weeklythoughtexchange

My mom recently left after a delightful visit. We enjoyed the wrap up of summer with my dad and the beginning of autumn with her. But as bright as these visits are, a shadow lingers on the fringes, the somber knowing that goodbye is coming ever closer.

As with many negative feelings, I try to spin them in a positive way: at least we made memories; at least the time happened; we can look forward to the next meeting. But no matter what I do or how I re-spin the story, the bitter taste of farewell never lessens. I’ve reflected and pondered and prayed about it and am left with the conclusion that I feel this way because separation is not in our design. I’ve been compiling a list of how things should be and I’m doing this by identifying what shouldn’t be. This usually leads me back to the Garden where we glimpse the best and see it crumble.

The first goodbye in human history was at the edge of Eden. The first humans reached for the forbidden and consumed it and so began that endless concert of farewells. One can only imagine the heart wrenching separations that began at Babel where humanity once again reached for what was not theirs to have. History is a record of endings, separations and adieus; present times are no different. Children grow up and move away; friends get new jobs and leave; marriages end; life gets busy and relationships are neglected. And there is always the final farewell that comes when we are never prepared for it.

The sole creation made in the very image of God was designed for togetherness, for community, for relationship, for commitment. People are designed to bond and build and be side-by-side. It begins in our relationship with God and extends to our fellow Image-bearers. With this in mind, how do we live a life of goodbyes? How do we continue to love others and build relationships when we know that au revoir is around the corner?

I don’t know. That’s why I’m writing this blog today. But I do know that a few things ease the sting a little:

– take lots of pictures so that the memories come alive a little more.

– go back for a second or third or fourth hug so you know you took every opportunity to be close.

– do every day things so that you’ll have memories of your loved one in your daily routine.

– start planning the next visit.

– have things you do every time you are together.

– accept that goodbyes are hard and a part of life and voice those emotions. Don’t try to bottle them in.

As hard as life can be, the good parts are still really good. Soak every bit of them in and fill your world with brightness.

How do you handle goodbye?

It began in the Garden: that desire for something else. “When the woman saw…she took…and gave…”. Here was a woman who literally had it all- a world of perfection, her husband’s undivided attention and personal communication with God- and it wasn’t enough. So she reached up and took the fruit.

We are surrounded by examples of that reaching, grasping, desperation for more. It’s even within our own hearts. And just like everything in this distorted world I wonder what part of that reaching is insidious and what part is meant to be.

If we were to look closely at nature, we would see how many elements are persistent in their reach for more: seedlings reach upward for sustenance, vines reach broadly for space, birds’ wings reach for air streams, horses’ hooves reach for speed. There is a drive in all things living for more. And mankind is no different. We all long for better air to breathe. We stagnate if we are not reaching. The question is- for what are we reaching?

Plants and animals instinctively move towards what nourishes and meets their physical needs: the sun, better food and water sources, places of safety. The human is a bit more complex. We have a mind and emotions that beg for fulfillment and the means of fulfillment are not always so obvious. Sometimes they appear good but are so only temporarily. The Tower of Babel comes to mind; the place where mankind reached for the heavens out of a greedy desire for their own divinity.

That need to reach is not entirely wrong, however. It is instilled in us so that we will lift our hands to the one worth reaching for. The woman with the issue of blood reached for Jesus and was healed. Mary Magdalene reached for Jesus and heard her name spoken from His lips. When we reach for Him He will lift our burdens and carry them. Let’s reach out and taste and see that He alone is good and remember that He reached for us first. And once we have tasted of His goodness let us give it to others.

How is it possible to find it impossible to imagine our family without someone who has only been a part of it for two years? I don’t have the answer but that is how I feel about our littlest girl. To capture her charming spirit in one short blog is nearly as difficult as imagining life without her.

We have yet to get over the awe that we have a little girl after 3 rambunctious boys in a row- and then another little boy after her. She is as winsome as they are rascals and yet she has a mischievous streak. We know she has plans when she toddles off while looking over her shoulder with a captivating smile and a twinkle in her eye. She never hesitates to stand her ground with her older brothers and they have learned to respect her for it.

She reminds me of a wildflower. Her head tilts in as many ways as the wind plays with wildflowers. She has tiny hands and feet and her soft hair always has a sweet scent. She is easy to carry and always ready for some snuggling time. Our little girl floats delicately (and frequently on tippy toes) through life, muslin blanket balled up in her tiny arms with a corner stuffed in her mouth, leaving a trail of items behind her. We will find her in a kitchen cabinet playing peekaboo or in the pet corner doing science experiments with their food and water or exploring older siblings’ special keepsakes or in the bathroom cleaning the toilet or practicing her drawing skills on walls and dressers…and it’s all done so quietly!

