We got home Saturday around 6:30pm, feeling very reminiscent of the first day we brought Tyce home. After all the heightened attention to him, to lay him comfortably in his rocker and work on menial tasks like unpacking is oddly difficult. Part of the way home, I felt dangerously close to a panic attack–a sensation I’ve never encountered before and honestly, thought I never would. Looking back, I was just very tired. I worried aloud that Tyce would always require high-maintenance care, a big departure from my other two robust kiddos. I resented the idea that this pressure point would exist in my life on a daily basis, demanding a level of doting attention that I don’t typically parent in. Was Tyce a ticking time bomb? Was his beautiful, quick recovery merely a bait-and-switch, to dissolve some random day in a random, high-drama moment? Everyone wanted to act like Tyce’s saga had ended; am I the only one who knows it isn’t?
Frankly, I lost total control of my thoughts for a mere minute or so, and the sense of panic resulted. Slowly, it dissipated, but when we were finally in our front door, all I wanted to do was sit. Nick turned the thermostat back up to “occupied” levels but it took a while for the furnace to catch up, since it was so cold outside.
Mom brought the kids home later and normal started to ooze back into the room; their childish chatter released light. Some of my exhaustion and pressure dissolved. That night was a good night, Tyce sleeping very well (only waking at 2am and 7am to nurse), which allowed me the long phases of sleep I sorely needed.
I had been on the worship schedule for this Sunday, my first return back since Tyce’s birth. I knew all week that I needed to be there, even after Tyce’s surgery was scheduled. And again, when it sounded like we might not be released until Sunday or Monday, the loss of that morning was the first thought in my mind. So when we were home, and Nick was totally releasing in the idea that I go, I fed Tyce as late as I could (hopefully, I’d get home in time to avoid a bottle to his day) and followed my heart to WHO, to my people.
I knew there was something in me for that morning, for those people, something of the Lord that was needed. I can say that openly because I think that we, as we mature into our Father, will all begin to embrace the truth and conviction that we each carry something unique to us and important, something that we feel compelled to provide and release. HE is the birth place of real self-image. You see His vision of you and it brings you into movement. I needed to be there, and I was needed there. I felt the swelling heartbeat urgency of the Lord over that moment on Sunday–so many of us did, even during practice. The first thing Denver said when I got there was there’s something about this morning.
And there was. Jesus walked into that room in each of His own, swelled up in fire and cloud and gentleness as we laid our full awarenesses on Him, the center of our full attention. He is always our reward and that was beautiful.
Jesus, deeper we come.
And then, people reached out to us again. Chris and Amanda brought lunch from Fudds, and can I recommend their chicken taco salad? With guacamole, and a mix of their spicy and regular ranch dressings, k? Oh my. Fred and Lynnette (dear former employers at L.A. Cameras, but really, huge shapers of my life) brought brisket and smoked gouda mac-n-cheese, fruit and chocolate. Dad and Mom Helman came to eat with us, snuggle, and are always good company. Matt and Courtney brought chicken and rice soup for my refrigerator–the perfect thing for today’s Monday.
It’s a bumpy one, folks. My children need weaned from a voracious TV appetite–they’ve forgotten how to play without a show on in the background. Turning off the TV for today (and, I imagine, the next few days until we get the ship balanced) means they’re constantly whining and tormenting each other. They’ll improve, but it’s day one and they’ll ask for TV another hundred times today. Sigh.
Tyce is used to being the center of attention and hasn’t truly shared his parents for a while–and at the hospital, was perpetually held and comforted. But I have 3 children and he needs to learn to share (plus, frankly, I have other things to do as well). Currently he is crying and will continue to until I pick him up (which works, until I put him down again and the cycle merely resumes), or he goes to sleep. It makes for a stressful soundtrack, but otherwise he is doing quite well. Dax is potty-training (and doing quite well), but add that to the pile.
And the ice/salt scum is back on my foyer floor. I don’t know why that matters right now, but it does.
When someone asks me how I’m doing today, here’s the truth. This makes me laugh.
The trick is to ride above it all, and not become too invested in any one of these minor skirmishes. Yes, my children need a break from TV and will be annoying while they adjust. Yes, Aly is singing Let It Go at the top of her lungs every fifteen minutes–which is almost enough to make me turn on the TV just to change her channel. Hang in there, Joan.
Yes, Tyce is a little demanding and will have a rough few days until he acquires a better sense of our family culture. Yes, it is likely Dax will poop in his naptime diaper before I remember to put him on the potty. Yes, my floor will probably carry some level of snow scum all winter long. Yes, I’m still tired and a little afraid. Even a little resentful, honestly.
But He Still Is, and in the 30,000 Foot Perspective, this too is for me and will achieve its work, if I do not resist. So instead of giving up, becoming overwhelmed, or sinking beneath it all–even here, I say His Name.
Hope That Never Fails. Peace That Surpasses All Understanding. Father. Strong Tower.
The One Who Transforms Surrender Into Power.
My Entire Source, My Whole Foundation.
All of Him is Mine.
Right now, I have one very simple prayer. Jesus, please–just help me make it until naptime.
Today we do not despise the small beginnings. I do not feel sympathy for myself here—well OK, a little, but whatevs–but mostly, I feel anticipation. The fire has always been an ally to the faithful, a springboard into the higher, deeper places. Many times in my life, I hear the words of Giles Corey echo in my heart to my Father: More Weight!
I am pressed, but not crushed. Oh, that the richest wines pour from me right into His heart.