By all predictions, it shouldn’t have been what it was.
My hyper-vigilant, perfectly trained, parent-perfectionist-worrier-warrior radar had already assessed it.
This day was meant to be B-A-D!
The facts of the case were as follows: an over-tired mum, with a sore throat, and an aching back that needed to take a one-week vacation on the physio’s table; a husband who was in the flow and throes of mission week at college, which meant long hours and lots of wonderful but emotionally intense learning to carry around and process; and finally, and most decisively… three overly-active, overly-excited young kids cooped up in the house due to the rain.
As I said, the weather report was BAAAD!
As I am coming to learn, thankfully, my zealous internal radar is not always an accurate predictor of that thing known as reality. And may I hazard, for those of you out there who share my somewhat faulty internal wiring, the case may be the same for you too.
The day, thanks be to God, went much differently to anticipated.
The villain weather, in my mind the smirking assassin to our peace and stability, actually meant we all had to stay put and cosy inside. Which in turn led to a string of such pleasant events as reading snuggled side by side in bed, dancing to MY MUSIC in the kitchen and living room while we tidied up, and even conversing across a range of topics, including brushing up against the edges of theological discussion.
‘What’s she singing about mamma,’ E asked of the dulcet acoustic melodies of Sandra Mccracken.
‘Well, God’s love, I guess,’ I answered. ‘And how, no matter what, even if we go through hard and scary stuff, he’s always our rock.’
E considered this for a moment. ‘So, whether we are good, or bad, he’s always there.’
I paused a moment at the sink. ‘Yes, that’s it, pretty much.’
And what were the factors that changed my forecast so dramatically?
Well, certainly the three hour long sleep clocked in by third child, Baby J, made the load lighter. And sometimes, of course, for whatever reason, things align this way, and others they don’t.
But I think still it was something more than this. In the absence of any vestige of control I might have liked to assume, I decided to let go, or, as my good friend H once said, when I suggested my nerves were frayed: just let them dangle.
And I did. And rather than attempting to be that capital M ‘Mum’ I see in my head, the one who gets it all right (or doesn’t), I decided to be just me for a change. A little crazy, a lot messy, a little inefficient, but the only mum my kids have. The one who loves them, in the particularity given to her, and to them, and to the strange mix of us all altogether.
And in doing so, in letting go, I discovered this:
Letting go of the vice grip we have on life let’s light in,
To filter through in a myriad of warm and unexpected ways,
All called GRACE