organized chaos

Me and crying don’t get along. It’s not that I’m insensitive, I’m just uncomfortable with displays of emotion that I have no control over. Actually, I feel things so deeply that I’m afraid once I start I won’t be able to stop.

We’ve sponsored two children through World Vision for as long as I can remember. Sometimes we barely have enough money to pay bills and get groceries, but we are so much richer than so many people in other countries and right here in the U. S.

Really, I could go on about this. For whatever reason, God has granted me a very soft heart toward people without enough. Enough to sustain life on. Just thinking about the state of some of these people’s lives and how they are forced to live is enough to bring me to tears. It’s very painful for me to consider such things. But I do what I can, and maybe someday God will grant me the resources to do more.

I found this new video by my very favorite songwriter, Sara Groves. I love this lady’s work. Her music is genuine and connective and I always love every CD she makes. She also seems to have a heart for struggling peoples and that’s the heart of this video. I hope you watch it.

I Saw What I Saw - Sara Groves

Ok. I’m breakin’ out the big guns people. Be forewarned.

One of my dear friends has five little gremlins of her own, close in age to my gremlins, so they all get together as often as possible and do gremliny things. But usually not as bad as in that movie.

Anyway.

She’s had the misfortune of having SRS called on her several times, courtesy of some nosy neighbor who has chosen to target my friend’s family for whatever reason. And now her youngest gremlin has had the misfortune of breaking three limbs in his short two years of life, two of which occured in the last couple of months. Poor little guy.

So this time, the hospital called it in. The agent ended up calling my friend’s husband after meeting with her and proclaiming that she was incapable of handling five gremlins. So we don’t know what’s going to happen at this point.

Here’s my thing: I have four gremlins. Half the time, I’m unsure I can handle them. Some mothers with one gremlin will admit that on bad days, she probably doesn’t know how much more she can take.

I know these agencies are there for a good reason. I grew up with abuse. I’ve known others who were abused worse than me. These people do have a place.

But some kids get hurt. A lot. Jackelope is one of them. He is the King of Head Injuries. And what about the time I caught Socrates, the NINE YEAR OLD, spanking his brother and sister out on the sidewalk like he was their dad or something? If we had nosy neighbors, they would’ve surely called that in and I’d be in the same situation as my friend.

Moms go through enough guilt. We get depressed, we yell, we smack little hands a little too hard sometimes. We feed our kids popcorn for dinner on occasion. (Maybe that’s just me). We prop a bottle with a blanket instead of holding the baby. But we’re still good mothers.

As if most of us don’t carry around a bad little voice in our heads, nagging at the myriad of things we know we need to improve as mothers. As if most of us don’t worry incessantly that we are gearing our gremlins up for years of therapy. Then some government official calls up our husband and proclaims, “I don’t think she can handle her own children.”

As mad as that would make me, it would make me equally insecure. Because I’ve probably already been beating myself up enough.

I won’t even mention the little 5 year old girl that runs up and down our block with no adult supervision. Or the 7 and 8 year old kids running around Wal Mart without their parents, where anyone could snatch them up. Or the many,many other cases like these that never get called in.

Some people get targeted. I hate it. But mostly I hate when a good mother gets one more burden to carry around, that should never be hers to carry.

My Sunday started off groggily as usual after my shift Saturday night. My gremlins brought me their loverly handcrafted gifts and cards. Then I squeezed my post partum self into some non-postpartum clothing and it almost ruined my morning.

Until I got to church and the man who recently lost his wife and one of his children to a car accident came for the first time since it happened. On Mother’s Day.

He and two of his kids sat a few rows ahead of us, and through every mention of the word “Mother” I cringed inside for them. Through every word of the praise songs we lifted to God, I wondered the special significance for him. Without knowing he would be there, the person who chose the songs for today didn’t realize the hand of God would be working through her. We sang words like, “Blessed be Your name, when the road’s marked by suffering,” and “I want to touch You, I want to see Your face,” and I wondered if he was thinking about how his precious wife was actually seeing and touching the face of Jesus, maybe even as we sang.

I saw him wipe his eyes throughout the singing and it just about did me in. I don’t like to cry in public, not because of pride, but because I am a deep well, when started, I might not be able to stop.

Then the teens, who run the service for Mother’s Day, passed out flowers to all the mother’s at the end of the service. And before they were done, a couple women took their flowers and handed them to the man’s children. Then every one of the teens took a flower to the family. I pretty much lost it then. And I think every one else did too.

And I’ve been like that the rest of the day. I can’t get them out of my head. And I don’t think I should. God has softened my heart significantly as I’ve gotten older and while I do feel more pain that way, it’s enabled me to lift up heartfelt prayers for people I don’t even know.

On a day when we celebrate mother’s, we should remember those without one. Especially ones who weren’t ready to let go. They are precious to our Father’s heart.

Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies within us while we live.

- Norman Cousins

I think this quote is appropriate today. Last Friday we saw on the news a report of a fatal car accident not too far from here, where one vehicle crossed the double line and crashed head on into another one. We heard both were from our town, which isn’t so small or so large, so I didn’t think we’d know who it was.

Three people in the vehicle that crossed over died. Two adults and a one year old.

In the other van, the mother and the 2 yr old died and a 5 yr old boy was sent to the hospital with two broken legs and is now home.

I know those details because yesterday at church the pastor announced that it was one of our families that suffered the loss from this tragic accident. I didn’t recognize the name. Although we’ve been there a couple years and it’s not too big a church, I still don’t know everyone’s names. I knew this family had at least 4 or 5 kids, so I started to deduct who it might be based on the fact that there aren’t a whole lot with that many children there.

Sitting in the service I looked over to where a certain family usually sat and it hit me that this was the one. I remembered the blonde woman who always lifted her hands in praise during the worship (we’re a church where most don’t for whatever reason). I remember her commenting on The Cuteness when I picked him up in the nursery, where she was gathering her little 2 yr old. I tried desperately to remember the little girl’s face as someone described it when I tried to confirm my suspicions on who this had happened to.

In the end, I was right. I didn’t know this woman or her family, but I had exchanged pleasantries with her only a couple weeks ago. I remember thinking how she must’ve loved the Lord to lift her hands to him in a church where that is rare, and to be willing to stand out in that way.

And though I didn’t know her, I grieve for her family left behind. She was driving to a sporting event when this happened. The news report said there was no sign of either vehicle trying to avoid the wreck. It must’ve been a split second happening, where no one had time to suspect anything.

It could have been me or any other mother taking a couple of kids somewhere. An everyday appointment. One that leaves the dad with other kids to raise and left to deal with the huge vaccuum of a mother gone.

I’ve experienced deep sorrow over this. I wish I had known her better, and it leaves such an imprint when it’s a little more personal than just another news story. I’m sure when her husband starts attending church again, it will weigh even heavier on my mind. And hopefully I will be reminded to make the most of everyday, to love my family and friends fervently, and to keep my eyes on God until it’s my time to go.