Have you ever been through a short season in life where everything goes wrong? All the little things you take for granted in life, are suddenly taken from you? And you are left wandering a bit, trying to regain your footing, and wondering what might be next? It is in these times that I think I learn the most about my perspective on life, and what my perspective possibly should be instead.
We had one of these times this last December. If I were to write everything that happened, you wouldn't believe it (unless this has happened to you). I'll share a taste of what our life became:
The first major thing came the first week of December. I was driving from a kid appointment on the freeway. The kids were in a good space, great song on the radio, and there was a bit of sun shining down. Out of nowhere we hit a coyote going 70 miles an hour. I'll spare you the details, but after checking the damage to our front-end, I drove back to check on the animal. He was dead, and somehow as I knelt to look at him, something in me broke. I am an animal-person, a dog-person, and a wild-animal-person. Out of all of the animals that I could have accidentally killed, this coyote was the most traumatic. I immediately realized that I couldn't leave him there. The only thing that felt right was to honor the life that I took by burying him with love and tears. I picked him up and placed him in the van for the 5-minute drive home. M.C. and I buried him on our property, praying and talking about animals and what happens when they die - to their body and their spirit. He was one of the most beautiful animals I've ever seen, and it is the only time I've ever touched a wild dog. What I didn't know is that this was only the beginning.
A few days later our entire family was in a car accident with the same car. We were hit head-on after the truck in front of us spun around on the ice. No one was hurt, but one of the kids lost a tooth she was wiggling. M.C. still asks me not to get on the freeway!!
With our trusty MPV out of service, Chris loaded up our old vanagon with carseats. The next day it broke down on me with all 5 kids in it. Chris came to rescue us in one of his agency's vans. One of the many challenging things about having more than 3 kids is that you need a car big enough for everyone! This thing is enormous - like driving a small town. To top it off the power steering is broken, so it is nearly impossible to turn at low speeds. I resolved myself to make the most of the situation. The next morning when I got in, the driver's door broke. It no longer closed. It worked fine when Chris drove it out to our town, and also when he started it up for me that morning. But as soon as I got in, it decided never to latch again. This meant that I was driving a monster van with no power steering, and I needed to hold the door closed when we went around corners. As I was driving kids to school that morning I turned the corner where the border patrol always sits. I was nervous to get the thing around the sharp corner and forgot to hold the door. The door swung out so far I couldn't catch it until we were straight again - all in front of the BP officer!
After 2 days of this, we found out that our MPV wouldn't be fixed as quickly as promised. We decided to rent a van. We returned the big rig to Chris' work, and picked up a mini-van. That afternoon as I waited for the school bus, the border patrol officer pulled over to have a chat with me about my suspicious behavior. Apparently most people don't drive multiple vehicles in a week, and we do happen to live on the border. When I tried to calmly explain that I was here every day at 3:10, he assured me that he had never seen me before. To my surprise, I felt defensive when he questioned me. I am one of the last people that would ever hurt this country. If I hadn't chosen to build a house on the nations' border, I am positive the government would not have noticed or cared what vehicles I might be driving. As I finally told him about our accident, he skeptically seemed to deem me trustworthy, and I'm sure it helped that right at that moment the school bus appeared with 2 blessed kids who may have kept my defensive soul out of the border detention center. I am ashamed to admit I can't remember when I was that happy to see them!
So the next morning, our rented mini-van broke down on me as I drove through an intersection! I drove it back to the rental company and exchanged it for their last mini-van. On the return trip, M.C. and I got stuck for an hour and a half behind an accident on the freeway. We sat there on the freeway, and I realized I had absolutely no faith in this newest van. As I returned to our town with yet another van, I prayed that the border patrol officer from the day before had this day off!!
There were many smaller things that happened that week that led to my feelings of having virtually no control over the circumstances in my life. Our MPV was in the shop a total of 3 weeks. When we finally got it, something had malfunctioned in the driver's lock. This meant that when we tried to unlock it, the alarm (that we didn't know we had) went off. Unfortunately, we didn't know how to get it turned off. It took the shop an entire day to fix it. There is still a part that needs to be finished in the passenger door, but I can't bear the thought of taking it back in!
