Remember Your Roots

Memory is important.  Without your memory it is almost a physical impossibility to do anything for yourself.  Memory fuels our abilities.  Memory also fuels our thoughts, our faith, our daily interactions.

Someone as recently as two weeks ago said to me, "You are different.  You aren't like anybody else I know. You are kind of weird."  I'm not sure you can imagine how many times this has been said to me in the course of a lifetime.  It has been said often.  It has been said by way of insult and occasionally, by way of compliment.  In this case it was a mixed tone fraught mostly with disdain but a twinge of admiration.

I turned another page in my book this week.  I live the last year in my thirties with a bit of surprise that time has gone so quickly, a bit of sorrow for the changes I have known, and a bit of wisdom for the grey hairs that are now beginning to coat my head.

I am definitely a mutt.  A product of a varied culture and belief system that doesn't at all mesh with society.  A person of  faith will always stand apart for the faith that defines them defies society and the low standards it sets.  I can't tell a lie, if Kid Rock came on the radio, I'd definitely hum a few bars.  "I get behind myself, I need to rewind myself.  I feel like number one yet I'm last in line...."    I can just as easily sing all 4 verses of Amazing Grace without hesitation.  A mutt to the core.

Mostly I have come to terms with this status.  My feelers are still slightly sensitive so when that person at work made such a bold statement with a tone of derision, it hurt.  I see myself in the second grade with braids, tennis shoes, socks and a skirt every.single.day when I wanted so desperately to hide in the ocean of jeans, t-shirts, and headbands.  Hiding seemed so preferable to being front and center as the odd man.

My memory bank tells me I was sad as a child.  Many days I was very sad.  I wanted to be accepted and most often was not.  I remember being told I was different, weird. I remember being asked if I was cold wearing skirts in the winter.  I remember being ridiculed for not knowing the favorite TV show.  I remember people pulling my hair.  I remember talking to adults about how their faith differed from mine and overhearing them say to each other that I was a very odd child to talk about such things.  I wanted to be just like everyone else and it hurt that there was a very clear line between me and them.

This week a new law passed in the state in which I reside.  A law that has to do with the procedure of abortion.  Suddenly I'm not afraid to be front and center.  Suddenly I don't want to be a wallflower.  Because those four verses of Amazing Grace define me more than any other thing in my life.  My heart has ached each day as I have thought about the sweet babies that have not, and will not draw breath this side of heaven for this reason. The line I used to dislike is becoming wider; there is a greater chasm between me and them.  I'm okay with that.  I am okay with being less understood.  Different.  Weird.  For I have a moral compass and it does not allow me to yield or waver on what is right and true.  Our faith defines our morals. Our morals define our character.  Our character shapes and defines the world.

I remember my roots.  One thing I know to be true about a root, it gives you ground; it gives you strength; and it gives you courage.  There is a chasm, but I know the Bridge Builder personally.

"Oh, Aslan, said Lucy. 'Will you tell us how to get into your country from our world?'

'I shall be telling you all the time,' said Aslan .'But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder.' "

That Which Will One Day Be Dust

Do you wake in the morning and immediately start to think of all the tasks ahead of you?

Do you categorize your life in levels of importance?

Do you routinely look at your priorities?

I'm not sure if it's because I am a woman but these three things drive my days.  I immediately think of the "to do" list as soon as my eyes open.  

"Today is cello/ski day so I have to leave at 7:30 for drop off.  Not a minute later or I'll be stuck in Shen campus traffic."

"Today is second Sunday of the month so I must leave by 10am to be in place to serve at church."

"What day of the week is it?!?  Did I forget my alarm or is it Saturday? What am I forgetting?!"

"Should I skip that and do this instead? But I know I won't be home from work until after 6..."

I'm not sure if this is a common thread for others, but especially in these months of winter and spring I find myself deeply engaged in getting everything done well.  

