He Catches Every Tear

 My oldest son and I flew frequently before he was two. Most of our trips were to Texas on a quick nonstop flight from Nashville to San Antonio. It didn't matter how quick the flight was, by the time the plane came to a stop, he was ready to get out. Every trip I followed the same routine: once the plane was stopped, I unfastened his belt and allowed him the freedom to stand up and stretch his legs. On one particular flight, I gathered our things and stepped out into the aisle. As I looked over and motioned for him to come, I saw that he had climbed onto the seat. He was leaning forward with his feet on the edge of the seat, stabilizing himself with his hands on the seat in front of him. "Get down, now!" I said sternly. Before I could reach over to help him, his hands slipped and he fell face first to the floor of the plane between the two seats. 

 The scream that followed could be heard by anyone still on the plane. I dropped all of our things into the seat next to me. I scooped him up from the floor and held him close as he cried. I'm certain he was in shock as well as pain. I was holding his face close to mine when I felt something wet on my cheek. It was blood. I grabbed the only thing I had to help stop the bleeding; baby wipes. The flight attendant brought me a bag of ice and I tried, unsuccessfully, to hold it on his forehead where he was bleeding. Slowly he started to calm down and we made our way off the plane. Through all of this I remained calm and moved swiftly and precisely to take care of my son. But once all was well and I had a pause to take in everything, I started to cry. 

 I did the best I could to keep him safe. I gave him the freedom to move around, but I also gave him guidelines. I taught him not to climb up on things that weren't meant for climbing. I told him to get down. I tried to reach out and stop him from falling, but it was too late. I hated the sight of my son hurting. 

 It is no secret that I am in a world of pain. I will let you in on something I have a hard time overcoming; my pain is self-inflicted. While God gave me the freedom to choose, He also gave me guidelines. The guidelines are to keep me safe from feeling the pain of falling. But the reason I drifted is the same reason my son climbed when he knew I said "no": it is fun. In Hebrews 11:25 we see that Moses chose to suffer with God's people, rather than enjoying "the pleasures of sin for a season." Did you catch that? Sin is pleasurable "for a season." As I have learned and relearned, the season may be short or long, but it always comes to an end. And what is on the other side of that is sometimes unbearable. 

 I've begun reading The Mended Heart, by Susie Larson. The first thing I wanted to do was run away. Because although I know Jesus is the only one who can truly heal my heart, I feel so inadequate to even beg for help. I am too dirty, my heart is hardened, and if I'm completely transparent, I don't even know if I'm sorry for my choices that led to this. But I am tired of hurting and I have no where else to go but into my Father's arms. 

 My son made a choice and he got hurt. So did I. As a parent, I didn't get angry when I saw him hurting, I rushed to him and held him in my arms. So does Jesus. When I saw my son hurting, I hurt too. So does Jesus. The Bible says this about the interaction of man and child: "So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him." (Matt 7:11, NLT) I believe the same is true for self-inflicted pain. If we, as sinners, can immediately comfort our hurting children after they have disobeyed, how much more will the Father comfort us in our sorrow?

 Jesus catches every tear. (Ps 56:8) I am so grateful that what or who caused the tears is irrelevant. Every tear.

My Strength

This is the most difficult season of my life. I am getting divorced. I hated typing that, but it is true and everyone will know eventually. It was hard making the phone calls to the people who needed to know most. The first one I made was the hardest; it was my mom. It is always a little scary to call your mom because she has two sides: the side that loves you with an undying love and the side that grits her teeth and yanks you up by your arm to lead you in the right direction. I've experienced both simultaneously during several phone conversations.

 I could barely get the words out through my tears. "We are getting...getting...we're getting divorced." I couldn't say anything really after that. I just cried. And for a moment I just heard her crying, too. When someone loves you that deeply, they join you in your pain. They meet you where you are and instead of saying "you'll be okay...you're fine," they might say "I am so sorry you're hurting" or "I am sad that you are hurting." I didn't know what I expected her to say, but all she has done is love me through it all. Sometimes she says really difficult things that I need to hear. She also holds me, literally and through texts and phone calls when we're 1000 miles apart. 

 Late last night I was reading through emails that my dad sent over a period of 4-5 years. I have them neatly tucked away in a virtual folder titled "dad." I was surprised to see several from my mom in there as well. I've randomly read a few of these emails occasionally for the last 10 years and I hadn't noticed the ones from her. Each email had a Bible verse at the end. Every one was specifically chosen for me and related directly to what I was going through at the time. It was more evidence of what I've known for the last few years. 

