Turn the Fire Up

You can always tell what someone is made of when they go through the fire. Some come out stronger. Some find that their resolve was as fragile as the chaff that they've become.

Some of the most painful and most difficult fires we encounter are those involving loved ones. Petty arguments, easy mistakes. They happen all the time. Their wake can easily leave us paralyzed in the decision of what to do next. Do we fall apart or do we fight? Do we run away or do we stay? Do we face tough conversations head on or do we build walls? It all depends on what you're made of. 

Today, the heat got turned up a little bit in my house. I woke up like a zombie- barely got a wink of sleep with a teething seven month old. The hubby wakes up peppy, peaceful and gorgeous. He makes breakfast and is ready to go to church. The kids are at the table. I put the baby in the high chair and  start feeding him in the midst shoving fistfulls of eggs in my mouth. No shower, wearing dirty clothes, no make up. Worn out, and functioning on little brain power. Here comes the heat. 

My husband  makes a comment about how he needs to lose weight- he has a very athletic build and desires to cut his body fat percentage down so his muscles can be more defined. I get that. My mind becomes overwhelmed with ways to respond- mostly centering around the "Are you freakin' serious dude?! You don't need to lose no weight!" Mind you- the brain's not all there yet. How do I respond? Pull up my shirt and motion to my recently stretched mom tummy, roll my eyes and pretend to flip the table over. Now, this is a gesture that my husband and I do often when we think something is ridiculous...but I forgot that the legs of the table need to be tightened. My pretend flip sent my husband's hot tea pouring all over his lap. Now the Fire is on. 

My brain sobers up real quick and I sheepishly cover my mouth with my hands, profusely  apologizing as he storms away to clean up the mess on his clothes. He mumbles something with the word "stupid" under his breath. I sit there with the kids who were watching the whole thing. I look at their stunned faces and say "Mommy didn't mean to do that. I'm so sorry." The oldest one tells me I'm in big trouble and that I need to clean up this mess.  As I rise to right this wrong, the thoughts come flooding in. More desperate than usual. I could tell I was burnt out. They sounded something like this: "I wish I could just run away...to the ocean...by myself...maybe forever. I need a vacation." 

I wipe up the tea and see my kids faces again. In steps the voice of shame. "I'm such a bad example. What the heck was I thinking?" ..."Wait, did he call me stupid? "Doesn't he know my love language is words of affirmation?" My hearts starts tearing apart. I cross the counter and in enters desperation. My eye catches a knife laying still on the laminate. I imagine where it could take me. I could never go there...right? I walk to the laundry room, close the door, and bury my head in the clothes on top a shelf. I let the tears soak the linens. It was time to bring it back to reality. 

I thought about how my husband was feeling. Anger came. We're his precious clothes more important than me? Can't he see how exhausted I am? Does he even care? Softening, I wonder: Have I broken his heart from my mistake? Does he have grace for me? I whispered a prayer to God "Lord, please help me to remedy this. I made a big mess." I was exhausted. I needed the courage to move forward. I hear my husband come out of the bedroom. Clothes changed, calm and beautiful. Carrying peace. In the waiting, you can feel the tension. In my fear of rejection, I quickly started to build walls around my heart. "He can just go to church without me. I'm not ready anyway..." Then I thought "No!" If I stay home, then there is no victory. There is no remedy. There are only walls. I can't have that."

 I thought I was doing nursery, so we agreed on driving separate cars. I felt more separation in my heart. We said our goodbyes, and in the embrace, the fire was over. The walls immediately crumbled to the ground. I said It was truly an accident. He said that he put himself in my shoes. He knew I was exhausted. We apologized for words spoken and deeds done. With a kiss, all was right in the world and I didn't want to leave his side. I later came home to dinner done, flowers on the table and kombucha in the fridge. That's a love worth fighting for. 

James 1:2-4 says:

"Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way."

The fire gave me a glimpse of my heart today. Yes, there are some things exposed that will one day become forgotten chaff. I will conquer them one counseling session with Jesus at a time. Until then, I make the resolution, that through every fire, I choose to be victorious. I will feel the heat. Through every moment of desperation, I must bring it back to the Love of the Father who enables me to stand. You can too. 

Love you,

-Mel

Does He Need Me?

Next week marks the 4 year anniversary of my eldest son's arrival at home from the NICU. In honor of that day, I wanted to share a previous post I wrote about the process.

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Sometimes I like to analyze things...maybe over analyze things. I'm sitting here scrubbing the dining room table contemplating whether or not I really need to nurse my 7 month old through the night. He acts like it's a matter of life and death... and I'm just trying to stay alive from sleep deprivation. He needs me too much...Then a stark contrast enters my mind. Does my 2 1/2 year old really need me at all? In his mind, it seems he doesn't. He would go all day in a soiled diaper, eating raisins and bananas, and is highly skilled at operating the water dispenser to fill his own Dixie cup, thank you very much. He knows what TV show he wants to watch, when we need to go to the park, or what t shirt he doesn't want to wear. The difference between he and his brother is a matter of time...time in the NICU.

I have been told the attachment issues my 7 month old is experiencing are present because he was taken away at birth to an entirely different hospital on the other side of town for ten days. It was at least 2 days before I even held him. Smelled his sweet hair...touched his skin. He was born with a keen awareness of my presence and the trauma of our separation.

Back track two and a half years to the birth of Nehemiah. Born at 24 weeks of gestation, he lived in the NICU for almost three months. The nurses were his mother... the beeping of machines lulled him to sleep. He never had the opportunity to really comprehend his need for mommy. It was about a week...maybe more when I saw him for the first time. The innocence and newness of his transition of life outside of the womb was only residue covered by layers of thick medical tape, as he was tucked safely in an incubator under bilirubin lights. It was probably a month or more before I even touched his sweet hand without gloves. To him, all that time, I could have been another nurse. But in my heart, in my being I knew better. He knew...I was mommy. I am mommy. I will always be.

Sometimes with his independence, I fear he will forget that he needs me...yes my job is to prepare him for the world and let him fly in time and it's coming fast...all to fast. Will he ever really know? For he doesn't know he was meant to be held in my arms... meant to be nursed at my breast. Lulled to sleep by my love songs.

Hmm...

Well, What I missed then is mine to give now. I have to teach him. I choose to give him all my love and more. I won't have him forever. So go ahead sweetie. Fill up your dixie cup and let the water fall on the floor, cause at the end of the day, I tuck you in bed with your big Brown blanket and Mickey mouse with the chewed up nose that you refuse to sleep without. I read you the same story over and over again. Sing you the same songs and I kiss you goodnight. I am irreplaceable and I am yours-
whether you like it or not. :-)

Yeah, these guys need me...no matter how much or little it seems. Truthfully, I'm pretty sure I need them a little more.