We have been helplessly watching green blades race for the sky. And sitting on the patio above the lawn, is like having an audience of mystery. What is really lurking to the roots of this mess? There is much not seen, hidden away, like dark grassy knolls in my heart.
But then, we also have babies. There are chicks and ducks, chirping with their feathers coming in. Then there are kittens so small, they think we are Momma. And they yowl and screech at the back door, knowing someone will come to hold or feed them.
But I don’t dare tell those fur balls the truth.
That I am unsure how a good Momma really is. How things went awry my first go-round. How I married in High school, became pregnant at 19, because I had always dreamed of a daughter. But it didn’t go as planned, this life of Mommy and me and her.
There are moments where I grab a death grip on both shoes, for fear one will drop. I have boys now. And they are less underfoot since one of them is an inch or two from surpassing my own height, with a brother who’s not far behind.
I might as well be holding my breath.
Because I know how fragile all this can be. I hope with a mother’s heart for a daisy and tulip and rainbow kind of family experience. That our children will grow up and have so many good memories that they won’t ever forget, or reject.
But.
I am so imperfect.
Yet, I am no longer a prodigal living away from the Father, running hard after the lust of life. I’m redeemed. I’m adopted like a broken graft.
This makes it all different. If I fail, He fills.
I swallowed this dream of family growing old together. Nothing is too difficult for a God who created all this. But I know things aren’t Utopian purple mountains, blue skies, and 70 degrees always and forever.
Even though things are good this day, it’s tomorrow that has trouble of it’s own. And maybe, I will be a big part of the trouble or I won’t be able to fix the trouble. But I know how troubling it can be.
I can’t worry about tomorrow, I know. But there is today. I am schooling myself as much I am schooling them. I’m in the classroom of learning their personalities, researching their heart’s desire, studying unique calling and giftings they’ve been given. Because I’m a practitioner–looking for ways to practice mercy, grace, and love in my own home.
Oh, I will mess up. I’ll be leaning strong in the arms of a Savior for every ounce or backwards step or gigantic leap of boyhood kind. While there, I’ll be attempting to unclench.
Besides, my white knuckles can not keep from dropping shoes in the first place.
~~tammy
(from the archives)
