"There's Uncle Rigel's piano!" the two year old cheerfully exclaimed from the living room last night, and I nearly collapsed to the floor in sobs.
I was in the kitchen. Again. Cleaning up a meal. Again. After I'd made a meal. Again.
What do my children see when they think of me? They don't even know that I am a musician. They see others at the instrument more often than they see me there.
"Hey Silas, you can be the fire chief and I'll be the firefighter, and Annalyn can just be the one who stays home and makes supper."
And another piece of my heart broke. Is this what my sons see modelled, day in and day out? Is this what I am? Is this all I am?
I am so aware of my limitations, and right now my limitations are cutting away at my wrists and my heart. I sacrifice things I love for other things I love, but sometimes all it does is hurt.
I would never, ever, ever trade away the time I get with them. I have felt my heart get larger and stronger over the past year - enlarged with love for them: more room for each wildly unique soul. Drawing near and being intentionally present with them is my choice, and it is oh so rich. I love sitting close and drawing near, walking with them as they discover and learn and grow. The privilege of knowing them and watching their eyes open further is unparalleled. I know that we are choosing a rich life, a life of nurturing each other and showing up for each other, day after day.
But I'm tired and discouraged. The lies are blaring.
A friend was once explaining the concept of gifts to her son, and as he thought of things people in his family were good at, he declared "Mom, your gift is working!" And she died a little inside.
I am not looking for a lecture on how this is a short season, on how I will never regret this time. I can not even let myself begin to imagine life without them, because the pain of even imagining becomes stifling in a heartbeat.
Sometimes I wonder if I love too many things, and I'll always be hurting because I can never have enough of any of them at the same time. Sometimes I have more questions than answers. I don't even know what balance looks like, or if it exists.
But really, all I am saying in this moment of vulnerability and humility is that sometimes the sacrifice hurts.
I understand this cry. It is a cry to be seen for who we really are. A cry to be seen beyond the mundane activities of existence. For our full value to be acknowledged.
ReplyDeleteSometimes we get that from those around us. Sometimes we don't. But there is a Comforter who fills to overflowing. Soak it up.
Thank you, Susu. I love you.
DeleteYes, yes, you have distilled this feeling, this reality so well, so very well. But you have made it beautiful. It is a beautiful and wonderful thing to love so many things at once, isn't it?? It means you and I are full of LOVE, not regrets, not complaints, not resentments. We have more love than we have time or energy right now. But that is still a good vice, at the end of the day, isn't it?
ReplyDeleteMay I, like you, continue to find life within the pain of the struggle. You see it--as we struggle we build soul-muscles, mysteriously, somehow.
Thanks for the comraderie of humanness, of limitations, of "being a stranger on earth" for a time.
YES! We are full of love - what a wonderful, miraculous thing. It *is* a good vice. You are such a dear comrade on this journey, Friend.
Deleteyour honesty is so beautiful. You are such a wonderful mom. I am so pleased to know you, even the little I do.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Jenny! That means a lot coming from someone else 'in the trenches.'
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