Put It Away, Kid

I had two little boys between the ages of four and six live with me for right around a year. I am not, by any means, anything now but an amateur idealist when it comes to being a good mom after that experience. A year of playing their referee, jungle gym, nurse, teacher and caretaker (caretaker came first… usually… I think) taught me a lot and yet taught me nothing. 

One thing I learned was giving them broad instructions didn’t work. I learned to say things like, “Boys, by the time Auntie comes in there your socks & underwear, shirts, pants, shorts, shoes, dinosaurs, etch-a-sketches, paint brushes, 8-balls, tools and books better be on the shelves where they belong.” 

As their forced angelic voices wafted down the hall, “O’taaaaaay, Auntie Tassie, we do dat,” I flew through a mental catalogue of everything they had. Inevitably, they’d come tromping into my kitchen with a toy and the innocent question, “What we do wit’ dis one, Auntie? You didn’ say anytin’ about dis one.”

I spent an entire year trying to learn the right amount of patience, enjoyment, and training to teach those boys life skills. I wasn’t very good at it, but somehow their grins and inquiries usually made me want to hug them rather than scold them. That was my momentary taste of parenthood.

Fast forward to today. I’m no longer an “auntie” to two rambunctious boys and I no longer micro-manage my household just to keep it standing one more day. I am, however, finding that at 27 years old, there are days, weeks and months where I identify deeply with those two boys. 

I understand all too well what it’s like to not quite get life just yet and being in need of a God to help me through ridiculous, clarifying questions. He patiently reinforces His command to “trust and obey” really does mean with every corner of my heart over and over again.

But still, I have to ask, “Yes, so God, you said trust You with my future, but what about my future in regards to…? What if this crazy situation happens and I’m left with a broken heart? What then? Do I have to trust you then, too?” 

My whimsically imaginative heart can almost picture God chuckling, kneeling down and whispering, “Kiddo, put your worry where it belongs.” Somehow, His enjoyment & patience in seeing me work out my salvation never ends & He’s never too annoyed to give me the same assurances He’s given me my entire life. 

This is the grace the teaches me to love even when I can’t get my mind around how it gives my life purpose. 

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Afraid to See Again

The surgery-induced blindness in my right eye is going away. After 10 years of learning to laugh at myself when I walk into pillars, people and posts, my 15% vision is finally gaining strength. According to the optometrist, I currently have somewhere in the zone of 35% vision. I should be excited about that. 

I’m… not. I’m not excited at all, actually. 

Logically, my random vision increase helps in unfathomable ways. Driving will soon not be a terrifying prospect. Most assuredly, it’ll be nice to see what my crazy cerebral palsy impacted right hand is up to all the time. Blindness isn’t convenient. 

So why do I care?

I hate my vision coming back because I’ve gotten used to the darkness. I’ve gotten used to living in such a way that compensates for the inconvenience and pain. It’s a lot easier for me to act as if I didn’t see things that hurt my feelings, gamble away my trust, or helps the people in my life think they got away with a lie. 

As weird as it sounds, living in darkness is comfortable. As my sight increases, I’ll get over it, though. 

I’ll get used to seeing the sun come in my window, and I’ll learn to love it again.  But first, I have to trust the difference. I have to trust that I really am seeing the silouette of a friend and the differences between green and red. If I don’t let my eye try to perform differently, I’ll lose vision again. 

How many times do I do the same thing with my sin? How many times does God whisper to my heart, “I turned your heart away from that habit a long time ago. Stop acting as if you need it more than you need Me”? But instead of agreeing and living in freedom, I act like I don’t know what freedom tastes like because I’m too used to my chains. 

…and the chains are comfortable.

How much of our sin nature exists because we’re too afraid to take God up on the promise that life can be different? What would happen if we trusted Him enough to try?