During that week, I learned that when something goes wrong, there may be something worse coming next! I was also reminded that I am not to depend on much in my life. I can depend on God to get me through what happens. But other than that, I need to take each day at a time. Of course we need to make plans in life, but we also need to remember that we aren't in control. This time made us cut back on things. We didn't make unnecessary trips, and I canceled all appointments. We prioritized, with work and school being the only places that we determined were absolutely necessary. It allowed us to rest a bit, even in the stress of things going wrong. In my hurried life, I really needed that.
By the end of the week, I also realized how thankful I was. Each of the things that went wrong, could have been so much worse. And in most of them, we could have been hurt badly. If I hadn't been paying attention, with both hands on the wheel when we hit the coyote - or if I had seen him and tried to swerve, we would have driven off the freeway. Our car accident was on the border truck crossing, and at least 50 semi-trucks whizzed pass us as we waited for the state patrol. If any one of them had slipped on the ice and slid into us, not one of us would be here today. M.C. and I were stuck behind a bad accident, and the next night Chris couldn't get home in time for basketball practice because of an accident that took up the freeway. How thankful I am that in both situations we hadn't been a couple of minutes farther down the road. We were stuck behind the accidents, and not in them. Even as my life felt so out of control, the God of the universe was present through it all. It was a time of teaching and growth, but not tragedy.
But the main thing that I etched into my heart is that through all circumstances the one thing I can control is my attitude. Sure feelings like fear, anger, and sadness are necessary. But after the initial event has happened, how I choose to respond to it affects everyone around me. I learned to laugh when things go wrong. When I returned our first rental van, I found myself chatting with the rental staff. I was neither angry nor impatient nor resentful. That event alone took up my whole morning. But I decided that it was an opportunity for my life to intersect with theirs. And M.C. and I decided to go to our favorite discount store since we had already made the trip in. I decided to celebrate the extra time at home that week, instead of worrying over rescheduling appointments. I prayed more with my kids that week, than I had in the many weeks before. The fear I felt at the beginning of the week (over what might come next) evaporated and I found myself choosing a spirit of humor and joy in everything going wrong. By the next day, I could actually laugh as I told friends about my interrogation by the border patrol. I realized that none of these events was life-altering. People all over the world are losing loved ones to war, famine, and disease. People lose their entire communities to genocide, and children pray in orphanages to once again feel the love and care of a parent. What I was going through was merely inconvenience, and in humility it should be recognized as such.
What I've taken into my perspective on life, is that our kids watch everything. I've decided that what I want them to remember about their mom is that she laughed often and found something to celebrate even in the most impossible circumstances. When my journey is over, I want my kids to remember a mom who looked at life with peace, and without fear. I want them to have that peace to hold onto when their lives are ridiculously out of their control. In our privileged nation the line between inconvenience and tragedy is too often blurred. I want my kids to know the difference.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Death Lessons
We have just spent the last 4 days in our home dwelling on death. It is the first close and personal experience with the end of a beloved life that my boys remember.
Almost 2 years ago we decided it was time for our G.J. to choose a pet for his 5th birthday. He chose a young gray rat, and immediately named him Green.?? As he chose him, his 3 year-old brother began to cry as he wanted one too. After a quick meeting, Chris and I decided to let M.C. choose one of Green's brothers. And so Edward, a gray and white rat, made the trip home too.
This last Friday night we noticed that Green didn't seem quite right. By Saturday he was barely moving and we thought he would soon leave us. But he held on, as his little body shut down. By Tuesday morning his breath was strangled and I wasn't sure he could hear us anymore. When I brought the kids home from school that afternoon, he was finally at peace.
There are many people who choose not have pets because they want to spare their children the pain of loss, since animals often don't live that long. I respect their decision. I don't want to cause my kids pain, either. But to be honest, this life has lots of loss in it. And lessons learned in childhood prepare us for what we can't see coming.
I have been surrounded by animals my entire life. I can't imagine life without them. They taught me my first, and possibly most important lessons on love, trust, patience, kindness, and gentleness. I learned about death and reproduction from chickens, rabbits, and even a pig. When I was 7, my beloved grandpa died. I remember hearing adults talking about us kids at the funeral and asking "do you think they possibly understand?" Yes, we understood. We had wrestled with the questions of death and healing and Heaven so many times before, that when we really needed to understand, we did.
