Oh how I wish I could believe this was truth right now. Y’all, I’m struggling tonight. I’m hurting, I’m uncertain, I’m trembling, and I’m just not convinced that I know what is that very next best thing. So I’m sitting here, waiting, in the middle of the struggle.
That cold, dark, empty space that I enter into when something is beyond my life experience and wisdom.
Oh, you thought I knew everything? Well, that was just an act. It’s a myth that all moms know everything, and it’s a fallacy that I know everything, for sure!
Your past is not just a story. At least mine’s not. My past is the foundation on which my entire life was built, and my past taught me that people want what they want and if they don’t get it, you’ll be disposed of quickly. My past taught me that only the good people deserve good things to happen to them. My past taught me that people can’t change and wouldn’t want to if they could. The part of my past that built my perception of society and relationships isn’t very nice. The relationships I had with adults in my early years were, unfortunate, at least. My past is not just a story. It is a testimony of redemption and victory.
Because of the not so great moments of my past, I have moments in today, that become that cold, dark, empty space. Because my past is not just a story, it does, to some degree, have some power over me. It doesn’t make my decisions for me, it doesn’t prevent me from living, it hasn’t killed me. But it does confound me occasionally.
And it all began with the little miracle girl that I begged God for twenty years ago.
She’s struggling, so I’m struggling. Because I’m the mom, I’m supposed to know what to do at exactly the right time, right? I’m supposed to know what to say that is The. One. Perfect. Thing. At exactly the perfect time. Because that’s what moms do, right? But here’s the thing: I’m new at this. I’ve never been the mom of a first grade girl before. I’ve never been the mom of a little girl who’s struggling before. So I don’t exactly know that perfect thing. That bothers me. It makes me uncomfortable and uncertain, and it makes me feel less than perfect. Nobody that I’ve ever known likes to feel “less than” anything, and if I know one thing, its that most moms want to be The Perfect Mom. Because most of the moms I know, know that being a mom is the most important thing they will ever be. And if it’s the most important thing, it should be done perfectly. At least that’s how I’m reconciling it.
So since we’re both struggling, and she’s six and I’m well, older; I’m supposed to have the answers, the solutions, and at the very least, a clue. But no. Not this time. I’ve got nothing. And that’s why I’m sitting here, waiting for the very next best thing, in the middle of the struggle.
So true. For instance, I never realized what an awesome reader I am! Who knew I could find so many different voices in my throat to pitch “Goodnight Moon” for the one zillionth time, because I’m too tired to read a chapter book. I didn’t know how very hard I could push my body. Yes, I can carry a toddler, a gallon of milk, four grocery bags, hold my preschooler’s hand, all while talking on my cell phone and walking through a muddy yard to get to the potty in time. Or have a C-section, tear out a brick chimney and then have my gall bladder removed all within three months while breastfeeding and working from home. And I didn’t know that I could love another human being to the point that my heart would break into a thousand pieces when something wasn’t perfect in their world. Oh and the fears! Who knew I was going to be afraid of the dining room chairs with wheels on them or the sharp corners on the coffee table? I certainly thought I was past that, until school came and I had to fear the monkey bars and assessments. And now this. This crazy place of imperfection and struggle that she is going through, which has brought my past right up to my nose, sat it down, and pitched it a tent. Yes. Those fears.
Being a parent sucks sometimes. Just sayin’ . I know that isn’t something the perfect people probably say. I’m sure the sane, put-together, neurotypical, shiny, happy people would never say anything negative about life. But here on the farm, I’m not saving any graces or sugar coating any cowpies. It is what it is, and sometimes it ain’t pretty. This is one of those times. This is one of those times where you put your hip waders on and get out into the lot and start moving around. It’s one of those pull your hat down and lean into the wind kind of deals. It’s a sit and wait it out kinda thing, and I’m in it for the long haul. Don’t mistake my saying it sucks for saying “I quit”. Never. I’ll never give up, never lay down. Even when it sucks. When it’s messy and uncertain and unclear and uncomfortable. Even then, I’ll just keep waiting for the very next right thing becomes absolutely discernible, and then I’ll do that and wait for the very next best thing. One thing at a time. One thing.
If I can keep telling myself that, if I can hear myself and listen to myself and follow through, I think I’ll be okay. I think I’ll be doing the very best thing for my child. Because there’s no clear outline. There’s not a handbook that says, “If this, then this.” So I’ll just wait, so that I don’t panic, so that I don’t do the wrong thing, for the sake of doing some thing. I will wait because I want to do the very best thing for my child.
I don’t have omnipotence and I’m not omniscient. I am finite, my power is finite, and I have finite wisdom. I can’t do it all or know it all or see it all or be it all. I can only try my hardest, do the best I can do and grow into the best momma I can. My past is not just a story. My past has created every strength and fear, and every skill and idea and good thing that is now in my life. My past moved me into the present, which I am currently enjoying. Even in the struggle, because I know, that no matter what happened in my past, no matter how difficult today’s challenge, God will restore. God is restoring. God has restored. Me. My life. My story. He will take care of this struggle too. I know it.
Momma Rich's 