Training Wheels

*written in Aug, 2013*

A few weeks ago as I was folding clothes in the laundry room Andre bolted through the back door,

“Mom, hurry~ you’ve got to see this, quick!!”

I asked him for more details as to what was going on… I mean do I need to call Dakota out with his pellet gun? Should I bring a towel for a tourniquet? Or do I just need to get the camera? All of which would be totally normal for us on any given day. *sigh*

“No Mom, just come to the porch, fast~ Madelyn’s not a baby anymore!”

WHAT?? 

As I turned to look out the french doors, the look on my daughters glowing face said it all. Andre had decided that Madelyn, at the newest age of 6, was far to old for training wheels. So without hesitation, or permission, he disconnected the baby wheels and told Madelyn not to worry that he’d be there to help her balance. As it turned out she didn’t need the training wheels or Andre’s help… she pedaled off as if it was all she had ever known, much to Andre’s disappointment!! And that was that. She had officially crossed over to the other side. No longer a baby~ now officially a bike rider on a big girl bike.

We celebrated as anyone would expect~ pictures and video’s, calling extended family to announce the occasion, giggles over the new found freedom. But in the midst of the cheers and pomp and circumstance, I glanced over to the corner of the deck and noticed the discarded training wheels pushed off into the background, never to be thought of again. A part of me ached.

I gathered the seemingly unnecessary training wheels with their coordinating nuts and bolts, carried them inside and placed them carefully on my entertainment center~ though the kids no longer saw value there, I did. For me they are a simple reminder, encouragement for the days when I feel as if I’m losing my way as their Mother. The truth is that all of my children (from ages 6-16) still need the training wheels of discipline, guidance, boundaries, and support…they just look different for each of them. It’s one of the trickiest parts I’ve found in parenting; knowing how to guide my children through the various stages of development when they are all so very different and spaced out in ages. Not to mention trying to do it all at once and alone. Often it resembles a juggling act for "the greatest show on earth"... Barnum and Bailey has nothin' on us!

*written Feb 2015*

Since that day almost two years ago, these training wheels still sit in a wire basket in my living room. As I’ve reminisced the many miles these wheels have traveled, I’ve laughed myself silly and I’ve cried the kind of tears that only a Mother would know. These training wheels have served my 4 children well over the years but their value to me recently has been far greater than what can possibly be measured in miles on a bike.

When parenting feels overwhelming, that would be often, and I'm struggling to keep things in perspective I think about the "training wheels": guidance for the tricky terrain of life, support for the unexpected, balance for the high’s and low’s, confidence for the lack of experience, and direction towards the One who I pray they will follow!
If I get anything right, let it be those things!

As parents we know that all too soon our children will be independently steering the handlebars through their own journey~ It is my constant prayer that the training wheels of their childhood will serve them well and that God's grace will cover what I'm sure to miss!

A million little pieces

I was washing my face, brushing my teeth and doing the general night-time routine before I collapsed into bed. I was VERY DONE with this particular day and was no longer interested in mothering, refereeing, cleaning, or being upright for that matter; I needed sleep in a bad way! As is often the case, my shadow (aka Madelyn) was in the bathroom with me and I remember thinking she was not her normal self; quieter than usual. Normally there are rapid fire questions ranging anywhere from “Where is God really?” to “Why do you put your toothbrush there?” Not this night, she hadn’t said much until I turned off the light and attempted to usher her to HER OWN bed (lets just say her new horse sheets & quilt set that I recently bought hadn’t yielded the results I was hoping for! grrr).

Madelyn: “Mom, I just feel like I’m gunna cry and I don’t know why”

Me: “Cry? Did something happen?”

Madelyn: “I don’t know. I feel like my crying-ness is coming up inside of me and I don’t know why”

Her bottom lip was quivering, her voice cracking.

Immediately I put my ‘I’m done mothering today’ plans on hold, realizing there was an important moment that needed my attention. (Note to new Moms: these moments always happen when your too tired, had other plans, are depleted of energy and patience, and/or its very much past bedtime. Only then.)

I was so proud of her words that were so well stated for a just turned 6 year old. And yet I was concerned about what was instigating this “crying-ness” that was coming up inside of her **oh be still my beating heart!**

I brought Madelyn up into my bed (again, NOT what I had planned for the evening; wishing I had not spent the money on horse sheets after all) and held her tight.

Real tight. Tight enough to be sure that if she needed to cry, I’d catch every tear.

I ran through the list of things that were potentially at the root of this. She denied every one of my suggestions. She wasn’t particularly missing her Papi (Dad), her brother’s hadn’t said anything that had hurt her feelings, she wasn’t getting nervous about school (yet…); nothing.