I know my early experiences are directly related to how comfortable I feel in witnessing the grief of others. I spent many years sitting with people whose lives had just fallen apart. In my years supporting sexual assault survivors in the emergency room, I was often surprised by how few people were there to support the survivor. Often they were alone, at the darkest point in their lives. Why? I think as a culture we aren't comfortable with pain, or experiences that make us ask "why?" and we find there aren't easy answers. We as a people often don't know how to support someone through pain, so we expect that a professional can do it better. I don't think that is how we were created, and it isn't how other cultures respond to grief, trauma, and pain.
On Saturday as it finally hit G.J. that Green was going to die. He left the room, came back in, looked at me, and began to sob as he said, "Mom, I just want to die too". I held him as we grieved for our friend. We talked to him, held him, and prayed for him. We immersed ourselves in grief that you can only feel after great love.
Almost 3 years ago we had a foster daughter whose mom had died. My kids had lots of questions at that time. It is one of a kid's deepest fears to lose their mom (or dad), so to know a kid who is struggling with that loss is tough for other kids. It brings up uncomfortable questions that are hard to say out loud. The boys were so young, and since death had not touched them personally, they really didn't know what to think. They would respond very differently after this week.
People believe many things about animals and whether they have souls or not. I believe wholeheartedly that animals have souls and a bond with our Creator Father that we will never know. People call the miraculous knowledge of animals "instinct". I think it is only instinct to us. For an animal, especially a wild one, they rely on their Creator for survival. If only we had such faith. I believe that God loves each animal and I can see Him in their eyes. So I am confident in the talks we have had in our house the last few days. I am sad that Green was probably in pain. Yet I am thankful for the days to ponder and process together the meaning of life and death and love with my kids. The slow death of a friend (who happened to be a rat) allowed us to talk about so many big questions. "Why can't God fix him?" "Will Edward die too?" "What will Heaven be like?"
We are all thankful we made the decision to keep the brothers together. They were the cuddliest of rats, and allowed us to have many conversations about brothers and sharing space growing up together. Now as only one is left, we can talk about grief and going on and remembering.
Yesterday, G.J. wanted to wait for his dad to get home before burying Green. They chose a spot and for the first time, G.J. asked to lead a prayer. He prayed for his friend, thanking God for his life. We are so proud of the strength and growth that we have seen in our son over the last several days.
There is a depth to character that seems to only come after wrestling with great pain. I can see this depth in my growing son's character. Thank you, Father.
Almost 2 years ago we decided it was time for our G.J. to choose a pet for his 5th birthday. He chose a young gray rat, and immediately named him Green.?? As he chose him, his 3 year-old brother began to cry as he wanted one too. After a quick meeting, Chris and I decided to let M.C. choose one of Green's brothers. And so Edward, a gray and white rat, made the trip home too.
This last Friday night we noticed that Green didn't seem quite right. By Saturday he was barely moving and we thought he would soon leave us. But he held on, as his little body shut down. By Tuesday morning his breath was strangled and I wasn't sure he could hear us anymore. When I brought the kids home from school that afternoon, he was finally at peace.
There are many people who choose not have pets because they want to spare their children the pain of loss, since animals often don't live that long. I respect their decision. I don't want to cause my kids pain, either. But to be honest, this life has lots of loss in it. And lessons learned in childhood prepare us for what we can't see coming.
I have been surrounded by animals my entire life. I can't imagine life without them. They taught me my first, and possibly most important lessons on love, trust, patience, kindness, and gentleness. I learned about death and reproduction from chickens, rabbits, and even a pig. When I was 7, my beloved grandpa died. I remember hearing adults talking about us kids at the funeral and asking "do you think they possibly understand?" Yes, we understood. We had wrestled with the questions of death and healing and Heaven so many times before, that when we really needed to understand, we did.
I know my early experiences are directly related to how comfortable I feel in witnessing the grief of others. I spent many years sitting with people whose lives had just fallen apart. In my years supporting sexual assault survivors in the emergency room, I was often surprised by how few people were there to support the survivor. Often they were alone, at the darkest point in their lives. Why? I think as a culture we aren't comfortable with pain, or experiences that make us ask "why?" and we find there aren't easy answers. We as a people often don't know how to support someone through pain, so we expect that a professional can do it better. I don't think that is how we were created, and it isn't how other cultures respond to grief, trauma, and pain.
On Saturday as it finally hit G.J. that Green was going to die. He left the room, came back in, looked at me, and began to sob as he said, "Mom, I just want to die too". I held him as we grieved for our friend. We talked to him, held him, and prayed for him. We immersed ourselves in grief that you can only feel after great love.
