Failed

  I failed. One too many screams had been screamed by my beloved toddlers. Or was it one too many toys or mittens that had been ceremoniously dipped into the toilet and squeezed out on the floor. And not an hour after I got to work today I failed myself and said 'I can't do this' and I started crying. 

 They didn't know what to do with me. It was the second time this week that they saw me crying, the third time this week that they prayed with me. 'She's a rock, Lord. She comes in cheerful every morning. The children love her. Thank You for that.' But the rock looked more like a mud puddle and the cheerful face was a red one with weepy eyes. 

 I did see this coming. A wise friend of mine has told me that I should take a break from my beloved toddlers. That was how I failed myself. I didn't know what to do, I thought I could wait a few weeks to take a few days off. But that stupid mitten got dunked and the next day I found myself unable to control my sobs. 

 I do like to think of myself as a rock. 'Oh, don't worry, I've got broad shoulders. I can handle anything.' Except when it comes to screams, or mittens in toilets. Did I mention the goose eggs inflicted by banging ones own heads on the hard floor? Or the pushing, biting or pulling of hair that seems to happen every time we turn around? Or the socks and shoes kicked off and the ensuing meltdowns when they hear the word no? 

 What I learned today is that I don't need to be the rock. I also don't need and don't want to be the mud puddle. What my beloved toddlers need from me is to be solid ground. To take a day off once in a while, to sit down and read stories and play toys instead of running around busily getting everything done all day. And maybe even to fail sometimes.

I left the lamp on for you tonight

Not going to lie, it's been on for the last few days, but during the day you don't see the colorful dinosaurs it casts on the ceiling and walls.

I cleaned up your room on Friday, in anticipation of your arrival. I left the lamp on then, too. But your siblings convinced you to stay home with them and have fun with them. I know you did have fun. But I missed you. And I can't help but wonder if you got the proper care that a 5 year old should get.

Mom told me what she witnessed the other day. The story is a sad one, not quite bad enough to get involved, but bad enough that it hurts us to think about. And I wish for you and your siblings that life could be easier. I wish the adults who take care of you when you aren't here would be capable of the situation. I wish that you would have a childhood full of everything you need. I wish I could do more for you instead of helplessly watch as your own dad neglects to care for all of you properly. 

About the time the lamp made its appearance in your room, something changed. I didn't hear so much about bad guys coming into the house at night and dreams about zombies. There's only been one morning when I woke up to find you sleeping beside me. 

So I left the lamp on for you tonight. I know it won't help you get to bed on time, or make sure you have proper meals tomorrow to help you on your second day of school, or help those adults learn to properly care for you and your siblings. But the lamp reminds me of you. And it can remind me to pray that the adults who are caring for you got you to bed on time tonight, and will have proper food for you so you can have a good day at school tomorrow. 

I left the lamp on for you. 

Bigger Than All

Sleep in peace tonight. God is bigger than anything you will face tomorrow. -Dave Willis

I can wrap my arms around you, but I can only hold you for a few moments. I can ask you if you're ok, but I won't know the real answer unless you trust me.

Your namesakes' arms are around you all the time and can always keep you from falling. And the One who made the night you write so eloquently about is watching over you. You can trust Him. 

Big

How old are you? I ask my chubby, blond haired, newly turned 3-year-old charge.

Big. He replies.

I wish I had that confidence. Instead I tell my sister that I feel small, I feel like a child trying to play an adult's roll. 

How ironic then, that children actually feel big. 

Confession

 I screamed at a mouse today.

Without you.

Excitement coursed through me when I first found out. An unexpected free evening followed by a quiet morning. I could go to bed when I wanted without factoring in trying to get you through the bath and into bed. I could get up when I wanted and know take as long as I needed without wondering when you 2 would get up and start fighting as seems to be the usual when you come. I could finally get some sewing done without feeling guilty about not spending the time with you! You would be having the fun you wanted and then when you came around lunchtime I would be refreshed and ready for you.

The evening came, and went. The morning also came, and also is gone. A bunch of sewing got done. A trip to the library. Cleaning up. Vacuuming. Dusting. Things I used to get done but not so much anymore. The house looked spotless. Too spotless. There wasn't a hockey stick lying in the hall. The hockey gloves stayed in the spot I had put them hours ago. 

And now, the afternoon is leaving and it is almost evening and you are still not here. And I miss you and wish you were here. And while I miss your presence and even your mess, a small part of me does not miss the emotions that surely will come with you, like they always do. 

Grandma

'Addie is coming'

A note for herself. Shaky writing. Three words that show obvious excitement. A visit from the granddaughter! Finally! Three words that show that she is getting old. That she doesn't trust herself to remember what seems to be an exciting event in her week. A break in routine. 

More visitors. Catching up. Reminiscing. Memories of friends gone. I sit on the bed and observe. She's relaxed. She's totally comfortable with them. She looks small in her big chair. Fragile. She used to be tall, regal, confident. A prayer. For strength for her. Of thankfulness for the home she can live in. 'And bless Addie for visiting her grandma. Amen' 

Oh. I don't deserve that. How many weeks has it been since I last came to see her? I don't dare count. I feel ashamed.

A Handful of Night

Stars that seem to dance 

a moon who illuminates 

the sky 

oh how can

you be fearful of the

night

its wonders that seem

so far away

too distant to

reach

oh to hold a

handful of night. 

By a friend. 

Reminds me of some words penned many years ago by another friend of mine. 

'Tho the night be dark and dreary, darkness cannot hide from Thee..'*

 

 Wise and beautiful words, my friends.

*Can be found in the song 'Saviour, Breathe an Evening Blessing.' Number 70 in the Christian Hymnal