I wish I had my daughter’s spirit and energy. In her two-year old wild perfection, she barrels and life and doesn’t stop. If you’ve met Elyse in person, you know exactly what I mean. My son has the most gorgeous heart I’ve witnessed on this earth, but he is a sensitive soul. More like his mother that way–for the good and for the bad.
When the dentist tells him he needs to get a cavity filled, he will cry. And he will worry and panic, but his sister will plop herself right down beside him and hold on, as if to say to him, “We’re doing this together”–she doesn’t care. She’s his bestie, and she doesn’t have fear. To the dentist, she is saying, “I’ll cut you if you hurt him.” (Thanks a bajillion times over to my love Stephanie of When Crazy Meets Exhaustion for this perfect caption of my daughter’s thoughts).
We found out last week that my dude needs eye surgery. Well-prepped for this reality, I was super-brave in the office and on the way home. I remained calm, cool, and collected. But then after settling them into lunch with their grilled cheese triangles, I started to read the paperwork. Surgery. General Anethesia. Recovery. Post-op. Suddenly there was a lump in my throat and too-fresh memories of the horrid hell we went through with my son’s broken leg came flooding into focus.
Because, you see, in my human fallacy, I am fearful. I trust the doctors and the necessity of this surgery, but I’m scared. I’m scared of the “what if”. The big and scary events of life–deaths, surgeries, unknowns, tend to shake this fear out of hiding.
As my husband peels out to troll the European wonders of Austria on a business trip, I’m left here, panicking. Not sleeping for weeks prior to his departure. You know me–I will never jump for joy over the prospect of having to navigate this beast of young kids solo, but it’s not that that leaves me clock-watching in the wee hours. It’s the terror that something will happen. And if it does, what will I do?
My dad and sister are fantastic–they want to help, but they have their own jobs and resposibilities. And I have friends–good ones, but the primary truth of it is that the kids and I are alone here. And this scares me.
I live my life in fear of the bottom falling out. My mother’s death taught me this–because it did. The bottom fell out. Yet it also taught me that life will go on if/when the bottom does fall out–because it does.
My prayer every day is that I zero in on the truth of this momentum of life. It’s not going to stop, no matter what–somehow things will keep moving. I wish that I could cling to the fearlessness my daughter lives with. I wish that I would not only hear the words of the song below, but that they would penetrate every corner of me. Because the most real truth is that God will always have my back and be there to walk through the dark with me–scary moments in the middle of the night when I’m feeling all alone included.
It will be okay–somehow.
And my husband better bring me back a rockin’ treat from Austria to make up for all the diaper changes he missed. Not that I’m insanely jealous or anything.
With my God? Let’s do this thing.
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