Scrambled Heart, Part 1

I have spent countless days in hospitals: Someone checks you in, you fill out papers, they take copies, you wait. Someone else rolls your son in a wheelchair down the wide corridor, past the grand piano where elderly volunteers play “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” or “Five Foot Two” or “Amazing Grace,” up the elevator to a private room on the sixth floor where you’ve been before. You follow behind, making small talk and smiling, packing the necessary equipment – cell phone, laptop and an unread book – you will need to stay occupied while you wait. And wait. You wait for blood tests and x-rays and doctor visits while you play with your cell phone downloading worthless ring tones and pictures of purple mountains you will never look at again. You watch the black shadows move down the concrete walls on the buildings outside the window. You rub your son’s palm with your index finger, the way you did when he was a baby. You try to read, but your eyes blur. You fill up the room with balloons from the gift shop, because no one even knows that your son is in the hospital, again, and no one sends balloons or stops by or calls. So you fill in the space.

To my daughter when she is a mother

Dear Daughter,

At the time I am writing this, you are a still a teen yourself. When you finally read it, you may be a mother with a teen of your own. It will be like a picture from your past that will bring perspective for that time.

Have you felt the joy and the fear of nurturing a new life? Your new life awed me. Still, your innocence scared me; I was afraid I would mess you up.

Despite my fears, you learned to stand, supported by my nurturing. Eventually you began to walk, and so did I. We both grew confident—me in teaching, you in learning. I feared again when you started to run, until I saw that you were following my lead. Each new experience has taught us together in this way.

Now, you are a teen. Everyone says it will all be different. It is, and it should be, but not in a negative way, as they imply.

The difference I sensed is that you’re in the midst of growing up to be responsible. It is just a short time—probably before you or I are even ready—until you leave our home. When Dad and I talked to you about this, I hoped it sounded like we were expressing our trust in you.

I was really relinquishing my control.

You see, handing you responsibility was the stressor point that caused me to falter as a mother. When it didn’t feel like you had received the assignment or knowledge that I was giving, I would become frustrated, anxious, and impatient. I may have been delegating responsibility to you, but I was not trusting that you had received it. Many times I would ask myself, “Have I fully communicated so that she will succeed in this task?”

Then I finally understood that the vital communication tool I use myself is one that I have also taught you to use. If God can communicate your needs to me, can He not communicate them to you?

After that conversation together, it was time to rearrange the spaces in our home, literally and figuratively. My desk has always been at the center of wherever you and your siblings spent the most time. At first that was your playroom. Then it became your learning center with projects and stories. It moved on to be your homework zone. Now, my desk is in a separate room. You will still need me close, but further away so you may practice on your own without my constant supervision.

Remember when I taught you to make pancakes? We did it together a few times. Then I left the kitchen so you could work without my little corrections. You still came to me when you had questions about how hot to heat the griddle or how much batter to use. Being a teenager will be like that. As you use your own initiative to grow, I know you will still come to me, and we will connect through conversation.

I love how you have rearranged, cleaned and organized your room, too. You made it your own because the desire to do so was yours. You also shared your feelings that you have found a way to be more aware of God’s help and encouragement. You seem enlivened by the endeavor to create your present and your future on what you are learning in your heart. I know you are feeling your own sense of responsibility, and you are listening. The conversion of your room is only the symbolic evidence of a greater change in you.

Recognizing this in you brings a greater change in me. Now, I am learning to trust God, that He will guide you, too, as He has guided me to see what changes were necessary. Thank you for being patient with me while I learned the trust part of parenting.

Teresa Hirst lives in Minnesota with her husband and three children. In addition to loving her family with good food and conversation, she likes reading, writing, and Finding What Inspires at http://www.tjhirst.com, where you can connect with her.

To the Mom Who’s Not Perfect

Because I’m someone who holds myself to a high standard, I understand how you feel. Because I’ve failed again and again at important Mom-things, I get you. Because I’ve made being a Great Mom my highest priority and fallen short more days than not, I feel for you. And so I’m writing us both this letter.

A turning point in the Unbearable Guilt Battle happened when I’d been a mom for about two years. My oldest (poor, poor guinea pig that she is) had dumped a bottle of shampoo into the tub, and I’d screamed at her. Again. I was feeling sick with guilt and failure and self-hatred. And I wished SO MUCH that these perfect kids, who I loved more than anything, could have a better mom than the one they’d ended up with. As I prayed for forgiveness and direction about it, an Answer came.

The Answer was: “I didn’t plan for Emma and Gabe (and the rest of them waiting up here) to have a Perfect Mom. I didn’t expect it or want it that way. I wanted them to learn against your imperfection. They will not be wrecked because you make these mistakes.”

Oh my gosh. The relief that washed over me, as the truth of that statement sank into my heart, is indescribable. All of sudden I could see that God knew that I couldn’t do this perfectly MY FIRST TIME and He’d planned for it. He’d planned that my children would learn and grow BECAUSE of my failings and flaws, as well as because of my successes and strengths.

There have been many other incidents of failure and the guilt that accompanies it. I’ve continue to gain more offerings of comfort and wisdom during those times. I’ve learned from the scriptures that just as the man who was blind since birth wasn’t at fault, neither was I at fault because I couldn’t see how to parent perfectly. His failings were given him, so “that the works of God should be made manifest” (John 9:3); might my failings have a similar purpose? I’ve also had wise counsel instructing me that as my children watch me pick myself up, and try again, with hope and determination, they would learn more from those actions, than if I hadn’t had faults at all.

Oh please let it be true.

I know my kids will have their moments (years?) when they are frustrated with their mom. I know they will have habits that they hate, because of what they’ve learned from me. But I know that I can look them in the eye and with great love tell them: “There wasn’t a day that went by, as I raised you, that I didn’t plead to God to be better than I was. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t pray for help in being the mother you deserve.” I will be able to bear my witness that He answered that prayer.

I am the mother that God wanted them to have.

Jessica Romney lives in Spokane, Washington with her 4 kids and perfect husband. She loves to exercise, cook, blog, read, and be with friends. You can find her at Everyday Romneys.