A little bit closer to fine...

My mother died when I was seventeen years old and it rocked my world.  I am now thirty seven years old and my world is still shaking.  I walk around most days perfectly put together.  I have made great effort to make sure that (for the most part) none of my aftershocks occur in public or that none of my unfinished edges show.  But, lately I’ve been thinking.  I feel like a cake that somebody took out of the oven before it was done baking.  It looks done on the outside so you take it out and you take the time and effort to beautifully decorate it, but what no one is aware of is that underneath all of that frosting lies a shaky mess.  I am that shaky mess. 

I liken it to when my mother died life took me out of the oven.  I wasn’t quite done baking, but it didn’t matter-my time was up.  And in many ways, I’ve stayed in that state of mind for the last twenty years.  Oh sure, I’ve put myself back together, but nothing can ever replace that time in the oven that was missed.  And I’m starting to wonder, how many of the rest of us are walking around unfinished?  How many of the rest of us didn’t get enough time in the great proverbial oven?

I had a shaky day yesterday.  I feel like I’ve been having a lot of those lately.  I had to put myself out there in ways that made me feel vulnerable and insecure.  Those are two of my triggers.  But, putting yourself out there is just part of life (especially when you’re a mother, because-hello, you have to go to bat for your kids).  But, my goodness, does that make my weak spots feel even weaker.

Usually when I write I feel like I have a point to get across.  But, today I’m not sure that I do.  I think I just want to be bold.  I want to admit that I am weak.  And in doing so, maybe I can become strong.  I want to be public with my state of uncooked batter, haha.  I want people to know that if you yourself feel this same way, you’re not alone. 

And so, if you are reading this and you ever have a day where there’s just not enough frosting in the world to cover up your vulnerability, think of me-because, maybe-just maybe-if we can generate enough love, it could replace the warmth of the oven and get us a little bit closer to fine.

God lives close to the floor.

When Jackson was born, my grandmother said, “Well, children are the best thing that will ever happen to you, but you’ve slept your last good night.”  At that point I thought she was probably kidding (I hoped) or at least exaggerating (I prayed), but now-almost 14 years later, I can vouch for her-she was 100% correct. 

Oh sure, there’s a night here and there where I might fall asleep at a normal hour and actually wake up the next morning in the same place.  But, it’s rare.  It’s more often that I wander and bed hop.  The sounds of bad dreams, sniffles, drinks of water and covers that “need fixing” have replaced REM, and man, do I miss it. 

Last night, it was Charlotte who woke me up.  Technically, not her fault, but I awoke to the sounds of her in the midst of a terrible coughing fit.  She wasn’t crying, so I didn’t rush in to her room.  But, she could never quite settle back in.  I found myself sitting in the floor outside of her bedroom door.  She was having a terrible time off and on, but she never called for me, so I wanted to wait and see.  And as I sat there and listened to her, I felt an overwhelming closeness to God.  It was as if I could feel him nudging my heart, It’s hard to watch her struggle, isn’t it? That’s how I feel waiting for you.  

And so, as I sat there with tears running down my face at 3 o’clock in the morning, I knew that God was close to the floor.  And He was right.  If I never call out to my Father-if I never invite him in when I’m struggling, He’s just as helpless as I felt in that moment with Charlotte.  I am good at saying, Father, take this cross from me, but boy do I love to take it back.  I love to feel like I’m strong enough to manage on my own, but as usual, God knows best. 

For today, that is my prayer.  Lord, when I’m feeling weak.  When I’m struggling, help me remember to invite you in and help me remember that asking for help is what makes you strongest of all. 

But, Nana was right.  Lightning strikes of wisdom and moments with Jesus or not-I really had slept my last good night.  

The wind up hurts less

And alas, here we are...the last morning of quiet sips of coffee and 'what shall we do' today's. The wind-down of summer. Tomorrow will be first day photos and arm loads of tissues and glue sticks. It will be emergency contact forms and permission slips-homework and book covers. And, I'm sorry, but I'm sad. I'm not the least bit sad for them. This is a pity party for one and I've RSVP'd favorably.

Tomorrow we'll begin the fast loop around another year of their life and this year we'll have a new rider-our last rider. I've cried so many times when she's not looking. She is so excited and I'm excited for her. You see, I'm just a little sad for me. Because, here we go. I know this ride. I know how fast it goes. And then we're off. There is joy in having your children so far apart because you know how time slips away, but oh there is melancholy, too. Because you KNOW how time slips away. I love these little people. I love being their mother and while I know it's not I title I have to relegate, I know it's work that has to be out grown.

So, if you see me over the next few days and I have a tear in my eye, don't worry, it's just growing pains. Be good to them, world. And I'll try to teach them to be good to you.