So we just snuggled-it-out together. Wrapped up like a burrito in my arms, safe from whatever was burdening her…suddenly she was snoring and all was well again in her soul.

 

As I laid there, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, I was reminded of a ceramic bird I had bought many years ago while going through my divorce. It spoke about those moments in life when we feel like the warning label on an aerosol bottle, “Caution: contents under pressure”. A time in my life when I could literally feel myself coming undone. Cracking in places I knew I couldn’t hold together. The good news was: I didn’t have to.

As this little girl of mine, now completely in the land of nod, grows older and things become more complicated, I know she will need much more than I can ever give her in these moments…

Lord, as Madelyn goes through life, as she begins to feel the pressures of this world and her ‘crying-ness feels like it’s coming up inside of her’  ~ Father, hold her tight. Real tight. Just as you have in my life, just as this bird so perfectly reminds us…

when we’re in a million little pieces,

it is you that holds us together!

 

~He [Jesus] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For by him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. Colossians 1:15-17~

You are here.

The other day I ventured out to run a new-to-me trail. I had a hankerin’ for something different and this trail wasn’t too far from my home. Having had a particularly rough few days I was looking forward to the time alone; a way to mentally/emotionally tie up and double knot some loose ends. I love new things, I love trails, and I love running alone; but new trails alone are tough for me. My desire for adventure gets me through but I struggle with anxiety, the fear of getting lost and not knowing where I am. Yes I have an iPhone, yes it has apps; it’s still not enough to quench the feeling of panic. But I don’t want to let fear paralyze me, so I run through it~ with a knife!

I found my way to the trail head, began my Garmin’s satellite searching process (I’m positive it helps to hold your arm up over your head, closer to the satellite world or the clouds or any kind of tower you can find!), I checked the map once more, paced the parking lot as I talked myself into/out-of this run and prayed that all snakes would suddenly fall dead. I felt like a line from Lady A, “…couldn’t wait to get going but wasn’t quite ready to leave…”~ but my watch beeped that E.T had successfully phoned home so I hit “start” and got on my way.

As I ran and played leap frog from rock to rock, double checking every root for a head, I was reminded of the joy to be found in a new trail! The sense of adventure and the fresh new sights; it’s hard to keep track of time in moments like that. For me being in the woods is like a quick check-out from life. After awhile though I began to feel that the tree markers where becoming increasingly scarce. As in, I couldn’t remember when I had last seen one. I’ve run many trails and most of the time you have a simple paint marking on a tree as a trail guide. This particular trail had labeled tree markers, of which I was no longer seeing [insert panic]. Quickly I found myself wishing I had listened to my “other self” back at the trail head, the one full of logic and zero desire for adventure. I decided to keep on in hopes that I’d get this figured out soon. very soon.

The path was narrow, the rocks were many, and the signs long gone. 

Truth be known, this was a reasonable depiction of my life as it currently stands; not completely lost but I certainly wouldn’t bet money on my exact location.

Ever worry that you need to be found? Some confidence that your even on the map?

For about 15-20 minutes I did an embarrassing amount of self-talk as I tried to remain calm and picture the map in my mind (not to self: bring the cotton-pickin’ map next time!). Most likely I wasn’t too far off but I was going to need something to show up reasonably soon in order to prevent a total freak out moment. Thankfully, about the time I was getting to the end of my own self-regulation resources, I began to see something up ahead that felt like water in a desert:

I stood there immediately aware of the divine moment. Do you see it?

Let me do a zoom in for ya’:

‘Yes child, You Are Here’

I hugged the sign for longer than most would consider appropriate. This was far more elaborate than anything I’d ever seen on a trail, but who’s complaining?!

‘YOU ARE HERE.

See that Jill? right HERE’ 

His fingerprint once again pressing my heart. A simple picture~ that which He often uses to feed my tender and hungry spirit.

As it turns out I had accidentally taken an accessory trail (incidentally NOT on the map) that put me on unmarked private property. who knew?

Nevertheless, the trail that day gave me a moment to literally run as my life figuratively feels… a narrow and rocky path that doesn’t appear well traveled, desperate for a sign.

We might feel directionless at times but we can be confident that He knows where we are. And we ARE on the map.

It was a precious reminder of what it’s like to be one of His children;

Always found.

 

 

 

“Momma I was wondering, do you think I could do those like you do?”

 

I’ve worked on this post what feels like a million times, and I’ve put it away just as many.

Words wouldn’t fit.

Apparently it’s one of those pictures that needs to speak for itself;

to be named and left alone.

And so I’ll just do that, almost. wink.

 

A picture that speaks a thousand (silent) words;

silent but never quiet to the deepest part of a Mother’s soul.

~Jill

One word for 2013.