Tehillah has such a beautiful heart! She tends to her siblings by bringing them their snuggles and water bottles and favorite toys. She faithfully cleans with me and even does cleaning on her own! On our road trips she sings her little songs instead of fussing. Her “lidlidlidlooooooo!!” delighted us the entire way. She is contented with pens and paper and will busy herself with those things all throughout her day. I always smile when this darling girl gathers a stack of our Chatbooks and pores over them.

I know that every day will find her a bit taller, somewhat more mature and with an ever growing vocabulary. But for today I will soak in her collection of words and sounds that convey everything she wants to say: tongue clicks for food and water, “mamaaa,” “poppaaa,” “beebeee,” “bleh bleh” (for yucky). I will carry her for as long as I can and as long as she will let me. And I will memorize her toddling gait as she scoops up her dolls, piles them in her doll stroller and pushes them around the house.

There’s a reason wildflowers are my favorite. They are resilient and beautiful and oh so free! I pray that our little girl will flourish in all those ways too.

Happy birthday, my sweet girl!

In a world that frowns on having an unpopular opinion,

Love fiercely; speak boldly.

In a world that has shrunk to the space of a screen-

Love fiercely; put away screens, open books and go outside.

In a world that who coaxes children from home when they are far tooyoung-

Love fiercely; make home a delightful place to be.

In a world that says there is no eternity,

Love fiercely; declare the Gospel.

In a world that says to never say no and to call all things right-

Love fiercely; defend Truth.

In a world that says to follow your heart-

Love fiercely; instill a moral compass.

In a world where confusion rules,

Love fiercely; be a constant.

In a world that’s crumbling in despair,

Love fiercely; build with hope.

In a world that hates,

Love fiercely.

I was just switching out the baby’s clothes as he has moved from 3-6 months to 6-9 months. It gets me every time I do a clothes rotation, especially that first year because it’s tangible proof that time moves quickly. This time it’s extra poignant because it’s the eve of our oldest’s ninth birthday. That’s one year away from the double digits which means I’ve been a mom for almost a decade!!!

I know I say it in every birthday blog but I’ll say it yet again: wasn’t it just yesterday that I held this boy for the very first time? Wasn’t I just rotating his clothes from 3-6 months to 6-9 months? How is it possible that he now is almost to my shoulder and can ride his bike with no hands? And I call him Encyclopedia Man because he has an answer for every question and even for every unasked question. We all laugh about how he speaks an entire paragraph before taking a breath, and he sounds like an audiobook with the emphases and grand vocabulary and the dramatic pauses he weaves into conversations.

This boy’s birthdays are unique for me since they mark the birth of motherhood in my own life. Before children, I thought being a mom was as straightforward as babysitting: you feed and clean and entertain the children and tuck them snugly in bed before the parents come home. But this little guy and his siblings enlightened me to what babysitting does not – that parenting considers the whole person of the child and not simply covering the physical care for a few hours. Parenting is about teaching the child how to best live while figuring out how to do that myself.

Here we are, nine years later, halfway to eighteen, and I stand fascinated by this young individual. He reads as easily as he breathes, absorbing every word and recounting them to me later on. He weaves intricate stories of his own and brings them to life with his toys. He cares for nature with tenderness and is loved by all his pets. He is revered by his younger brothers (his sisters view him with a mixture of tolerance and good humor). And most honorable of all, he values integrity.

While this boy of ours is always ready for a good joke, the seeds of quality character that were sown from infancy have taken root in his young heart. Whenever he is listening to a story or life situation, he is quick to advocate for the underdog or detail how he would approach a given dilemma. He recognizes the necessity of spending time with Jesus every day and often ponders deep spiritual matters. I am so thankful that he doesn’t delay to make things right when he knows that his actions have created a rift between us and he doesn’t hesitate to offer me forgiveness when I ask for it.

One of our favorite pastimes is to watch home videos from the early years. We laugh about the silly antics and sigh wistfully over how cute those chubby cheeks were. And how darling he was when he talked. I distinctly remember thinking that those years would linger. But they didn’t. They moved as swiftly as this boy talks. Those videos are a reminder that change happens before our very eyes and we can’t take a moment for granted. And so, as we embark on another year together- me as a first time mom to him and he as a burgeoning young gentleman- I stand in awe of the miracle of life. He is brimming with potential and I have the joy of helping him flourish every single day.

“Sing Amazing Grace” was the request as I tucked in my little boy just three days before his birthday. As I began to softly sing this family favorite I was suddenly joined by his baby voice singing along with me! He hasn’t done that before and I mentally recorded that moment. I kissed his little face and prepared to go out and then heard, “thank you Jesus, Mom!” I settled back on his bed and began to pray aloud as he told me his requests: “thank you Jesus for Rowan. Thank you Jesus for his birthday…” After talking about how excited he is for his special day coming up, I slipped out with a full heart.

In those bedtime moments I had a flash back to a treasured memory from when he was an infant. I was standing by his crib, singing his lullabies and I caught sight of our shadows on the wall: my head and his round baby head snuggled close together. The two blended shadows almost looked like a heart. I had taken a mental snapshot of that image as well. I knew how time would fly. Now my little boy is in his own room, in his own bed, with thoughts all his own and the vocabulary to express them.

