The Rescue

I Have Been a Parent for Over a Decade.

Over a Decade.

This is the Hardest Thing I Have Ever Done.

Ever.

I have been a parent for 11 years now…12 if you count the first humbling year of Jake’s life…which I totally count.  And it looked so good.  And it looked so filled with Halloween Costumes, and homemade cookies, and cuddles, and hand holding and good night prayers that were easy to pray.  It looked like the thing that would bring you all together…the whole stinking world…your entire family…through these little people with big wide eyes, and toothless grins, and I Love You’s waiting around every corner.  That was supposed to be everyday of parenting.  Laundry and dishes.  Snotty noses and little colds and little tummies.  Sleepless nights that turned into days in our PJs.  We would ride the carousel with little ups and little downs all cushioned by lovies, blankies, and pacies… 

I Might Be an Idiot.

I Might Have Bought In.

And I Might Have Stood Long and Hard on the Shore of Make Believe Mom.

I Can’t Stand Here Anymore.

They Are All Drowning.

This week…and y’all it is only Wednesday…and I am not even including last week…but man…This week.  This week I had an hour long meeting about one son with two teachers and a school counselor.  He says he wants to live in a box and cry.  We have gone to a private counselor.  He is more depressed than any 10 year old I have ever seen.  And he is mine.  And he is sinking beneath the waves of school, and friends and changes he cannot control.  This week I had an hour long meeting with the school counselor about my girl.  She is a big old square peg, and she does not care one bit about round holes, and she is disruptive and disengaged and disarmingly charming.  She is delightful and fun.  She is an emotional timebomb.  She is fierce and brave and a puddle on the floor.  She is marching out into the ocean and doesn’t care that the waves are over her head.  She believes she can conquer them as they crash into her little girl self and send her down down down…her head barely above water. And my oldest, well I barely even recognize him this week as my dear friends, with complete love…which sucks because it’s almost harder to swallow… told me who he has been and the things he has said and the words that have hurt and the friends he has injured.  And I have stood here on the shore for too long.  Standing next to my boat.  Waiting for them to all come swimming back.  They are not swimming y’all.  They are not swimming at all.

And I have Thought Ahead.

And I have Taught Life Lessons.

And I Have Planned and Prayed and Petitioned.

And They Are All Drowning.

Some Dove.  Some Jumped.  Some Were Tossed Out by a Storm.

And I am Standing On the Shore.

For No One.

Because I Don’t Know What Else to Do.

 “Rescue”…it was sent to save me.  A gal can only stand on the shore for so long, pretending her children aren’t sinking in the ocean, telling others everything is fine, before the word RESCUE shows up in your mailbox.   You know you have hit that place…that brick wall…that good idea gone bad…that brink of sanity when the book shows up in your mailbox…and it is time to swim. Y’all, it is time to swim.  It is  time to swim for THEIR lives.

I have devoured, “Rescue”.  This week I have listened as Candy Gibbs (she wrote this book, Rescue, y’all…and it came in my mailbox…so crazy…so perfect) talked to young adults and asked them tough tough questions about what they wish their parents had done differently, and what their parents did right. And the book didn’t make me want to jump off a parenting cliff.  And the words didn’t make me feel like the village idiot.  And the chapters are giving me HOPE.  And I am realizing maybe this is the whole point of a rescue. Hope.  A rescue is underway, y’all.  A real life rescue.  And I am so not going to look like a Baywatch Babe as I dive into the ocean.  But me and my tankini with a skirt to cover my thighs are going in.  Because I love them y’all.  And no one else is going in.  Because no one else could love this mess as much as I do.    

I Have to Swim to Them.

I Have to Tread Water with Them.

While They Are Still in My House…

Under My Roof…

Inside My Arms Reach.

And I am beginning to think the rescue is the oldest tool in every parenting box…but we don’t want it to be there…because no one else has to ever use it right?  Just us right?  Just those of us who failed right?  And if we implement the rescue then everyone will know we didn’t teach our kids how to stay on the boat.  But y’all, let me say this to all of us, they are kids.  They are imperfect.  They are learning.  They are trying.  And we are there to swim out in the ocean when the waves are too high (and yes, we wish they had never swam out so far in the first place) to help them swim back to shore.  And every single parent who gives a lick at all about their kiddos has had to dive in and swim way way way out and brave the waves and brave the winds to make sure their child can at least, if all else fails, hear their voice over the waves.

“Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, who gave himself for our sins to rescue us from the present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen” Galatians 1:3-5

And we are not responsible for the rescue.  Jesus takes all of it on His shoulders.  And we are not stuck sinking in all the things we didn’t do…because we are doing something now.  Right now.  And we get to say we are sorry for not doing something sooner…but the sand was nice between our toes…and the shore was crowded with other moms pretending their kids were just playing in the waves. 

And Our Jesus Is With Us Moms.

Walking on the Waves.

Hearing All Our Prayers.

And He is Speaking to Our Kids.

And He is Speaking to Us.

And He is There in the Rescue.

And He Is There On the Shore.

And He Is There.

He Is There.

He is Here.