Hope for a Better World

Back when I was 16 or so, I remember sitting in a lesson at church that brought me to tears. I don't remember the topic of the lesson, but I remember feeling overwhelmed with how bad the world was at the time (around 1994-ish) and how much worse it was bound to become by the time I was a mother. And, I decided right then and there that it just wouldn't be worth it to bring kids into such a terrible place. (Yeah, I admit I might have been a bit on the emotional/dramatic side as a teenager. I was only slightly offended when an adult leader once told me I needed to lighten up. Actually, now that I think of it, I heard that more than once.)

It was while Marc and I were cleaning up from our lunch together on Monday afternoon that Marc saw the news about the explosions in Boston. As we saw and heard more details coming in, we immediately understood the gravity of the situation and I felt my heart sink and my head spin. Sadness and confusion. Ben was at preschool and Hugh was hanging out with my parents, so I had a quiet house. I sat and rocked my baby Lucy. I held her close and then laid her gently down for her afternoon nap. She was still sleeping when I had to pick Ben up from school, so I had some more quiet time in the car. (Luckily, Marc was able to work close by to be near her when she awoke.)

It was in the car that the tears came flowing. The sadness and confusion had built up and I needed some release. I consider myself a runner. I've run two marathons, I'm signed up to run a half marathon coming up soon, and I felt like this tragedy had affected and hurt my family. Not just my running family, but people that are part of this great big human family.

I was actually a little surprised myself by how easy the tears came and I paused long enough to consider myself a little crazy for being so emotional about it all. I didn't know anyone that was there (except that later on, I realized that I did - my friend Amy). But, this is exactly the kind of stuff that my teenage fears warned me of.

Stuff like this just feels extra painful when you consider that there are those among us who have their hearts and minds in such a skewed place to think it okay to inflict such awful pain and terror on their own family, albeit "just" human family.

For completely unrelated reasons, not too long ago I found myself drawn to looking more closely at moments in the scriptures when the Lord weeps. There were three that affected me in powerful ways for different reasons. There's the story of Lazarus, which is where we find the oft-quoted shortest verse in scripture: Jesus wept. There's the story of the Resurrected Christ blessing the children among the Nephites and weeping because His joy was full. And, then the story of the Lord showing Enoch in vision the world we live in today. That's the story that has been on my mind this week.

In all of my sadness and confusion, trying to make sense of the senseless, there is one truth that keeps resonating through my veins. God has wept at the hatred and the evil among His own children and surely He is weeping still. And, if He is weeping (which I believe He is), then that means He still cares, He is still aware, and He still has ultimate power to heal and to make things right again. And, as long as there is a God in heaven like that, then there is reason for me to have hope in a better world, even if that is a world to come.

Here I am, nearly 20 years later, raising three children in this much scarier world. I'm conquering my own fears. I'm doing everything I can to keep my kids safe and teach them to be kind. And, teaching them the Source of my hope, because maybe there will come a day when they are sitting in a church class a few years down the road and will be overcome with how scary the world is they live in... and maybe, just maybe, they won't be afraid.

Transitions

Nap time around here has it's usual routine that goes almost exactly the same every single day. We put the boys in their cribs, sing a calming song, tell them it's time to sleep, and close the door behind us. Then Marc and I sit in the quiet living room and talk briefly about our plans for the rest of the day while we listen to the boys in the background giggling and babbling and laughing some more. There are times when we can't help but laugh just at the sound of their squeals of delight, and wish so much we could sneak a peek of what exactly is going on in there. Eventually they settle down and fall asleep, but sometimes that can take up to an hour.

Well, this past Thursday I was enjoying listening to their joyful noises and wondering at what point I should go in to remind them it was time to sleep, when all of a sudden I hear a frantic scream from Ben that clearly required an urgent response. I rushed into their dark room to see the shadow of Ben's body hanging from the front of the crib, so I flipped the light on to see that he was hanging upside down on the outside of the crib, his legs wrapped in and around the crib slats with his ankles interlocked around the top bar, and his hands gripping the slats near the bottom, hanging on for dear life.

I'm still not sure if he purposely wrapped his feet the way he did to keep himself from falling or if that was done by accident. Either way it scared me good, while at the same time kind of made me want to laugh in disbelief. The urge to laugh only increased as I was carefully getting Ben untwisted from the crib slats, when I looked down to my side to see Hugh's concerned expression and realizing that he had climbed out of his crib successfully at some point before this emergency happened. (The sides on Hugh's crib are slightly lower and a bit easier to climb out of, but still came as a shock that he'd attempted and succeeded.)

