Days When the Flowers aren't Easy to See

Sometimes we need 

perspective.

Perspective has been defined as:

a : the interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed  

<places the issues in proper perspective>;

b : the capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance 

<trying to maintain my perspective>

The Troubles we each have are real enough, aren't they? 

But sometimes, I think I get bogged down a bit in the troubles (and even occasionally, the joys) that seem so much a part of my world that I forget that there is a bigger world. 

On Sunday, I asked God to keep my vision off "only us"

while we become this new family, 

while we get our new rhythm . 

It's just so easy for me to get myopic.

I mean, I realize that my primary focus needs to be on those under my own roof, and that I am called to be the momma of many for this time, but I'm wary that I will get sucked into my own little world (ever-expanding as it is!) and I just don't want to BE that small.

I hummed Brandon Heath's

Give Me Your Eyes

through much of our China Adventures. 

While bringing home Maylin was intensely personal, 

I didn't want this new experience to be about "only us."

All that to say, a friend had an immense loss today, and 

sharing in her pain helps put  

my life in perspective.

Maylin's screaming at the pediatrician visit today?...no problem.

Her temper when she thought Beth mistreated her?...no problem.

The achy head from messin' with my time zones?...no problem.

The overheating pool pump?

The increased price of my favorite fabric softener?

The missing school forms?

The milk spilled on the newly-mopped floor?

With a renewed "capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance," I have to admit that my tone is telling the kids more than I think my voice is. A 10 year old let loose in the kitchen certainly needs to be more careful, and she does need to clean up after herself, and she ought to cream the butter and sugar first before she adds the eggs...but can I instruct her on ONE of those today, and deal with the other items later? Maybe I could read through the recipe with her instead of finishing the folding and sighing that I'd be "there in a minute." 

EVERY mother I have ever read or talked to that has suffered the death of her child bemoans the lost moments when she could have injected joy into life with her child. I think of that when I'm at a loss in training these young hearts. 

I sincerely believe personal growth requires

"delight and struggle" (Charlotte Mason) 

but do I allow room for great delight in their days after I've seen the struggle? 

I guess my challenge to me today was to have discernment in what things are "character builders" or are "character breakers." 

Living in the moment, but choosing to focus on the big picture, not the moment.

Because, I am not raising children. I'm raising adults.

Launch Dates

A Launch Date could be just about anything. 

"We launched the new computer program at work."

"We went to see the last Shuttle launch."

"A face that could launch a thousand ships..."

When I say Launch Date, it means one thing:

growing my child to a point that I am confident (as possible) that he/she is ready to be 

The Adult.

That they can 

~write a check

~pay a phone bill

~smile at a job interview

~dress appropriately for most occasions

~speak their mind clearly (and hopefully, humbly) and 

~employ personal hygiene on a regular basis, without any reminders.

My internal guide says that I won't judge 

how good of a Mom I have been 

until the kid is 30. 

Somehow, at 30, it seems like you are who you are going to be (sort of.) 

 People mess up in their 20's (I did, at least.) Some people mess up in big ways.

But by the time we hit 30 (I speak retrospectively), it just seems to me, 

that most people have settled in their head 

what they want their life to BE.

And like it or not,  we suspect that we are the only ones that can BE us.

So......

I'm not raising children. I'm raising adults.

I don't intend for my 30 year old sons to be childish. 

I want them to be leaders in their homes, nurturing warriors, decent citizens.

I hope my 30-something daughters will be women with a passion and purpose who make choices because they are the right ones, and love hard, pray hard, and live (a little) hard.

Now, what was my point?

Oh yeah. Launch Dates.

I don't have a date set in my head when I expect any of our children to "launch," although there are certainly some appropriate times to expect it might happen. But in a daily way, preparing them to launch means I don't look at today's drama in the school room, or messes on the floor, or broken heart the same way. 

The play ground disagreement needs to be handled like you hope they'll handle drama in the corporate world: with a solution-focused respect, a calm demeanor, and knowledge that life isn't always fair.

The messy floor needs to be dealt with by the one who made it, or sometimes, the by one who didn't make it, because a serving spirit is rewarded in so many lovely ways.

The broken heart needs patience to bind the wound, and arms to cry into, and a box of tissues nearby because sometimes, real love is hard.

I have plans to launch them.

And I'll know when I know.

I've had the experience of setting a child from our quiver onto the bow string, pulling back, determining the course I think he ought to fly, and being ready to let go with confidence. I've looked into a set of clear blue eyes and known he will be just fine, if perchance, I never have opportunity to pour one more thing into him. 

Just Fine.

That's a nice feeling.