We Love Until It Hurts, But...

Today I didn't say the right things
I didn't give enough hugs
I didn't listen to all of their imaginary stories.
Today my prayers were too short and
my lectures too long.
My smiles, I'm sure, didn't hide my fatigue.
Today I didn't heal any wounds;
in fact, I'm sure I caused some.
Their tears fell and I felt too lifeless
to wipe them away.
Today I felt completely defeated and totally inadequate
for this position called "mommy".
But as I kneel in prayer to confess my failures,
I am reminded...
I am not their hope.
I am not their total joy.
I am not their salvation.
He is!
And they are his children even more
than they are mine.
I am reminded...
he always listens,
always guides,
always touches,
and always loves perfectly.
I can rest now, Lord, remembering
that I am not alone.

My daughter was almost grown when I came across this poem (written by Wendy Brewer). How I wish I had had it to read while she was growing up because I so often felt those same feelings of inadequacy and failure described so well in the poem. I worried about the effects my failures would have on my daughter. I knew that some of my shortcomings would leave permanent scars; the question was how deep would they go.

I want to pass this on with the hope that the poem's words of encouragement will help another struggling, tired parent who, each day, tries so hard to be everything to everyone.

And Emily, if you're reading this, remember these words whenever you feel motherhood overwhelming you. And you should know that I have always felt that you are a gift, more than I deserve.

Thank You, God, For Saving My Life

(C, this poem is especially for you)

A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.

Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He whom most I love to please,
Doth listen to my song:
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.

My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty;
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of the soul.

Oh! it is good to soar
These bolts and bars above,
To Him whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love;
And in Thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom, of the mind.

I found this poem in the book "A Step Further" by Joni Eareckson-Tada (check out Joni's website, she has an amazing story!) This poem was written by a French noblewoman named Madame Guyon who was arrested in 1688 and falsely accused of heresy, sorcery, and adultery by jealous church officials. She spent ten long, lonely years in prison after being convicted, and wrote the above verse during her confinement, which, Joni writes, "...is an eloquent expression of the strength God will give to the suffering heart that waits on Him."

I read this during a particularly difficult time of my life when I was suffering both physically and mentally. I was in so much anguish, day after day, month after month, that each day I woke up I wished it could be my last. I wasn't suicidal, I just wanted the pain to be over, longing for God to take me. When I read, and then re-read (many times) this poem I sensed my whole perspective on pain and suffering changing. "Well pleased a prisoner to be because, my God, it pleases thee." That is a point of view that never would have occurred to me on my own. My mind just doesn't work like that, but I was able to see the beauty of it, and I wanted that conviction for myself. As I claimed this poem as my own prayer, my life slowly began to change. I know this isn't always the end of a person's story, but I was eventually able to find the medical help that I needed to drastically reduce the amount of pain I was having to deal with.

I'm much healthier now and, when I think back on those difficult years I realize I wouldn't trade them for the world. I never thought I'd be able to say that the suffering was a "gift", but it was. Would I still be able to say that if my pain level had remained high these past couple of years, had I not been able to find medication to help me? I'll never know. I'd like to think that I would, but I'm sure the journey, if graphed, would be a line going up and down continually.

I know my suffering in this world is not over. Somewhere along the way I will experience more - it's part of the human condition, and I know I won't like it or necessarily be able to embrace it as I learned to do before. In fact, I'll probably have to start all over again in the process, but I'll have the memory, the experience of my previous victory over discouragement to draw on.

At the beginning of "It's a Wonderful Life" with Jimmy Stewart, the angels are talking and Clarence, the guardian angel, asks if George, our hero, is sick, and the other angel responds saying, "No, it's worse. He's discouraged." May God help all of you with your own personal discouragements so that you can also say, "My prison walls cannot control the flight, the freedom of the soul."

Have a truly happy Easter!

Promises

I turn on the news and listen. I try to hear between the spoken lines that people still do have hope. I hear nothing but voices tinged with fear, frustration, anger, righteous indignation. I understand.

I turn on the news and watch. I try to see in people's eyes that they still trust. I see nothing but faces full of worry, sorrow, exasperation, sometimes even hatred. I've seen some of the same looks on my own face recently.

I turn off the news and look out my window. I see the beauty of our 50-year old magnolia tree, blooming its heart out, just like it does every year. This tree is full of hope.



I see daffodils that have come up from ground that hasn't seen a decent season's rain in many years. Their flowers are the softest pale yellow and the brightest golden orange. They are blooming almost as if in defiance of the drought we've been through.



It's been raining for days now, glorious, steady and pounding. This doesn't mean the drought is over. But it means we have rain today... now.... I can't help but feel more hopeful watching the rain. More peaceful. I feel that God is speaking to me through one of my favorite channels: nature.

"Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these."

Matt. 6:26-30

Heartache

As I was getting dressed the other morning a design for a pair of earrings floated into my conscious brain, fully formed. When I was finished making them, I knew immediately what to name them, Heartache. I don't know where this came from because, on that day, I wasn't experiencing any particular emotional pain. But I remember so well what it feels like. There is always plenty of secondhand heartache to be felt for those around me who are suffering, as I seem to have an over-developed sense of empathy for other people's sadness. My heart can feel heavy just listening to the evening news, to say nothing of how I react to the pain that those I love are dealing with. But it's a different level of heartache when it's your very own.

I have not forgotten nor am I finished experiencing what firsthand heartache feels like: that pinprick of pain when the hurt first strikes (the single red crystal), that burdensome weight in my chest that never seems to lighten (the dark patina on the silver), the lethargy, the sense that I can't inhale enough oxygen when I breathe (the white pearls). I know it all so well.

On that day, however, I was reminded how wonderful the absence of heartache feels. I was having to remember what it felt like rather than being able to reach in and access it at that very moment. I learn so much during the difficult times of my life, though, which doesn't exactly give me something to look forward to, but it gives heartache a real purpose in my life. It's also when I allow God a chance to fully be my God. That can't be a Bad Thing.