There's this widely read book series that starts with a book called "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and the follow up, "What to Expect the First Year", and "What to Expect the Toddler Years". These were helpful for me when I had a bunch of little boys running around my house.
But do you know what I wasn't told? I wasn't really prepared for this fairly life changing transition into the teen years. Here I was in those days of fog and tired, little people needing me almost every moment. I could barely see past the next time I would need to feed everyone. I tried to get rest when I could, but between feeding one with a g-tube, who wasn't able to walk on his own, and the three consecutive littles we added every couple of years - I was in deep. So many were dependent on me. For their very lives. No baby which emerged from my womb took bottles. Every 2 hours they needed me. I was exhausted, but I was *needed*. There truly is a sense of purpose there. And while plenty of people told me it wouldn't always be that way, I wasn't really told about this normal, healthy pulling away that happens with mamas and boys.
They needed so much of me. Arguably at times, to myself of 12 years ago, too much. I knew they would become independent. I had a goal of always being close to them. I saw it as a bad sign if there was a point where they pulled away. And then life continued to happen and the years just rushed on. And through tears I saw this beautiful thing. You do your work. You put it in as a mama who does everything with her whole heart. And they need less and less from you, from a physical standpoint. I had this crisis of identity a few months back because pouring myself out physically was all I knew for so many years.
I cut the meat up tiny
and tied the shoes
changed the diapers
grabbed the sippy cup, made sure it was clean, again, filled it up, poured into it - just like all of the little lives around me
got up in the night, again, assured and reassured after the bad dream/tummy ache/inability to sleep
made the food, and the second breakfast, and the snack
put all the things in the diaper bag(s) to make every little trip anywhere, and bring the tiny potty, and all the snacks, and load the wheelchair
I smile when I look back at the young mama that I was. I thought I got it wrong so many times, but I see God there now. When I did screw up - he made up for it. It was so consuming. I enjoyed it in the way you enjoy a stunning view through rich fog out your window, when you haven't had sleep for 5 days.
Sweet,
beautiful,
vaguely inspiring,
blurred,
hard to recall.
And then one day they tied their own shoes and the training wheels came off their bikes.
And my world changed. Because from that moment (if you know, you know) it was only one more moment before they were behind the wheel of an actual car.
And one morning I woke up and it just hit me - what's my purpose now? They started going to dad more, because he's amazing and full of wisdom. And a guy to talk guy-to-guy stuff with. I could not be more thankful, while simultaneously I couldn't find my footing here. In some ways there is a rhythm of turn taking in this journey. Dave couldn't spend much more than 2 hours with them alone as babies. I was their food source and they would make his life miserable until I was near. There were several years of that. He loved and cared for them dearly, but I was front and center. I was life for them.
And now I step back. My sweet boys who showed me my selfishness, my nurturing heart, my love, my rock bottom. All of it - they showed me. I step back now.
Not out. I do not step out. When I questioned my purpose, Dave, my boys themselves, and mostly God showed me clearly; it's very significant still. It's just different.
I am not front and center
and I am not life
and I am not everything
I am mama.
To four boys on the verge of young adulthood. You don't feel like it will ever come when you are entrenched into pouring in everything you've got (and then some), but there is a point where you have given much and then step back a bit and you see what you've given. You see fruit and you no longer pour so much in physically. You transition to pouring in prayerfully. And you lead by example. My new role is living my life to be seen by four young men to the glory of God. I am here, of course. Always here to give a hug still and listen to all their things (my favorite). But it looks very different than it did.
On Mother's Day this year my 14 year old wrote these words into his handmade card
"If you weren't a part of my life, I would not be where I am today. You have taught me so much through both your words and the way you live every day. You forgive, extend grace, and put up with so much. When you mess up, you openly ask for forgiveness."
How you live every day.
May we never, ever underestimate how we live out our every day moments in front of our (emerging adult) children. They watch everything. And there comes a point where that is the main thing. We have done the other things and they are no longer needed. This becomes our role. Being a role model.
There's never a time, as we live out our short earthly life, where transitioning from a sweet season doesn't carry a little sadness. It's part of this whole package. But I'm choosing now to embrace, even appreciate, this new role. For me it is the bit of a break that I prayed for, needed and wasn't sure would ever happen. As I lay down some of the intense physical demands I am leaning down to now pick up a quieter role. A powerful role. Showing them more than telling them or doing for them.
Showing them.
A broken woman reaching for the hem of Jesus' robe. Embracing redemption daily and loving a world in front of me the best I can. Showing grace. Showing failure and forgiveness. All of it. This is what I do now. It's what I've always done, but now it's in a different way.
Psalm 127:4 says, "like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth."
We don't really cuddle arrows and keep them with us, do we? Arrows are made to be shot out. Out into this hurting, broken world. Our prayer from the time these boys were kicking up a storm inside of me was that they would affect the world for Christ. We are starting to pull back on this bow a bit. And it's hard. It hurts a little, knowing what's coming as we pull back on it. If I'm being honest, I didn't even have the strength the pull back all the way on our cross bow. But in an allegorical sense, I know God is slowly giving me the strength for this launching. These arrows could go far. Or land near. Either way - they aren't ours. They are part of a much bigger picture than we can see. These arrows will go out from us and land at a point that I am confident will be better for them landing there. I am so proud of our boys. We have our days, of course, where it feels like failure and conflict and brokenness. But my joy in what they are becoming burns bright regardless. I see the arrows that they are as brightly lit arrows - piercing into pain and darkness. They will fail and they will need strength. But they have it. I am confident that each one of them is equipped for this road ahead. They won't always use the tools they have to their highest potential, but they will learn and they will grow and eventually they will surrender more and more into that Great power they have each chosen and been given. The Spirit of God himself live in my arrows.
His arrows.
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