Another Layer

It has been some time since I've written a new entry of joy.  As always, there have been plenty of joyful moments and a desire to write, but there have also been many demanding tasks and not enough hours of sleep.

As many of you know, I returned home a few days ago from a lovely visit with Lizzy and her three little ones at their home in Florida.  I treasured feeling surrounded with love every minute of my visit.  There was always a darling face and a set of soft cheeks to kiss easily within my reach.  When I snuggle the soft, warm heads, I feel my soul fill up with a wonderful glow that fills in all my empty spaces.  I loved every minute of romping in the surf of a beautiful white sand beach with Anny and Merrylee, twirling and playing "Ring around the rosy" until I was too dizzy to stand.  I loved playing games, reading dozens of story books, making Easter crafts, and spoiling the girls on a shopping trip.  I sparkled as I cuddled Baby Benjamin and delighted in his big smiles and baby talk.  

I loved it all, but there was an even deeper layer of fulfillment.  I watched in proud and profound completion, the magnificent character of my daughter.  She has grown to make my dreams for her come to their full potential.  I am so proud of her strength.  It is not easy to care for three little ones all day every day while her husband is away on military deployment.  Her job never has a break.  Through all of that exhaustion and loneliness, I see her standing like a rock.  Her faith is strong and is an example to all who know her.  I heard some of her friends talking about how their family lives are better because they have followed Lizzy's example of faith and devotion to raising her family immersed in the daily routines of prayer and scripture study.  Her children are sweet and confident and secure.  They are growing and thriving in their spiritual and academic development.  They are happy and well adjusted.

It all requires great effort, but I see Liz doing all of the things I have wished for her, and I see the blessings in her life and the lives of her children.  Watching her family life feels like a bountiful harvest for me.  The fruits of my labors in her childhood are coming to their maturity in a very pure and beautiful way.  It is another layer to my joy that I don't think I could ever have anticipated.  I'm confident that my life's work will not end with me.  What is dear and precious to me lives on through my daughters and sons and their daughters and sons, and so on forever.  It makes all of those midnight feedings and taunts from fellow grad students as I tried to haul my pregnant self into a desk seem very indifferent now.  My early days of motherhood were rich with blessings two or three decades ago, but they are exponentially sweeter now.    

A Quarter of a Century, and I Remember it All

Time is a great healer.  Memories that were hard soften to reflections on blessings received and lessons learned.  Perhaps that is how old people become as wise as they are. 

This afternoon I drove Peter to the hospital to visit a young friend.  I had an hour or so to wait, so I went to a family waiting room on the pediatrics floor, and I was not prepared for what I would see.  Or maybe I was.  Four mothers of patients were there, surrounded by family and friends.  Some were obviously suffering as their tears and anguish were evident.  After awhile, I couldn't stand to watch it anymore, and I moved to another lobby. 

The thought came to mind that I personally understood the feelings of those mothers.  I have sat in that very hospital in a state of shock and sorrow and worry as my four week old daughter suddenly was in critical care with no major organ systems functioning on their own.  I felt the disconnect, the out of body sensation when reality becomes too overwhelming to process.  I felt the gripping fear when I dared to think about what could happen and how I would deal with it.  I felt the exhaustion and the worry about my two other little ones back at home.  I struggled to understand the medical terms and processes and procedures.  It was a swirling sea of anguish that I wished I could have avoided.

I remembered it all today, but what I didn't think of until our drive home was that today is the very anniversary of that scary day back in 1987.  It has been 25 years.  That baby girl is now a mother.  While I can still recall the horror, much of it has softened to peaceful gratitude.  Many people came to our aid back then.  While expert physicians worked day and night to save our baby, our friends and family cared for our little girls and our home.  They prayed for us and visited us with hugs and encouragement.  They held me when the tears came weeks and months, and even years after the crisis was over. 

A quarter century has come and gone since then.  There are life events that I can't say I am grateful to have experienced, but I am profoundly grateful for the lessons I have learned.  Maybe I'll become a wise old lady some day.  I hope so, at least the wise part.