Almost 3 years ago we had a foster daughter whose mom had died. My kids had lots of questions at that time. It is one of a kid's deepest fears to lose their mom (or dad), so to know a kid who is struggling with that loss is tough for other kids. It brings up uncomfortable questions that are hard to say out loud. The boys were so young, and since death had not touched them personally, they really didn't know what to think. They would respond very differently after this week.
People believe many things about animals and whether they have souls or not. I believe wholeheartedly that animals have souls and a bond with our Creator Father that we will never know. People call the miraculous knowledge of animals "instinct". I think it is only instinct to us. For an animal, especially a wild one, they rely on their Creator for survival. If only we had such faith. I believe that God loves each animal and I can see Him in their eyes. So I am confident in the talks we have had in our house the last few days. I am sad that Green was probably in pain. Yet I am thankful for the days to ponder and process together the meaning of life and death and love with my kids. The slow death of a friend (who happened to be a rat) allowed us to talk about so many big questions. "Why can't God fix him?" "Will Edward die too?" "What will Heaven be like?"
We are all thankful we made the decision to keep the brothers together. They were the cuddliest of rats, and allowed us to have many conversations about brothers and sharing space growing up together. Now as only one is left, we can talk about grief and going on and remembering.
Yesterday, G.J. wanted to wait for his dad to get home before burying Green. They chose a spot and for the first time, G.J. asked to lead a prayer. He prayed for his friend, thanking God for his life. We are so proud of the strength and growth that we have seen in our son over the last several days.
There is a depth to character that seems to only come after wrestling with great pain. I can see this depth in my growing son's character. Thank you, Father.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Basketball Mom
I have jumped wholeheartedly into the realm of sports mom. My 6 year-old son G.J. has his last basketball game tomorrow morning, and I realize tonight that I am actually really sad about it! Chris and I traded off for many of the games since keeping track of the younger four in an elementary gym took too much energy most Saturdays. So I didn't get to see all of his games, and now I wish I could have.
But I love watching this kid play. Their team was creamed most games, but you would have never known it by how he and his teammates played. The first time I saw G.J. play, I was glued to the game, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I think it was one of the first times that I've watched my kid from a distance and realized how incredibly proud and honored I am that he is my son. He plays with heart, intensity, and doesn't worry that anyone is watching. He passes to kids on his team who usually don't get to actually touch the ball, just to make sure they get a turn. He is serious about guarding, and creative about getting around the other team. He made lots of parents laugh a couple of weeks ago when he made a perfect pass to his teammate under the legs of the guy who was super-aggressively guarding him. He runs at breakneck speed up and down the court even when it isn't necessary, but also breaks out into a silly dance when he is taking a break. He is funny, respectful, intense, and full of joy out on the court.
As I watch him I realize that I can't imagine having a nicer kid. He has navigated our complicated family with compassion, calm leadership, and thoughtfulness. He has been an only child, the youngest, the oldest, and the middle child, and seems to find his place no matter which "space" he holds. We got a call last week from some workers who said we would be "perfect" for an 11 year-old girl who lives in our town, wants to stay, and needed to be moved that day. Despite the fact that Mom and Dad are sure that "5 kids is enough" all the (four older) kids wanted to take her. But it was G.J. who was actively trying to solve the roadblocks (like not enough beds, or that we would need a bigger van, etc.). This is a kid who is willing to give up his spot as oldest of this crew on a moment's notice to help out a stranger.
I love this kid. He's finally found his sport, and so have I!
But I love watching this kid play. Their team was creamed most games, but you would have never known it by how he and his teammates played. The first time I saw G.J. play, I was glued to the game, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I think it was one of the first times that I've watched my kid from a distance and realized how incredibly proud and honored I am that he is my son. He plays with heart, intensity, and doesn't worry that anyone is watching. He passes to kids on his team who usually don't get to actually touch the ball, just to make sure they get a turn. He is serious about guarding, and creative about getting around the other team. He made lots of parents laugh a couple of weeks ago when he made a perfect pass to his teammate under the legs of the guy who was super-aggressively guarding him. He runs at breakneck speed up and down the court even when it isn't necessary, but also breaks out into a silly dance when he is taking a break. He is funny, respectful, intense, and full of joy out on the court.
