Drastic Shift in Perspective

The party’s over.  A sensational week with my granddaughter and all my children has come to a close.  All I’ve got to say (well, not exactly all I have to say, but with every attempt to keep this post brief) is that things sure look different waving bye-bye from this side of the security gate at the airport.

When we used to kiss my parents goodbye, taking precious grandchildren far away, I never fully understood the anguish I was causing.  Now I get it.  (I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again.)  Boy, do I get it.

Another thing I want to add is how much easier it is to trust God for protection and provision in my own life than in the life of my adult children.  Back when we were driving around the Guatemalan countryside in the midst of a civil war, was I concerned?  Not much.  We were all together, and God was there to protect and provide.

Now that my kids are the ones driving through Mexico on their way to serve as teachers at the MK school close to us, it looks a bit different.  Are you sure that’s a good idea to drive instead of fly just so you’ll have a vehicle once you get there?  Okay.  (Never mind that we used to drive all the way to Guatemala through Mexico with quite a few children.)

Suddenly I’ve had this drastic shift in perspective, and it’s making me think and trust on a whole new level.  I guess that’s a good thing.  Come what may, I have chosen to simply trust God.  Just because I’ve started gaining victory over some pesky sins doesn’t mean I have to make way for new ones.  Worry is a sin.  I hereby vow not to go there, at least not regularly.

Ugh.  Either I can trust my kids in His hands or I can’t.  It seems so ironic to start worrying now after all we’ve been through.

How about you?  Have you found certain things you used to take in stride are suddenly triggers for serious concern or even alarm?

This summer while in the States I watched an old rerun of Leave it to Beaver.  It’s funny how I used to identify with the kids on that show, but now I watch it as a mother and grandmother, and it’s a different show entirely.  Those dumb kids.  What are they thinking?

When it comes right down to it, I’m more comfortable reading the seemingly-dumb-kid side of the script than the reasonable-adult role. 

Either way, I think it’s much easier to be the one boarding the plane than the one waving good-bye from the other side.  That’s my opinion, and I’m sticking with it. 

IRL* Thanks, Mom, for loving us long-distance all these years.

Fiery Darts

Awareness of sin, repentance, walking with God, smooth sailing, suffering, God’s grace, spiritual growth – and the beat goes on, as they say. Throw in a few fiery darts from the enemy during the suffering chapters, and that about covers it. The story of my life.

When am I going to wake up and smell the coffee Kombucha? It’s the same little pesky attacks that trip me up every time. Why can’t I anticipate them and prepare myself for the battle? Instead I freak out at the slightest hint of discomfort and revert to a whiney baby who begs for someone to deliver me out of my troubles.

It’s the continuing saga of the summer furlough (not a vacation) that launched my latest kerfuffle. I’ve become a melodramatic teenager again – on cloud nine one day and in the depths of despair the next, sighing like one of my daughter’s Facebook statuses “I hate my life!” or “Oh, good – Leap Year – one more day of problems this year.” (Actually I made that one up myself.)

Finally I’ve decided it’s time to grow up and move on.

What happened last week was this: I decided all my fretting and finagling was getting me nowhere, so I repented and put my worries back in God’s hands. Within twenty-four hours, we found affordable airline tickets to the U.S. in June, a car to borrow, and an ideal place to live. All was well on cloud nine.

The very next morning we got an early phone call saying no, actually the rental house is not available after all. We’ll have to keep looking for a place to stay this summer. Are you kidding, Lord? What’s this all about?

Way too immediately I welcomed back my former enemy/companion/burden, and spent the next twenty-four hours worrying again. “Woe is me.” Second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a littler bit worse.

Just as quickly I realized that:

1. Life is still really, really good, and
2. God has it all in control, and
3. Occasional suffering is good, forcing me further along the road to spiritual growth, and lastly
4. There is an enemy lurking in my head planting incredibly stupid lies.

When I am down (particularly when I am sick), it happens every time. Suffering leads to immediate attack. When I get too busy fretting to analyze the thoughts that ricochet in my brain, I am in trouble. When I sit still and listen to my Father’s voice, the lies become clear.

“He doesn’t care for you.” That’s the biggest one of all. It’s not true! He does care, and He is providing everything I need. Satan is a liar.

I’m simply going to have to trust Him (at least for today). How about you?

IRL* Summer plans are still a bit hazy, but God has it under control.

Memoirs of a Bad Mother

On my favorite home school support forum (provided by Sonlight Curriculum – see the side bar for more information about SL), someone on the international forum recently asked us veteran moms how old our children were when we allowed them to leave the house by themselves.

It never occurred to me what a horribly negligent mother I was until I started typing my answer to this e-maginary friend.

The truth is that I let my oldest two boys walk to the corner to buy fresh tortillas when they were about three and four years old. Usually I went with them, but if little brother needed attention just then and I didn’t want to carry him, I would send the boys on their own. What was I thinking?

Oldest children are born half-grown-up, just because moms like me are so clueless and trusting. I am so thankful God protected them. Even with my seventh, I used to let her walk a beaten path through the desert to a friend’s house (the distance of about two city blocks) when she was only about eight years old.

Nowadays things are different. Life isn’t quite so safe in these parts any more. I had to laugh at myself when I fretted over the possibility of our single houseguest having to take a city bus by herself, when I had let my own daughter take a bus to the dentist in the city with only a little brother for a bodyguard back when she was 15. Now I am concerned about a 23-year-old?

Then there was the time I sent my 17-year-old daughter on a plane by herself to the Philippines to help out a family for seven months. What was I thinking? I never considered there could be a glitch in the scheduling, requiring her to spend one night alone in a hotel in Tokyo, that’s for sure.

I guess the bottom line is that I wouldn’t recommend to anyone my method of child-rearing. Maybe it helped the older four adjust to college in the U.S. and Canada, having been so independent for so long. But still, looking back at all the what-if’s gives me the shivers.

Our houseguest has moved into a more permanent housing situation with a roommate now, and I am trying not to smother her with my motherly counsel, but still I can’t help praying for her safety each day as she travels to the school where she teaches and back.

I hope my college kids have a mama nearby, worrying over their comings and goings. I’m thankful for ddils watching over my oldest two sons, who survived their childhoods with little help from their negligent mother. At the same time I am trying not to restrict my younger three kids beyond what is healthy, even in these uncertain times.

Last week’s brief funk sent me back to the Word. This week’s worries are sending me back to my knees. Both are good places to be.

IRL* Discovering my apparent developmental delay in the area of motherly instincts and child preservation.