Monthly Archives: January 2014

My kids beg me all the time to tell them “baby stories”.  They love hearing about themselves as babies and all the adorable things they did.  Of course, to them, the worst moments of my life as a mother often fall into this category.  It’s a little bit of redemption for me every time a story that was horrifying at the time grows softer around the edges with distance.  Bless you, children!

None of the things I tell them would likely stand out to you, reader. Everyone with children in their life somewhere knows that what is precious and adorable and unique to you will make anyone else’s eyes glaze over as you retell it.  (Well, except for the story of my baby son, who would only smile at a Diet Pepsi can…another day, another day).

But what I don’t tell them is how hard it was to be the mother of babies, then toddlers, then preschoolers.

Even as I am reminiscing with them about the cute way he said things like “us un ip!” (“Just one sip!”), or laughing over the time she had us searching the house in a panic while she hid under the table with a handful of candy…in the back of my mind is the itch of a memory of how tired I was.  How tired.  In every way.  How I used to wake up to the alarm buzzing, look at the glowing numbers with fuzzy eyes, and mentally calculate how many hours until I would be able to go back to sleep.

Yes, it was hard.  But slogging through that “hard” together built a bond between us that is sacred.  When I look back at those times – pictures, videos, or just the stories – I don’t discount the difficulty of what it was like in our lives at that time.  But the difficulty isn’t the story.  The joy is the story.  The  survival (because, in a blog like this, I’m not even going to get into everything else that was happening in our life during baby- and toddlerhood!).  The laughter.

Over the past week, most of my conversations with people have quite frankly been awful because the subject matter has been awful.  Babies with cancer.  Marriages falling apart and practical matters to consider.  A mean, mean kid using the guise of “friend” to try and destroy Fourth Grade for one little girl.  Tough conversations about the sacrifice and commitment it takes to achieve excellence and decisions about whether it’s worth it.

What I cling to, through these conversations, is the hope that many years from now, the sharpest and most memorable takeaways will be the joy.  The gratefulness at people’s giving spirits and helpful actions.  The assurance that friendships see us through the absolute worst.  The look sideways at a dinner table at the person with whom you’ve walked through absolute fire and have somehow come out, slightly singed but intact, still walking.  One foot in front of the other.

I hope today, whatever awful thing is happening in your life (and I’m sure something is!), you can take a minute to look backwards. See how time and distance have rewritten a situation that seemed literally the worst.  Then look at the awful thing happening now, and try very hard to see it as you will days or weeks or years from now.  What is really worth the mental and emotional energy, and what won’t even show up on the radar.   It’s nearly impossible to do this, I know, but I’ve learned to look at the situation and say, “it seems very bad – the worst – but next Tuesday, I will look back and realize that I made it.  I made it!”

Rear View Mirror

Aside

“She’ll be right, mate!”

During our long and lovely holiday (in which I completely abandoned this blog, without guilt), we were fortunate to spend time with a great many family and friends whom we love and cherish.  One of the highlights was a leisurely dinner with friends taking a breather from their full time gig as expats in Australia.  During the course of a very meandering discussion, in which I was only gently ribbed instead of mercilessly teased (friendships required to sustain across continents will do that, I suppose), I first learned of the saying, “she’ll be right, mate.”  This adaptable saying can mean anything from the optimistic “I’ve got it, it’ll all work out!” to an apathetic “Eh, I’ll take care of that…maybe..if I feel like it…”

Learning colloquialisms like this is one of my favorite things about reconnecting with friends from across the globe.  People, their differences and their “normalcies,” simply fascinate me.  As someone who moved with regularity throughout childhood, with a stint overseas in the mix, a broad worldview is important to me.  As someone who is unlikely to move again for years to come, maintaining that worldview is not only important, but vital. I am always pushing to know more. To understand more.  To widen the boundaries of what my children relate to and consider “normal” given that they have lived in essentially the same place their entire lives.   “Different” equals “good” in my world, and anyone who knows me very well, knows this.  But why?

I have a little secret to tell you about this.  I am terrible at change.  There is an inborn tendency in me to curl up into what is comfortable, easy, familiar…and stay there!  I am naturally shy – very shy – and I tend to observe, then process, then act.

Those of you who don’t know me are saying, “And…?” Those of you who do know me are likely shaking your heads and saying “Whatever. That’s so false!” But honestly, it’s true!  And when God began working the tapestry of my life, it is so clear to see how He decided to challenge my complacency.

Moving was by far the biggest challenge to my tendency toward inward living.  When you move, it’s not just a new address and phone number you learn.  It’s a whole way of life.  Sayings in one state are charming, in another state, insulting.  Attitudes that motivate in one country kill morale in another.  All of the moments where we learn by doing – particularly when we mess up! – teach us how different people are, based on where they come from and what they surround themselves with.   If our command is to love each other, we have to know each other.  We have to know what love means to different people, and try to love them in a way that is meaningful to them.

To embrace change, we must be brave.  We must reconcile what we feel and want with what we cannot control.  We have to decide that anything is possible and most things are good – different, but good in their own right.  To be brave isn’t a skill or a gift, really. It’s a decision.  An every-single-day decision.

I may be locked in to where I am geographically for many years to come, but I have decided to continue letting my mind and curiosity wander.  I plan to take my family with me whenever possible.  The more change we experience, and wade through, and successfully navigate, the more accepting of change we become.  And because we will always – I repeat, always – deal with change, there is such value in having confidence in handling it.   I don’t make resolutions, but if I did, I’d resolve to make 2014 the year that I master the art of change. “She’ll be right, mate!”*

NTM

*disclaimer – there is no guarantee I’m using this phrase correctly – but if so, then I’m simply providing more amusement for my friends so it’s all good!

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