It came out of nowhere. My day started as usual. Sat down to eat at noon. Within a 10-minute span, I was mute with pain and headed up to my bed. Feeling poorly doesn't usually send me to bed. I'm a homeschooling, middle-aged mom; nothing much is accomplished if I sit down just because I'm weary or don't feel so well. But this wasn't your typical "feeling poorly."
By 1:30, I knew I had fever. It lasted until around 8:00 that night. The body aches kept me on the bed. It hurt too much to even read the paper.
My daughter was at classes away from home. My oldest son kept the younger ones quiet. I rested.
4:00 brought Dad home. He checked on me, which gave the younger boys the opportunity to come into the sick ward, as well. And then, I began to see...
The younger two kept coming to the bed, checking on Momma. "How ya doin', Mom? Are you feelin' better?"
"I don't want to go to AWANA tonight. I want to stay home with you. I want to help you."
No hugs for the contaminated face of Mom could be extended, so concerned arms wrapped my knees and feet. The blankets that covered my legs got the offered kisses.
Mom was down for the count. And Mom was captive.
There was no strength to be schooling, no strength to be preparing the group for Wednesday night church, no strength to prepare dinner. There was nothing I thought I should be running to do. And so I laid there. And received.
I had more one-on-one time with all of my kids than I've had in way too long of a time. We talked so much, about so many things. All of us. My 2nd-grader made me a get-well card that brought tears. Jake asked for my Christmas wishes and wrote them all down. My daughter came home after church and talked for a long time about her day and about things that were on her mind. My oldest son kept coming in to give kisses from his fingers. All of us sat. Still. And talked and talked and talked. About nothing but about everything that came to mind.
I realized the existence of a desert inside; one I'd allowed to grow as my busyness pushed the fertile ground out. I was forced to be still... and be available.
I'm reading a book right now that has an interesting line, something like: "He was working so hard at being good that he forgot how to be kind." And I see me:
I've been working so hard at being MOM that I've forgotten to be momma. I've forgotten how to stop for long, extended periods of time. I think that all of my scheduled times of Bible reading, library-book reading, meal-fixing, laundry-doing, school-teaching ~ that all of this is ministering to my children in adequate ways. Laying on my bed reminded me that I need to slow down ~ way, way down ~ and be ready to stop and engage and listen, for longer times, all throughout my day. To connect, to truly minister to the tender hearts of my children.
To just be momma.
3 comments:
Ouch. I see a lot of myself in the "mom" portrait there. Not as much as I'd like in the "momma" one. That's a daily/hourly struggle for me -- putting aside my to-do list to be available. Thanks for the post.
What book is it that you found that line in? Sounds like one I might want/need to read.
Hey, Jennifer! The book is The Hawk and the Dove Trilogy, by Penelope Wilcock. It's Catholic in nature, stories about life in a monastery. Short chapters, but full of truth that consistently knocks the air out of me. I keep writing down quotes from the book so I can chew on them over and over. I'm only into the 2nd part of the trilogy, but I'd highly recommend the book at this point.
Great post, Karlyn. I am feeling the same pull of slowing down and listening more. Listen intently. Look them in the eyes. Touch them. Every single day. Hard for me to remember, but so important! Thanks again.
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