This athletic boy astounds me every day with his physical prowess. Riding his bike, jumping from ridiculous angles and heights, riding a rocking horse by standing on the seat with arms outstretched, and dancing to the Encanto soundtrack are just some of the things he enjoys doing every day. But in the midst of all of his activity he still finds time to snuggle his baby brother, look at his favorite books for up to an hour at a time, find flowers for me, and chat with me about the adventures his imagination has planned out.

Rowan owns life. From completely potty-training himself just after his second birthday to not needing shoes even on the hottest and roughest surfaces, he proves his mind over matter abilities. He replies to questions with such confidence that he almost convinces me he knows everything. He makes his requests with such conviction that giving him a negative answer nearly seems out of the question. He walks with such purpose that one would never doubt his destination is expecting him. And the comfort he feels in his own skin makes clothing unnecessary to him (quite literally! A completely dressed Rowan is a rare sight indeed).

My admiration and love for this boy runs deep. It began even before I knew him as I longed for him before we knew he was destined to join our family. His intensity for living doesn’t always make me smile, however. From sleep regression as an infant to weaning before I was ready to short fuses that sent us into hurricane-prep mode in order to protect anything within his reach, he has driven me to desperation at times…and to my knees. And as I have prayed and persevered he has come through all of it. One of his greatest achievements has been to recognize his temper and run to his room to vent, then coming out composed. This has shown me how willing he is to learn and practice and grow and that I can do the same.

This boy is iron and steel wrapped around a fervently beating heart. I pray that heart will always be tender to His Savior and a hurting world and that his strength will never diminish.

On my wall I have a canvas art piece of a bird in a cage. It reminds me of one Maya Angelou’s poems: “ I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” The last stanza is my favorite:

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

There are days when life is just perfect, as perfect as life on earth can be. The children are all getting along. I respond to the challenges thrown my way in a way that leaves me with no regrets. I feel close to my friends and my extended family. My husband and I had a chance to speak 3 complete sentences together that were not parenting related. My house sparkles and shines and the laundry is put away. The sun isn’t too hot and there’s a little breeze dancing with the leaves and singing with the wind chimes. Perfection.

But then there are the days that are just so hard. They are hard before I even wake up since I’m beginning the day on mere moments of sleep. They continue hard as mean tones jump from my throat as I reprove the mean tones leaping from child to child. I resent my husband for being able to drive to work in complete silence and have adult conversation with a variety of people. I trip and stumble and fall catastrophically on all of my sinful tendencies. And the day ends hard.

And then there are the days with a mixture of both: the brutally hard sprinkled with moments of perfection. The falling and then the picking up and brushing off. The tears and then the weepy smiles. The harshness and the reconciliation. The broken and the restored. Most days are like this: days of contrasts, with perplexing juxtapositions. And in those days I know why the caged bird sings.

I am an eternal soul in a temporal body. I am designed in the image of God for eternity. My entire person longs to be freed from the chains of sin in this decaying culture on this sobbing planet. But God allows me to catch glimpses of what I look forward to and those glimpses cause me to sing even as I am weary of the struggle. Life is the struggle. The caged bird sings of freedom.

A week and a day ago a valued item was broken by my children. It was a sturdy stick horse that I had gotten at an antique shop years ago. I had gotten it on a trip visiting my late grandma, and I had hand carried it on the plane back to Hawaii. It was a dream come true to see my children enjoying it and knowing that decades before they existed I had been thinking about them.

Today it was a favorite mug that my sister had given me over ten years ago when I first started teaching with her. It was one of those cups that tapered towards the base and was painted in soft greens with pastel daisies delicately painted on it. Psalm 29:11 flowed in pretty lettering underneath them. Drinking from it connected me with her and it brought a familiar closeness I could depend on each morning.

I know the rote reminders that we shouldn’t value things above people, that we shouldn’t lay up treasure where moths and rust and (children’s fingers) destroy, that the memories are still there. But I still wept. I wept, not for the things, but for the reminder that life is temporary and the memories can be remembered but not relived. Those tangible links kept them closer and now that they are broken the past feels farther away.

I wept because at times I feel invisible. I cultivate and nurture and tend and ponder and work to make my home a cozy, safe, thriving place. And when things I especially value come crashing down my efforts feel futile: who is tending me? For me it was a toy horse and a coffee cup. But I’m sure we all have those treasures that break: dreams, hopes, business efforts, a pet, a friendship, plans, things, or hearts. When they come crashing down it’s like an arrow has found a chink in our armor of best intentions and our humanity bleeds out.

I’m going to rally. I swept up the broken pieces, dried my tears, and took the children outside. It still hurts and the empty spot in my cupboard stings. But when I’m standing before the throne of Jesus it won’t even cross my mind. When earth and eternity merge…