There is more.
Hands full of my 10 month sleeping baby. Slowly I shuffle past the legos and dinosaurs and into the room where he sleeps to make the transfer. Its a new routine that seems to be working. The littlest sharing with the bigger two. When you’ve got 6 kids in a 3 bedroom, you try every mash up possible. Things that once worked don’t anymore and that’s ok. Scrap it and try again.
The transfer goes well and I walk back to tackle the mountain of clean laundry. The plan? Organize the chaos. I toss the kids items into baskets separated by room only. A real folding of each item isn’t going to happen. At least this way the items get into the necessary room.
I listen to a podcast while simultaneously fielding a doula inquiry or two. My brain runs in 10 different directions at any given time. I complete half a task before running into the next. Before I realize what’s happened I’m mending a shirt because oh I’ve put this off forever and it just keeps getting moved place to place. Mothering with chaos as my companion has proved to do a number on me. I feel complete overwhelm as I straddle the line of teaching character and integrity to the olders, while meeting the physical demands of littles. I experience emotional, spiritual and intellectual whiplash. Add to the mix learning to navigate the world of special needs with my two adopted boys and the running of my business on the side.
It’s no wonder my 4 year old finds me in a wailing heap on the lazy boy this afternoon. I’ve found that tears aid in the release of mounting pressure and I no longer try to stuff them down. They escape my lips with a howl and now all my children know, moms not ok. Later they ask why I was crying, “ Being a mom is hard,” I manage to sniff out while locating a pacifier for the 2 year old in hysterics. They have grace for me the rest of the day; which I find absolutely amazing. The addition of two nights alone with the 6 while my husband completes apprenticeship has taken its toll. I’m on night three.
When the day is finally done at 9 o’clock I crawl into bed, scrolling old photos, and I look at her. I mean I really look. The mom that existed 5 years ago, 3, 2. She is part of me, she got me through. She royally has messed up, she has declared “BANKRUPTCY!” on motherhood like a despairing Michael Scott. Yet, she is here today, scrolling through her memories. The ones frozen in time. And I can’t remember if the house was clean that day, or if I managed a beautiful school lesson or even a lesson at all. It’s true, what Grace Chou Simons said earlier. I could waste my days fretting about my shortcomings, or I could open all of myself. Surrender.
Earlier today I was feeding kids alone, worship music in the background (the loud rock n roll kind, as my 4 year old says), eyes wet. My 7 year old asks why my eyes are red. Again I repeated my mantra from before. Then the lyrics jumped out at me, cut through the noise. A song sung to a child from the heart of the Father.
Don't you give up on me
Don't you give up on me
'Cause when the night's at its darkest
That's when the light hits the hardest
Don't you give up on me
Don't you give up on me
You ain't seen what I promised
Child, we're just getting started
Open your heart
Open your hands
Open your eyelids
I've got more dreams
I've got more plans
I've got more blessings
Don't lose your hope
Don't lose your faith
That's where your fight is
I've got more dreams
I've got more plans
I've got more blessings.
As the words washed over me I accepted it. There is so much more. 2 year old hazel eyes staring back at me, and I determine to heed the call. I have yet to see what is to come. There is so much more. My open heart and hand from 5 years ago brought me to this moment. This very hard moment, that holds beauty and challenge in the same breath. Those hazel eyes. His heart, his body, his needs, I must continue to be open to the more that is in store.
Surrender is the way through, every time. There is hope in tomorrow, and He will see me through to it, because He always has. There is a special type of relational preservation that happens when you learn to trust in spite of the circumstances. Much like my husbands model of remaining faithful to his vow to provide for his family, whatever the cost. God’s made promises, He’s demonstrated His continued faithfulness. His nearness to the brokenhearted is something I know well. My sheer dependance, my hands lifted in the midst of my kitchen praising Him when I don’t feel like it. These things carry me through. They make the woman out of me that has lived to see another year. Another season under my belt, another lesson taken to heart. His faithfulness has always been enough, and it will continue to be. When I’m at the end of my rope is when I wail like a baby on the floor (literally) and He scoops me up, He draws near. My moment hasn’t changed aside from this small shift. My broken, open handed surrender, and His scooping me up.
If you feel unsure how you’ll make it through, let surrender be your companion. You’ll be amazed when you take inventory even a year down the road. Don’t shy away from staring your circumstances head on and accepting them for what they are today. Name the hard, find a blessing- name it. Praise Him for it. The dirty dishes because he provided the meal. The babies in your care because he gives. And those who have moved on because foster care is temporary and he sometimes takes away. The car that safely got my husband home on a snowy night. If i’ve learned anything in my 31 years, its that being thankful and grateful always trumps holding onto bitterness and lack. Take your thoughts captive. Grab them, wrestle them to the ground. Make them obey truth, don’t allow your fear and the unknown to drive.
My day was hard, but my tomorrow is new. I can open my heart, my hands, my eyelids- there is more.
