finally processing this past school year and that big canyon

There are a few out there that know my hurricane.  This past year was not peachy.  I will not look back on it with a twinkle in my eye and memories of calm and bliss.  It was horrific at times in my heart.  It was dark. Scary.  Wavering.  Much of it will never go down on paper and pecked onto this screen. It'll stay in my heart.  It actually sits at the cross.  Redeemed. Washed away.  Strengthened and renewed.  He has made it good.

But I will choose to share some of it.  Record it.  Testify it.

We sent Big Boy to school this year.  School.  In a building.  Kindergarten.  It was a beautiful special year for him.

I did not transition well.  I never have.  It wasn't sending him to school that was difficult.  It was so much more than that.  It was the feeling of being a Mom.  A real Mom.  As if all along I was playing house with my 3 babies at home.  Learning.  Discovering.  Playing.  But then out of nowhere my heart was overwhelmed with daily carpool, teacher conferences, parties, homework, planning, and new friends.

Wait. Wait.  Wait.  Aren't we just playing house?

Aren't I just plain unprepared for all of this?  I missed the manual.

And I do love myself a good manual.  Cover to cover I'll read it.

But there wasn't one.

And I couldn't keep up.  My heart was still processing, yet every morning 6am I had a sweet 6 year old staring at me, dressed, smiling, ready to go to school.

It just wouldn't slow down.

So I was pushed to my limit.  It seemed I was standing on a cliff, with canyon in front of me.  I wanted to get to the other side.  The next step of motherhood, parenting.  But I felt dizzy.  Suffocated.  Overwhelmed.  Scared.  Lonely.  The canyon was too big of a jump.

I've been here before.  Transitions not going too smooth.  So I usually ignore the canyon all together.  Turn around.  Create a new path.  Give up.

This time was much different.  Cause my sweet 6 year old was waiting for me on the other side, waving.  And I could see how so quickly all of my boys and husband were going to be on that other side, waiting, waving.  And this time, I couldn't turn around.   I wouldn't turn around.

All at once, I understood why at some point the canyons just get too big and too many come at once in motherhood.  It's easier to stay.  Emotionally.  Keeping those boys 6 years old, or maybe I'll make it till they're 12 years old. And then stay.  Not cross that canyon.  And then they're 22 years old, and I'm still way over here, waving.  Pretending.  They're 12.



This year was a beautiful mess for me.  I thought surely I can't go to my Lord with any of this.  He is so disappointed in me.  I'm worried.  He tells me 'do not be anxious'.  I'm scared.  He tells me 'do not fear'.  I'm doubting.  He tells me 'have faith'.  But it was His grace alone that gave me the strength to sit in my broken self, with Him.  It was His love that pulled me in and told me to stop.  Stop.

Stop worrying.

Stop doubting.

Stop trying.

Stop with the fear.

And it wasn't with punishment or disappointment.  It was gentle.  Stop worrying, because I love you.  Stop doubting, I will take care of you.  Stop trying, because I will work in you.  Stop with the fear, because I am with you always.

Every night I put my boys to bed this year and sang Jesus Loves You.  I was singing it to myself.  I needed to hear it and believe it.  It's a wondrous thought where we all would be if we believed with all our soul:

Jesus loves me this I know.
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong
We are weak, but He is strong!
Yes! Jesus love me.

I've only been walking with Jesus for 13 years.  And I know, without a doubt, I've just scratched the surface of knowing and believing that the God of the Universe who calls the stars each by name....loves me, knows me, favors me, strengthens me, created me, will never leave me, helps me, and holds me.

He is intimately interested in my life.

So I didn't cross the canyon.  It was too big.  And there was no bridge.  Easy and safe.  A bridge.  So I just had to jump.

And He caught me.

As for future canyons of transitions.  They still scare me.  But I know He's waiting. To help. To pick up my broken heart grieving the stage of past and scared of the stage ahead.  He'll strengthen me.  He'll catch me.  He'll walk me across.  And for a few transitions, I even have faith they won't be too difficult.  He may even offer a bridge once in a while.

Motherhood.  Who knew it involved canyons, rock climbing and base jumping!?

Game on.