the life and times of a mom-not-really

I have been a fake mom for almost 4 months now, and baby have I learned some things from this strange life I like to refer to as “fake mommery”.  Catchy, I know.  What have I learned, you wonder?  Wonder no longer.  

I have learned that excluding motor skills, ability to add/subtract/whatever higher education I have obtained, and use of advanced deductive reasoning skills, I am very much like a 4 year old.

Ella has been slowly discovering the stark reality of the human condition.  Bradford made the mistake of talking about a choking incident of his past life, during which one of the highlights included his tongue turning a delicate shade of blue.  Guess who started obsessing about choking?

She asked what it meant, the whole blue tongue thing.  Honesty is the best policy, say I, so I told her. Lack of oxygen.  And then, wanting to be thorough, I elaborated.  When you can’t breathe or don’t have enough oxygen, things turn blue-like your fingernails would turn blue if you were low on oxygen.  Guess who asked me the next day if her fingernails looked blue?

When she asked what we would do if she choked, I obviously described the heimlich maneuver and did my best to assure her that someone would be there for her if she started choking.  She made the point that we could take her to the hospital if she choked.  I then felt it was my duty to tell her that you can’t wait too long to do something about choking, because a person can only go so long without breathing before they, what’s the word? Oh, right. Die.  We went on to discuss death and how death is scary, but Jesus is right with you all along, and if we stay close to Him, it will be so much better than the best thing you can imagine.  Heaven is the best!  
Her conclusion? “I want to die so I don’t choke”.  

MMMMkkkk.  Commence attempt to convince her life is worth living, even with the danger of choking looming in the cloud of unknowing we call the future.  I'm not sure she was entirely convinced, but we moved on as best we could with the new knowledge of chewing hazards.  

Fast forward a few weeks.  Bradford gets a wicked bad splinter.  There are mass amounts of screaming and tears, not so much at the pain that the splinter was causing him, but at the the memory of a horrible splinter of yore that caused much pain for him at the removal.  The fear of pain was what caused his tears. Once I got the little blighter out, there was an instantaneous cease of tears, a “thank you so much”, and, in true boy style, right back to the outdoors where life was freer in the sunshine and splinter strewn world.

Ella began crying while she watched me perform an epic operation on this splinter (this thing was wicked bad) because of Bradford’s impressive display of tears and moans.  I had her leave the room, but she was hardly comforted.  I held her afterward and she was not content until I described in detail what exactly a splinter is, and what form of inhuman torture was I inflicting upon Bradford to produce such cries.   I pointed out how fine Bradford was now.  How he literally was back outside having a grand ol' time less than one minute after I got the splinter out.  
Her conclusion?  “I hope I die so I don’t have a splinter”.  

Commence second attempt to explain that death is not preferable to the very fleeting pain of a splinter.  I was not altogether successful, because it is hard for me to defend life on earth over life in heaven.  I mean on one side I’m telling her how great Heaven is, because she is also a tad fixated on death.  And then I am trying to convince her that life is worth living, even with choking and splinters galore. What's a fake mom to do?

It is in these moments that God has shown me myself so much.  The fear of pain, of suffering, of living the daily trials that life brings has had me making dramatic claims of wanting to die for Jesus.  To be a martyr.  To make a hasty exit from this life of turmoil to the life of glory and eternal Joy.  To avoid it all-the pain, the heartache, the suffering.  Wouldn’t that be ideal?  One, all acquitting act of self-sacrifice for Christ, and I am home free.  

But, more than anything, I want God’s will.  And I really do agree with what I am telling Ella.  Life is worth living with all its’ pain and sorrows. 

He put us here, and is keeping us here, for our own good, and for His glory.  Every suffering and each moment of sorrow are never for naught.  They are all a part of His design to shape us into images of Christ.  To bring us closer to Himself, make us more aware of our poverty and need of Him, and draw us nearer to Heaven.  

The Divine Artist is at work, and knows what He is about.  He can see the entire painting.  In my suffering I am experiencing only one brushstroke of the masterpiece that will be my life story.  For it will be painted by Love, with Love, for Love.  And when I see the whole painting one day, I’ll see those moments that I dreaded and wanted to run away from, to escape into Heaven like Ella wants to escape choking and splinters.  I’ll see them and I’ll know what they did.  Not just for me, but for others.  For our paintings all go together.  They all compliment and can serve to bring out the beauty in others, if we let the Master Painter have free reign.  If  we stop trying to grab the brush from His ever-perfect, ever-brilliant, ever-Merciful, ever-Faithful, ever-Loving hand. 

I am 4 years old, and 9 years old for that matter, in many ways.  I need to be held and told over and over again that my fingernails are not blue. I cry and make a big commotion over fear of pain and suffering and rob myself of the joy of the present. I forget to look at Jesus and begin to sink in the waters of life. He is teaching me through watching these little souls and having to do my best to teach them about life and love in those moments of fear and questions, to trust Him. To let go and fall into His ever-present arms.

Because He is with us always, even until the end of time.  I need to be reminded that life is so beautiful.  Jesus made it thus. 

He made suffering and the punishment of our sinfulness something that could not just add to, but enhance and create new and unimagined beauty in our paintings.  Colors that are beyond comprehension, moments that we could never have dreamed possible, because only God is that Creative and generous and Good.  

The Blessed Mother at the foot of the Cross always reminds me of this.  My guess is she didn’t think in the moment her Son was placed in her arms at the foot of the Cross after it was finished that God would transform it into infinite Joy for all humanity.  But she trusted, in the midst of all that pain.  She still had hope.  Hope that God’s design is better and more beautiful than any of ours.  And that He will use the most hideous and repulsive moments to perform the most astounding works of art ever known to man. Just as He does every year at Spring. Out of the death of winter He draws unanticipated life. Colors I could never have imagined, trees that are completely transformed from stark, bare branches into the most delicate, blushing pinks, purple so vibrant it seems alive, and bushes that seek to imitate the sunshine in their yellowy cheer.

The first day of Spring officially sprung yesterday!! There is no turning back.  Death is swallowed up in victory once again.  It's Thursday! TGIT!!!! Go out and kiss a flower.  

p.s. I knew I was at the right job on the first day of spring when Ella and I were walking home from the bus stop and we both kissed and hugged the air.  We were welcoming Spring in true kindred 4 year old spirit fashion.  Have a very very happy Thursday, a happy Spring, and a happy rest of Lent.  Only 16 days until Easter Sunday!!!!