A Parent’s Prayer for Rest

You who said, “Come unto me all ye who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest,” I come to you now.

For I am weary indeed. Mentally and physically I am bone-tired. I am all wound up, locked up tight with tension. I am too tired to eat. Too tired to think. Too tired even to sleep. I feel close to the point of exhaustion.

Lord, let your healing love flow through me.

I can feel it easing my tensions. Thank you. I can feel my body relaxing. Thank You. I can feel my mind begin to get calm and quiet and composed. 

Thank you for unwinding me, Lord, for unlocking me. I am no longer tight and frozen with tiredness, but flowing freely, softly, gently into your healing rest.

Marjorie Holmes

I’ve Got to Talk to Somebody, God

Time to be a Child?

I meant to continue posting here in mid-February, after a break of about a month at the start of the year. We’re now in sight of April. Not only is 2014 well underway, but it’s nearly a quarter over.

In the past few months I’ve had a number of ideas for short posts on parenting. Lots of stuff has been happening in my kids’ lives, and in mine. I even started writing a few times, but nothing felt right. I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe it’s seeing other mothers with elaborate websites, thousands of followers and hundreds of comments, their parenting mission seeming very clear and successful.

And I look at myself, trying to keep a basic grasp on being a mom in the midst of school, work, writing, and a myriad of random and sometimes very time-consuming (and mentally or emotionally exhausting) issues that arise on any given day.

The other day I was trying to work on an editing project and couldn’t focus because Aiden had gone up to about 75 decibels with his fire truck noises and Allen was describing to Jessica his idea for a new Tigger movie (and she was telling him exactly how it should really be done). I finally told them, “Guys, go play in the backyard so I can focus.” Of course as soon as they went out there, I wished I could join them. I turned back to my editing and still couldn’t focus because I felt guilty for having lost my patience with them.

It’s not their fault their room doubles as my “office.” I know more space would not necessarily be the answer. That’s the problem, I guess. I don’t really have all the answers. The answers on how to be an awesome parent. … Or I do know some answers but fail to implement them.

Maybe I am approaching it the wrong way, looking at things like the negative of a photo. Thinking I see a picture, but the colors are inverted so that light is dark. So dark. Maybe it is not that I should be trying so hard to be the mom sometimes, but to be more of a child.

We read a poem by Robert Frost in my English class today, about a man thinking of tree climbing (among other things). We talked about nostalgia and happy childhoods and looking back over these times with an element of longing and perhaps regret.

I am not a child anymore, but my kids are. And perhaps I should be that more too … by just being rather than trying so hard. By climbing a tree or playing shadow tag, blowing bubbles or sitting down on the floor and building a stack of colorful blocks right up to the sky. Maybe then I won’t have to worry about looking back with regret and longing, knowing I made the most of every moment.

All that to say, I’m going to try to begin posting in here again, if nothing else to keep some sort of track of my days as a mom of three young (and rather awesome) kids. I’ll try to post some things by other moms too, whose books I’ve read or am reading, and who capture the essence of motherhood so much better than I can.

If you’ve read any good books or seen a great quote on parenting, please share it in the comment section below. Or if you have any other thoughts you want to share on parenting, I’d love to hear from you.

A Hamster in Heaven

My daughter’s eighth birthday was approaching and I had the perfect idea for a gift. A hamster. I suggested it to my husband and he wasn’t so sure. “The kids are so young,” he pointed out. “What will they do when it dies?”

“That’s part of life,” I answered. “They have to learn about it sometime.” That might sound calloused, but I didn’t mean it that way. I just remembered that some of the deepest things I learned about life and love were intertwined with loss or death. Maybe because it’s times like those that we realize how deep love really is … and how enduring.

We got the hamster. Jessica named him Buttercup because at first she thought it was a girl. (Well, at first it was a girl but that’s another story.) Her birthday gift was a winner and it took a few days for her brain to wrap around the fact that she had a little pet to care for and love.

Buttercup became a part of our family. His bright, inquisitive nature fit in just perfectly. He was very friendly for a hamster and the kids had a lot of fun with him.

You probably noticed I’m writing in past tense referring to the little critter. Buttercup died last night. You know how it is when you know something is bound to happen eventually yet you assume it never will? Yeah, me too.

Jessica was doing homework in my room while I was in their room at the computer. While I was editing, I heard a strange recurring noise somewhere behind me. Finally I tuned into it and realized it was coming from the hamster’s cage. I peeked inside his little sleeping spot and he was breathing hard, labored. His body was unresponsive when I picked him up.

I called Jessica and she cried as she asked me if we could take him to a vet. I knew there was no hope for such a little thing so obviously taking his last breaths, but I wrapped him in a warm cloth and tried giving him water and then ground-up pellet-porridge with an eye dropper. I held him until he stopped breathing less than half an hour later.

Then I held Jessica as she said goodbye to her little pet. I told her about a hamster I had when I was 12, and that I cried when it died. She asked what we should do with the body and I told her we could bury him in the backyard. Then she asked if she could sleep with me, and I said sure.

We prayed for the night and Jessica fell asleep quickly, waking up from her half-asleep state to say something about Buttercup with angels and happy in Heaven. I told her I’m sure he is.

Life on earth. Followed by death. That part of existence we feel will never come and often live as if it won’t, yet still it does. Death. Another beginning, yet so often seen as the final act. The end.

But nothing truly loved is forever lost. And though we cannot see it, the end is the beginning.