It was a busy few months through the holidays and transitioning jobs.  It required a lot of effort for me to prepare for Christmas, prepare for a funeral, travel, extra work hours, extra family time, baking, serving. Each of my days was full of items to check off. I hate checking off "family time," but if I'm honest it gets a check so that I know I satisfactorily fit it in.  As my kids have aged, I find it more and more necessary to engage them because they do not as voluntarily engage with me.  I must draw out the conversation from their little hearts and minds.  I've been amazed at what I find out, what things I would have never known; thus, this is now in the top portion of my priority list.

During this lengthy time of "doing" and "serving" I found myself so often with tears as I drove to work.  Tears of pure gratefulness and gratitude for what has been mine. It comes over me in overwhelming waves, this thankful spirit. God is consistently reminding me and tuning my heart these past months.   I have much to do because my heart and life is full.  I get to serve Jesus because He first served me.  I get to serve my family because I have one.  I get to serve my employer and colleagues because I am blessed with a job immediately following the loss of one.  All the prioritizing is because my life is full.  I always want to do and be at my best which is one of the greatest installations of my childhood, but it does tend to lead toward misaligned priorities.  God is growing me here.  He opens my eyes to see the output of my hands and heart.  He shows me what is of the longer and lasting value and that which will one day be dust.

I cannot fail when I pour my heart into people. The people God entrusted to me in my household. The people he brings into my sphere of influence. The people that he loves.  All the rest will fade in time but love echoes down the hallways of homes and hearts and lingers into eternity. 

I might finally be getting something right.  I might finally have a steady course, something like a star.  I have been fashioned and made for a steady purpose.

Says Javert in Les Miserables...

Stars
In your multitudes
Scarce to be counted
Filling the darkness
With order and light
You are the sentinels
Silent and sure
Keeping watch in the night
Keeping watch in the night

You know your place in the sky
You hold your course and your aim
And each in your season
Returns and returns
And is always the same

As I move through the year ahead...I will keep these words close at heart.  Stars. Steady.  Filling the darkness. With love. 

Blue Eyed Babies

Do you know what it is like to feel hot tears run down your temple and into your ear?  Have you ever buried your head in a pillow and allowed sobs to cleanse your soul?  These night tears, the ones that come out in the darkness, burn the hottest.

Last night I cried many tears.  I wondered at the passing of time.  How my babies are grown.  How more time is behind than ahead.  Every time I thought of their beautiful chubby faces, their white blonde hair, and sweet little voices my heart ached deeper. "Do you remember our sweet babies, weren't they so cute?" I asked Ryan. He chuckled, patted my arm, understanding I am currently a lost cause, and agreed.

My mind ran a marathon hopping from one event to the next.  Do you remember their slobbery kisses?  Do you yet feel chubby arms around your neck?  Do you remember nights of endless crying? Do you remember kindergarten? 

It feels like so many wonderful things are in the past.  I wonder and somewhat believe that the toughest days are ahead.  Do you know where your teen is?  Is he making good decisions?  Have you equipped him to be wise? 

I don't have many mom friends. I don't live near family.  I don't have many people speaking wisdom into my life in this area.  I'm a bit out on a limb. I love and dread each day.  So much is happening in these years.  I long for chubby faces and arms and also for long, lanky ones assuring me that time is precious.

It seems further unfair that peri/mid/regular/post menopause is quite possibly coinciding with these rough years.  How are we simultaneously supposed to age with grace and manage changing family dynamics? 

Do you wanna build a snowman?

Oh.  You'd rather play video games...

Okay. Bye.

My babies were beautiful.  Rolls and ham hocks to spare. Wobbly legs. Piercing blue eyes. Smiles for days.

My teens are boyish but pushing toward the look of adolescence.   Clear blue eyes.  Smiles that come but sometimes are forced. 

Motherhood is a gift that is both painful and precious.  The greatest lesson we can learn is to live in the moment. 

And Sometimes. Sometimes we blubber and cry inconsolably about the past.  We can't always be strong.