As I watch him I realize that I can't imagine having a nicer kid. He has navigated our complicated family with compassion, calm leadership, and thoughtfulness. He has been an only child, the youngest, the oldest, and the middle child, and seems to find his place no matter which "space" he holds. We got a call last week from some workers who said we would be "perfect" for an 11 year-old girl who lives in our town, wants to stay, and needed to be moved that day. Despite the fact that Mom and Dad are sure that "5 kids is enough" all the (four older) kids wanted to take her. But it was G.J. who was actively trying to solve the roadblocks (like not enough beds, or that we would need a bigger van, etc.). This is a kid who is willing to give up his spot as oldest of this crew on a moment's notice to help out a stranger.
I love this kid. He's finally found his sport, and so have I!
Friday, February 1, 2008
"Ow"
Yesterday was one of those days. Nothing seemed to be going right. I was tired after 3 weeks with no clothes washer (that's for another post!), and the kids were at each other's throats. It didn't seem like anyone could do anything without another kid arguing or fighting them. Of all the challenges in parenting, kids yelling, arguing, and hurting each other can push me over the edge faster than anything.
With foster care we have no control over what kids have experienced before they come to us. Our kids have to adjust to new behaviors with each placement, and they've picked up some of their own along the way. No matter how well a kid is doing overall, anger pushes them to revert back to old ways of coping faster than anything else. And who knows better how to get them angry than a sibling?
The older 4 were supposed to clean their rooms for the coming visit from grandparents. But as usual the banishment upstairs to clean alternated between yelling and crying at the behavior of another kid, to complete fun as they played together, making their rooms messier. As I started to feel REALLY sorry for myself that we had so many kids so close in age all squished into 2 bedrooms, the noise upstairs increased.
I picked up our 17 month-old and tried to climb over the baby gate on the stairs without either of us falling. (This kid can climb anything to get into something he isn't supposed to get into - 1st he figured out how to get out of his pack-n-play, then a baby yard, then the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs.) Now we have the gate set up on the first step since he can't climb that high yet, but it is virtually impossible for me to climb over without pulling something. But often, I am too impatient to take it down.
So on this occasion, I hefted both of us over it, and hurt my foot somehow in going over. I fell onto the stairs in pain, managing to save Little Guy from injury. I was too hurt and upset to cry, so there was mostly moaning as I tried to figure out how my life became so ridiculous. I opened my eyes to see Little Guy looking at me half in concern and half in amusement. He reached over and gently stroked my face, saying "Ow". In that instant most of my frustration and self-pity melted. Somehow in all of the chaos of kids and fights and ridiculous baby-proofing that has become my life, Little Guy has learned something about empathy.
Today I am trying to take more deep breaths to remind myself of what really matters, and of all the fantastic teaching opportunities that exist when living with siblings. Too bad they won't appreciate them until they're my age.
With foster care we have no control over what kids have experienced before they come to us. Our kids have to adjust to new behaviors with each placement, and they've picked up some of their own along the way. No matter how well a kid is doing overall, anger pushes them to revert back to old ways of coping faster than anything else. And who knows better how to get them angry than a sibling?
The older 4 were supposed to clean their rooms for the coming visit from grandparents. But as usual the banishment upstairs to clean alternated between yelling and crying at the behavior of another kid, to complete fun as they played together, making their rooms messier. As I started to feel REALLY sorry for myself that we had so many kids so close in age all squished into 2 bedrooms, the noise upstairs increased.
I picked up our 17 month-old and tried to climb over the baby gate on the stairs without either of us falling. (This kid can climb anything to get into something he isn't supposed to get into - 1st he figured out how to get out of his pack-n-play, then a baby yard, then the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs.) Now we have the gate set up on the first step since he can't climb that high yet, but it is virtually impossible for me to climb over without pulling something. But often, I am too impatient to take it down.
So on this occasion, I hefted both of us over it, and hurt my foot somehow in going over. I fell onto the stairs in pain, managing to save Little Guy from injury. I was too hurt and upset to cry, so there was mostly moaning as I tried to figure out how my life became so ridiculous. I opened my eyes to see Little Guy looking at me half in concern and half in amusement. He reached over and gently stroked my face, saying "Ow". In that instant most of my frustration and self-pity melted. Somehow in all of the chaos of kids and fights and ridiculous baby-proofing that has become my life, Little Guy has learned something about empathy.
Today I am trying to take more deep breaths to remind myself of what really matters, and of all the fantastic teaching opportunities that exist when living with siblings. Too bad they won't appreciate them until they're my age.
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