We are weak...
There's nothing in the world like motherhood to take your best-laid plans and scatter them to the wind. From the little things like how you'll appropriate screen-time to the big things like having "the talk" (sweet mercy), we all have in mind how we're going to do the dang thing. And whether your little blessing came into the world exactly as you imagined they would or, more likely, things went sideways and then a baby showed up in your unsure arms, plans start to fall apart pretty darn quickly. You're lucky just to be holding on for the ride! Every so often we may get one of those suspiciously calm seasons where we do feel a little more control over our domain and its subjects. But those are few and far between. Being a mom ain't for those who cling to a prescribed idea of how life should go. Because sister, I'm here to tell ya, life is able to throw all kinds of painful curve balls.
Exactly one year ago, to the minute, I found myself in one heck of a dark season. My husband's company had dissolved, leaving him jobless. (Curve ball) The one job opportunity that excited him was a position in Chicago, a thousand miles away from our home in Texas. (Bigger curve ball.) We lived near our very tight-knit family and deciding, rather abruptly, to move caused quite the curve ball for them. This very day, a year ago, I'd gone into my part-time teaching job with swollen eyes from crying. My pain was heavy. Co-workers expressed concern, yet I could not even find the energy to voice what was taking place in my world. The rug had been pulled out from under us and our loved ones felt the same. Plans were laughable. A joke.
That same afternoon, I laid down on the couch, my energy depleted. My three year old daughter, worn out from preschool, watched TV. I remember opening my eyes to see her climbing a love seat in the corner. Mere seconds after reminding her not to climb the furniture and closing my eyes again, I heard a tumble and a sharp cry, unlike one she'd made before. My husband, also in the room, was on his feet and at her side in a flash. The unnatural bend in her right arm is still such a vivid, horrific memory in a moment where everything else became blurry and chaos ensued.
There was a rush to grab shoes and my purse as we put the kids in the car, bound for Urgent Care. Every bump in the road sent my already-hysterical child to another dimension and, with angry tears, I cursed each red light. Nurses swarmed our family as my husband carried our daughter through the automatic doors and she screamed, "I need medicine!" A bed in triage, X-rays, screams, IV sticks. Sweat-soaked shirts as my broken child lay in my arms and I enveloped her like a cocoon. A morphine drip. My husband made calls and updated family. The arrival of an ambulance, bound for the nearest pediatric hospital. Surgery scheduled.
By the time we arrived at the hospital, the pain medicine had taken effect and calmed my daughter down. Though we were scheduled for immediate surgery, a little girl was rushed ahead of my daughter. I could hear the surgeon speaking to her parents through the flimsy partitions separating us. She had been drug by a car and there were words like "wound vac" and "skin grafting". My heart went out to the family and I silently thanked God for our non life-threatening emergency, while simultaneously praying for the little girl ahead of us.
A half hour passed as we waited our turn and we were able to distract Hadley with a DVD. Because her injury occurred in the afternoon and surgery was looming, she had been unable to eat or drink anything for over six hours. As the clock ticked, Hadley began to desperately need water. She politely asked and we attempted to direct her back to the movie. Her pleas turned to cries and then screams. All over the surgical floor, you could hear my child's voice, parched with thirst, weeping for water. I was in the most out-of-control moment of my life as a mother. I could not meet a basic need for my child and the pain of being so very helpless threatened to drop me to my knees. As Hadley screamed "Water!" over and over, I practically climbed into the hospital bed and gingerly wrapped my arms around her shaking body. With tears streaming down my face, I moved my lips close to her ears. I thought of nothing but singing "Jesus Loves Me" to my little girl. The name of Jesus was all I had. As I came to the line, "We are weak, but He is strong", I found myself singing it over and over to my hysterical child. We are weak. We are weak. But He. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.
I can't tell you how long I sang into Hadley's ear that night. The torture of her cries made it feel like we would never climb out of our nightmare. But I knew I had nothing to offer her but her heavenly Father. He had to be enough for us. And so I sang. For a mother whose sole job is to provide and protect, I felt wholly undone. Jesus absolutely used that moment not just to see Hadley through, but to reach out and teach me. I had no plan for such a horrific day. There's no parenting book in the world ready to show you how to walk through the fire of a hurting, distraught child. As moms, we are weak. We are human and our heartstrings are connected to the little people we mother. Our hearts can be broken in a moment. We are weak. But Jesus, friends. He is strong and He is enough. Don't let another day creep by without reaching out to the One who has a plan for you and will be strong on your behalf.
Exactly one year ago, to the minute, I found myself in one heck of a dark season. My husband's company had dissolved, leaving him jobless. (Curve ball) The one job opportunity that excited him was a position in Chicago, a thousand miles away from our home in Texas. (Bigger curve ball.) We lived near our very tight-knit family and deciding, rather abruptly, to move caused quite the curve ball for them. This very day, a year ago, I'd gone into my part-time teaching job with swollen eyes from crying. My pain was heavy. Co-workers expressed concern, yet I could not even find the energy to voice what was taking place in my world. The rug had been pulled out from under us and our loved ones felt the same. Plans were laughable. A joke.
That same afternoon, I laid down on the couch, my energy depleted. My three year old daughter, worn out from preschool, watched TV. I remember opening my eyes to see her climbing a love seat in the corner. Mere seconds after reminding her not to climb the furniture and closing my eyes again, I heard a tumble and a sharp cry, unlike one she'd made before. My husband, also in the room, was on his feet and at her side in a flash. The unnatural bend in her right arm is still such a vivid, horrific memory in a moment where everything else became blurry and chaos ensued.
There was a rush to grab shoes and my purse as we put the kids in the car, bound for Urgent Care. Every bump in the road sent my already-hysterical child to another dimension and, with angry tears, I cursed each red light. Nurses swarmed our family as my husband carried our daughter through the automatic doors and she screamed, "I need medicine!" A bed in triage, X-rays, screams, IV sticks. Sweat-soaked shirts as my broken child lay in my arms and I enveloped her like a cocoon. A morphine drip. My husband made calls and updated family. The arrival of an ambulance, bound for the nearest pediatric hospital. Surgery scheduled.
By the time we arrived at the hospital, the pain medicine had taken effect and calmed my daughter down. Though we were scheduled for immediate surgery, a little girl was rushed ahead of my daughter. I could hear the surgeon speaking to her parents through the flimsy partitions separating us. She had been drug by a car and there were words like "wound vac" and "skin grafting". My heart went out to the family and I silently thanked God for our non life-threatening emergency, while simultaneously praying for the little girl ahead of us.
A half hour passed as we waited our turn and we were able to distract Hadley with a DVD. Because her injury occurred in the afternoon and surgery was looming, she had been unable to eat or drink anything for over six hours. As the clock ticked, Hadley began to desperately need water. She politely asked and we attempted to direct her back to the movie. Her pleas turned to cries and then screams. All over the surgical floor, you could hear my child's voice, parched with thirst, weeping for water. I was in the most out-of-control moment of my life as a mother. I could not meet a basic need for my child and the pain of being so very helpless threatened to drop me to my knees. As Hadley screamed "Water!" over and over, I practically climbed into the hospital bed and gingerly wrapped my arms around her shaking body. With tears streaming down my face, I moved my lips close to her ears. I thought of nothing but singing "Jesus Loves Me" to my little girl. The name of Jesus was all I had. As I came to the line, "We are weak, but He is strong", I found myself singing it over and over to my hysterical child. We are weak. We are weak. But He. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.
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