I’m not sure what radio station it was or who was talking,

I can’t even tell you what day it was (details….);

but the concept was good and that part stuck with me.

Can you come up with one word that you would like to define your 2013 year?

 

I thought about it for awhile and struggled to find only one word.

I have personal goals, professional goals, parenting goals, running goals,

nutritional goals, laundry goals (yes you read that right!), etc.

Seriously, one word out of all that?

 

I began to look for a thread, something that was intertwining all areas of my life.

Many ideas came to mind but there was an issue with all of them;

I don’t know if I can always manufacture determination, focus, or driven.

And when it comes to the laundry situation, I just flat out wanna jump a cliff!

 

But eventually it came to me: Intentional

In every aspect of life I can choose to respond, to think it through, to make a good choice.

It requires living intentionally.

I can be intentional about my time management, my discipline strategy (or my need for one),

my miles/speed, and protein.

I can be intentional about sleep, the words that come out of my mouth (or shouldn’t),

and the scary situation in my laundry room.

Some days I may need to readjust the expectations, but that too can be an issue of living intentionally 

(because I stopped and realistically assessed the bigger picture!).

 

So there it is folks, my one word!

It gives me something to work towards and yet some flexibility

for this crazy schedule we keep around here.

Happy New Year, 2013…I think I’ll go ahead and give this concept a try…

For today when I pass by the laundry room, yes I’ll be intentional~

as I look the other way!

*wink*

 

Intentional. I think this word is going to work just fine for me…

Huge step.

 

Do you see it there, stamped in the sloppy muddy mess?

That’s right baby, footprints; her paws, my trail shoes.

I don’t know who was more excited but I was pretty stinkin’ pumped!

It’s been many weeks of short, slow walks and we’ve both been frustrated.

However today I tied up my trail shoes and went on a 5 minute (yes minute, not mile…grrr) run down my dirt road.

Piper was interested in speed work; I was simply focused on slow and stable foot placement.

Truthfully I’m dying to resume my regular 10+ mile runs….but for now this felt amazing!

Stress fractures, get thee behind me…..

 

Backpack treasures.

(written after the Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings in Newtown, Conn…just days before Christmas)

It’s the simple gifts from children that change us.

A tender expression. Love so pure. Uncomplicated and free.

Little pieces of themselves to take with us. A gift. An offering.

 

I love the hidden treasures found in my children’s backpacks.

Especially this one I discovered over the weekend in a rare quiet moment alone.

As the news from the TV played in the background,

I sat on the piano bench holding Andre’s backpack in one hand, this ornament in the other.

I traced my finger around the edges where his scissors had {im}perfectly carved out a heart.

I noticed each little detail of his work and wondered about that moment…

how his hand held the pencil as he wrote each letter, I love my family so much;

how he walked over to his teachers desk and stapled a loop so it could hang on our tree.

I imagined how he tucked it away in his backpack, anxious to bring it home.

A perfect backpack treasure.

 

Oh Father, please let there be treasures

just waiting to be discovered~

in those 20 little backpacks

still hanging on the classroom walls.

Tender expressions. Love so pure.

Simple handmade hearts that might bring a blanket of warmth in the midst of the cold dark nights.

In your timing, God speed…may those parents find one more gift.

Please Father, let it be…

 

As I prayed, the Mother-tears began their battle.

Tears that ache for my own four babies and tears that ache for theirs;  

the babies who sat in little chairs in a classroom on Friday morning.

 

I hung Andre’s paper ornament on our tree and knew this was getting too thick for me, I needed out.

So I walked out the door and headed up our mountain to my hiding place… my thin place.

 

The heavier the burden and mental noise, the longer the journey up the mountain.

So I had to keep pressing deep into the woods; searching for quiet and still,

and simple.

“Thin” didn’t come easy this time.

 

As I climbed the rocky trails and the reality began to sink in, my ugly {cry} won.

…a classroom full of Spiderman lunchboxes and Hello Kitty jackets

…name tags on wrapped Christmas gifts waiting under their trees

…the giggles of innocent children counting down the days

…the mounds of fresh dirt

Oh God, not this month. Not this close. Not ever!

 

I know this world is a cruel reality for so many children and it always breaks my heart;

I’m also no stranger to death, I’ve worked in its trenches for many years.

But this kind of violence? How do we prepare our innocent children for that? 

~And so there I sat, perfectly still, just waiting~

 

I love my family so much; it played through my mind, over and over again.

His words, his creativity, his heart.

Made by my child’s own two hands.

Pure and simple. Tender. Uncomplicated.

At eight years old, it’s everything Andre has to offer.

And at thirty-seven, it’s everything I need.

 

….oh God, be near and give them strength in Newtown.

Thank you for the precious gift of children,

and thank you for their backpack treasures!