Okay, so with the next baby on the way we had already been talking and thinking about the next transitions and sleeping arrangements for the boys, but I was clearly expecting to be able to make those decisions calmly and according to our time line rather than being forced into a decision and a situation I wasn't quite ready for.

And, it made me think - "is this something, as a parent, I should just get used to now?" - because I get the feeling that things like growing up and making transitions through stages in life are most likely going to happen much differently and much more chaotically than the way my OCD-perfectionistic-leaning-little-head would like them to go. And, really, I guess that's okay... I just need to prep myself better to expect that to be the case.

So, we spent part of our Saturday afternoon looking at big boy beds and trundle beds and bunk beds and got lots of information, without any final decisions yet. I think eventually we'll probably do the bunk bed thing, but I look at my little Hugh (who just turned 22 months yesterday) and find it so hard to imagine putting my little baby in a big boy bed already, not to mention the idea of putting Ben on the top of a bunk bed at this point. So, bunk beds eventually, but not quite yet! Even as I write this I can't keep my head from shaking in disbelief.

I'm finding these kinds of transitions to be hard to face head on. I kind of want to just pretend like their attempts to escape their cribs was just a fluke thing and they will be fine in their cribs for another few months until I decide they aren't my babies anymore and they're ready to move up, goshdarnit!

But I know I need to let them take the lead and show me when they're ready for change and opportunities to grow. I don't want to limit them or hold them back, even with something as insignificant as a bed. It's my job to provide a safe environment and a soft place to land as they make those changes and start to grow up. I just can't believe there are moments of growing up that seem to happen overnight. And, really, I get the feeling this is nothing compared to what's to come! Heaven, help me!

Today I slowed down

But, as I sit here reflecting on the day's highlights, I'm realizing it still wasn't enough.

The day started overcast and very dreary, as it has been for the last week. Time spent outside in this past week has been nearly non-existent, which for two active toddlers is its own form of torture, which also translates into its own form of torture for Mom. Am I right?

Fortune was on my side this afternoon, though, when the clouds cleared and sunlight streamed through our windows, begging us to come out and play. And, that we did as soon as the boys were up from their naps.

As I was getting the boys strapped into the stroller, I noticed a tiny, red ladybug on the siding of our house. I think it was the boys' first time with a ladybug, so I carefully picked her up and let her crawl on my hand, letting the boys watch its delicate movements. Then as I reached toward Ben, he willingly held out his pointed finger to get to know the little ladybug himself. He was so careful and gentle, allowing the ladybug to explore both sides of his hand. Hugh was a little more hesitant, but still curious enough to hold out his hand and have a turn.

Before taking off to the playground, I carefully placed the ladybug on a little flower plant by our front gate and felt so grateful for such a small moment of discovery and wonder that I was able to have with my two boys. So, see, there's my proof I did slow down today.

It was after spending a good glorious hour at the park, sliding down slides and swinging on swings and climbing up slides, that we came home and I went into serious dinner-prep mode. I was so singly focused on that one task that the earnest pleadings from Ben to understand his needs and fulfill his wants went grossly unheard.

I paused a couple of times to peer down at him, hoping it would all of a sudden became very clear what it was that he wanted, but I know I gave up much too easily and was much too hurried in my own task to understand what he was trying to communicate. I offered all of what I thought were the obvious options - crackers, water, Fireman Sam, cottage cheese - but each offer was met with a sharp shake of the head and a clear "eh", which in Ben language means a very emphatic "no!"

I'm mostly ashamed to admit that at one point I briefly lost my patience and responded with "I don't know what you want" in an exasperated tone of voice that even at his young age he felt hurt by and tears immediately welled up in his eyes.

That was enough to snap me out of my robot-like, dinner-prep mode. I knelt down in front of my sweet and sensitive little boy and took his face in my hands and told him I was sorry. I still didn't know what it was that he wanted, but I knew a little lollipop we got from Aunt Caryn would heal his wounds. And, it pretty much did.

A little bit later I was at the kitchen sink, washing my hands and Ben came up to me, with his lollipop stick cleaned off in record time, softly patted my little baby bump with both hands and looked up at me with his big blue eyes and said, "Mama." Right away I asked if he wanted some water and when he smiles and does his sweet little giggle that means "yes!" So, I got him a cup of water and almost didn't pause long enough to recognize the beauty of that little moment. Six months ago I would have begged for him to even say "mama", let alone have him approach me and call me by name with "Mama".

Today was a good reminder for this Mama that many of life's most precious moments are so small and so simple that if I don't slow down to recognize and capture them, they'll pass me by without any idea of what I'm missing out on.