, and together they find food and safety.


And so, we kept our distance while the baby lay sleeping in the sun. An hour and a half later, it was gone.

Reflecting back on this experience, we could not do one thing to help our tiny friend. We could not touch it, give it food and water, or find its mother. It wasn't our role.

In our life stories, we often wrestle with our roles. We want to help, lend a hand, or even rescue. Yet, it may not always be in the best interest of those we wish to assist. As with the deer, we have the potential to do more harm than good.

A friend once suggested we ask three questions:
What is my role?
What role do others play?
What is God's role?

These questions have been a most helpful tool to discern when to help and how. And when to do nothing more than watch and pray. God, in His infinite wisdom, has a plan in place. We only need to discern our role and carry it out. 

What's your role today?