 I don't know that I've seen my mom read the Bible, other than in church. She doesn't pray out loud. I've never seen her give money to charities. I know she volunteers, only because she's gone when we visit. But my mom never verbalizes or purposefully displays her faith in action. But I know it's there, because I see it in her response to the many things I've gone through and the poor choices I've made. 

 

 For all of these years my mom has been there, the quiet strength behind my dad. She has continuously prayed for us, rejoiced for us, and cried for us and with us. She is truly my rock and I am so blessed by her strength.  

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear, 
but of power and of love and of a sound mind" 2 Timothy 1:7

Surviving the Fire

I haven't picked up my Bible in months. I have picked it up, thumbed through it, looked for references I used to know and live, rolled my eyes, and put it back down. My life is a mess. I still pray and I still confide in women that love the Lord and I still ignore what advice they give me. But I pray. I honestly, wholeheartedly pray. Usually my prayers consist of just a few words. I often wonder if they are heard, and at the same time I very clearly hear responses. The best place to find answers  is in the Word of God. But what if you have no interest in searching there and your heart is so bitter  you really don't care what it says anyway? God will still meet you where you are and speak into your heart. 

 My life is a mess. I said that, but it's still true just minutes later and I felt it needed repeating. My posts are purposefully vague to some degree, so you can try to guess all of the things I'm dealing with or just apply the content to your own life. I suggest the latter. 

 It's spring break. Most families gather up all the springy things and head for a trip to the beach or the pool or the mountains (why?). Some choose to stay close to home or stay home altogether, opting for a staycation. We have had many fun family spring breaks, both growing up and now as a mom. This spring break is different. I decided to bring my two boys to Florida and spend time with my sister. They love the cousin time and it's easier for me, because I don't have to constantly find entertainment. The men are doing their thing at their respective places of work, so it's a great break for all of us. 

 Driving to my sister's house takes about 5 hours. So with kids, it always takes more than 6. Who needs an hour to eat?! But they are kids and I knew they'd pass out right after lunch and I'd have at least an hour of car silence heaven. The weather reflected the mood perfectly; it was gray, threatening of rain, but not yet a downpour. I could feel the heavy humidity that always reminded me of my real home (San Antonio) and I enjoyed letting my thoughts fly as my filthy car flew down the road. The boys were silent in the backseat, and I occasionally looked back at their bobbing heads to make sure they were coming up for air. I replayed hundreds of choices, conversations, moments of laughter, breakdowns, feelings of guilt, hope, and ultimately grief. My time with me and the road seemed to pass quickly, and soon I heard little voices from the backseat again. 

 "Look boys, we are driving through the forest. That means we're almost there." The oldest chimed in with all the knowledge of forests that his five year old brain can hold. We passed a small area of dark smoke coming off the ground that looked to be a small forest fire. The flames were gone, and now rain had started falling soft, so I assured my boys that the small almost-fire wasn't going anywhere. That led into a discussion about large forest fires. "Do houses burn down...what about all the trees...what about the people that live there..?" I did my best to answer the questions with a small amount of compassion and a large amount of just plain facts. We agreed that people can not be replaced. Some things can never be replaced, but they are still just things. The three of us agreed on those important details. "But what about the trees?" asked the five year old. "They die." And that could have very well been the end of our forest fire lesson that day. But it wasn't.

 "Well, the trees burn, but then they just have like the acorn inside, so after they burn down, more trees can grow again," says the boy. Hmm. "Oh yes, that's true." End of discussion. I honestly had no idea if that were true, but I was ready to be done talking about burning trees. I thought about that for a while. When the trees burn, then what? So like any well educated mother, I googled. Not for my son, for me. 

 If it were possible that new growth started from the complete disintegration of the old life of the tree, maybe that were possible in my life. Only one article seemed to really hit on what I was after. So I started to read. The more I read, the more I saw God's hand in every aspect of the life of a tree and the life of his precious child. In some forests, not only do fires bring about new life for trees, but the fires are necessary. They are necessary to spread the seeds, to spread life. Most fires, like in our lives, are caused by human hands. Some are caused by completely external sources, such as lightning. Just as the firestorms in our life don't vary based on what caused it, the fires of the forest rage regardless of the cause. And while they destroy everything that was once familiar and beautiful, you can guarantee there is something new and amazing ahead. 

 The life I once dreamed of is a distant memory. In all honesty, while many things contribute to the fire, I'll admit that my hands took the primary role. As I watch flames destroy all of the things, some replaceable and some not, I know I have one priority. To keep all of the people close to me safe from the fire and to start to see the good in what is coming. A brand new forest.