This season of life brings such a gust of motion. I’m in
a constant state of motion, moving from one scenario from the next. My days
consist of problem solving, keeping up with the movement of my kids and their
needs and breaking up fights over who gets to play with what toy. I reason at a
level I’ve mastered, in terms of what’s ‘fair’ to my five year old and my short
tempered two-year old. It’s a skill my friends!
Tonight was one of the good ones, where I was able to
heed my reminder of slowing down and enjoying them in all of their small glory.
Cole, my two-year old, didn’t feel ready for bed yet and he screamed, “maaaamaaaaa,”
in his crib until I gave in and checked on him. I scooped him up and he gleamed
at me, big goofy, “I got my way grin.” He joined me at the table and nibbled on
my late night dinner with me. Then we moved in to the living room and read our
favorite book together. He loves to point his chubby little finger at various
parts of the page and wait for me to tell him what it is. I held his warm body
as tight and compact as I could, he’s getting so long. I rocked him slow and thought
of what type of man he’ll become.
Nights like these come few and far between. Where I
actually feel human enough to write; my whole house is quiet and all I can hear
is the clacking of keys and the words that seem to flow so naturally from my
heart. Writing has always been an outlet and the times I get to release them, I’m
reminded of so many of the parts of me that remain under my motherly façade. Most
days I fill sippy cups, organize doctor visits and keep up with the evolving
door these kids keep running through. But I often find myself curiously
thinking of what these kids will become as they become adults, just like I did
not that long ago.
Childhood is so short. I feel as if I just left my own,
and here I am trying to provide one for these kids I love so much. What can I do
to ensure they don’t leave damaged because of my own inexperience or my own moments
of frustration. I have no answers.
What I do have is the constant nudging I have in my heart
to be patient and take them in for what they are. Look up and SEE. Stop and
LISTEN. Reach out and HOLD them. Make them feel HEARD. Make them feel LOVED.
Show them they are SPECIAL. Remind them that it’s okay to make mistakes as long
as we try the next time to improve.
I’m learning right along with them and the nights I lay
my head down on the pillow, and regret who I’ve been that day, I remind myself
that as long as I’m doing these things, I have to believe they will grow to
know I love them and that I tried my best.
I rock slow and ask the Lord for strength to be their
foundation and their vessel to God’s promises. I pray that I have what it takes
to raise them up to be strong, loving individuals who aren’t afraid to do hard
things. I’m in awe that God entrusted these kids to Jon and I, but I know they
are ours for a reason.
Maybe that’s it right there; they were given to us
because He knew we were meant to be theirs.
