The lack of control a mother has is breaking my heart a little bit right now. Emotions around here are thicker than usual as one kid didn’t get accepted to go somewhere, and here is just not where he wants to be. Another kid has lost the record of the whole school-year’s work in one class-a class she loves, and we have looked everywhere with no success. The third kid had to endure yet more losses in his chosen sport, and while these challenges seem small in the grand scheme of things, frankly, I’m feeling a little sad about it all. Sadder still that there is no magic wand I can wave to take the frustration away.
We’re getting through the days and everyone is functioning, it’s just that the edges are a little rough-the margins of our relationships seem compressed and the house feels claustrophobic. I’m trying to respond by maintaining or improving my grasp on the things I can control like making sure we have dinner and daily devotions of prayer and scripture study and that I’m home for the comings and goings. These things do make a difference in the spirit of the home, and remind me that the work of motherhood actually does carve out of the chaos of life a safe, embracing place for people to be when the world is bearing down.
But I still just want all the problems solved. Right now, please.
I have to fight hard to remember that these are battles each one must win for their own self and even if I had the power to stop the troubles, would it be wise to do so? I might feel like a better mother, one who is in control, whose home runs so perfectly that nothing like this would ever happen, but how selfish of me to want the credit and to rob them of the very experiences that will achieve what is supposedly my greatest goal-for each one to grow to their best and most complete self.
And so I watch.
And try to help (when I’m invited, which is not always).
And worry.
And wait.
Ah yes, the hard part.
My Red Door Days 