The Thorns Are Meant to Grow Us

2017 has been an interesting year, to say the least. There have been some tough losses followed by hot tears, love’s been birthed, reunions have taken place, great laughs have been shared, and difficult decisions have been made. All in all, life is full of ups and downs, and in order to grow, we must go through the hills and valleys of life; otherwise, we remain stagnant and never really get to know what we’re made of.

Sitting here less than two weeks from 2018, I, for one, am sobered by what I’ve learned about myself this year. I’ve been impressed by the growth I’ve made, in some areas of my life. I’ve stretched myself and done things I’ve only dreamt of doing and achieving. In that, I’ve learned to trust my dreams and goals with others who believe in me. Those who kept me on track and made sure that even when I spoke in fear or doubt, I caught myself, didn’t give up and kept going. I can’t even utter words that would adequately convey the appreciation I have for these few but dear ones.

Then I remember those moments where I sat in my closet, in the dark, where I cried out of desperation and hopelessness, wanting an answer from God. In those moments, I felt alone, forgotten, and like I was a “sinner in the hands of an angry God”. I felt the thorns, purging me of my weaknesses, bitterness, and impure heart. I felt the pain of birthing the wrongs I’d done, seeing them face-to-face and not recognizing myself afterward. I’ve been down to my last, felt punched in the stomach, but lifted back up by His everlasting and loving arms.

This year, I’ve looked in the eyes of my children and experienced the love Christ must have for us when we’re hurt, have lied, or are feeling extreme pain as a result of a decision we made even after being advised to be careful. I’ve had to be the disciplinarian, hard as it has been in many situations, to ensure they think twice before repeating the painful actions. I’ve held them close, because they’ve been broken by things I may find trivial but they feel will end their world. I’ve watched as they’ve lied right to my face without them realizing I was right there watching from a distance the entire time and just wish they’d be straight up with me. As a human, can I truly say I know the heart and mind of God? Definitely not, but I’ve had a glimpse of it and tasted a bit of it. Gosh, how His heart must ache and long for us.

I’m leaving 2017 with a better understanding of who and Whose I am and trusting God that the ugly parts of me remain here. My daily reflections will continue, because in order to become better, we must be truthful with ourselves and truly want to be better. I bid farewell to 2017 with a slight longing but ready for a fresh and beautiful start where I don’t snip off my wings, fear jumping, or doubt myself and the things that have been put in my heart to affect lives. 

Mommy, What Is a Hickey?

“It won’t kill them,” they said. “Just let them watch it every once in a while,” I was told. “You take the fun out of everything,” they complained. “Ugh, what’s it really going to hurt?” they asked. Well, if only they could help me that Friday evening when my seven-year-old daughter asked that infamous question, “Mommy, what’s a hickey?”

Dumbfounded, I didn’t know what to say or where to start. All I could muster up was, “Ummm…where did you hear that from?”

“Never mind, I already know what it is,” she responded. “I just wanted to know if you knew.”

Who? What? When? The…?!? I scratched my head and just stared at her. “What do you mean you wanted to know if I knew? How and where did you even hear it?”

Interestingly enough, I looked up to face the TV, having heard the ‘h’ word coming from the screen I so seldomly turn on during the day. There they were, a couple of my favorite childhood characters all grown up with the remake of one of my beloved programs going through what I was, except they exposed my children to the ‘h’ word.

Disgusted, I grabbed the remote control and turned off the TV. “That’s what I get for listening to other people’s advice on keeping my children occupied so I can take care of business-related things without being disturbed. Back to worksheets and book reports and presentations,” I thought.

With blank stares on their faces, I knew they were still waiting for a response from me. “I know what  it is. What do you think it is?” That was my strategy. Maybe they didn’t know and just wanted to trick me into telling them. What I heard made me cringe though. They knew…she knew. She offered to demonstrate it on her arm, which I passed on, admitting, at that point, that she was indeed correct.

It reminded me of the time I found them (my three children) huddled in the boys’ room giggling, obviously trying to keep me from hearing them. The only clue I had that something was going on was that I was in the kitchen much too long without hearing someone come tattle or ask me when dinner would be ready. Knowing something wasn’t right, I walked toward the boys’ room, which was slightly closed. The thing is our little people are well-aware that anyone who doesn’t pay the bills, mortgage/rent, or have a contributing job, has no business or right to door-closing in our house, so that half-cracked door was already a mistake.

I peaked in and saw them getting along and giggling away. I was almost tempted to let them be, but I knew something was off. I tried to strain my ears to catch what they were saying, but Nathaniel was talking and giggling very incoherently. Frustrated, I said, “Hey, I’d like to laugh, too. What are we laughing about?”

Like a bunch of thieves caught in the act, they looked up at me and stared. That was the tell…

“Nathaniel, what were you sharing that was so funny, buddy?” I asked.

Staring like a deer caught in headlights, his hands moved slowly to his lips, and I knew I wasn’t going to get anything from him. If I was to get a straight answer, I had to go to the little mama, the informer, who simply could no longer contain herself and asked, “Mama, do you know what balls are?”

Attempting to stay composed, because I knew this could potentially mean what I thought she was referring to, I simply replied, “Yep.”

“What are they?” she asked.

“Circular items that can be used for sports or for other purposes. Why?” And that’s when I got the response I dreaded, because it took me back to my elementary school days.

“THEY ARE A PART OF A BOY’S PRIVATES!” she roared out, completely over the top with amusement.

I stared at her brothers clearly unamused. My stare, with no words uttered, was a question they did not need me to ask in order for me to receive an answer.

The bus was there, and they began throwing each other under it until Nathaniel fessed up and said, “(Boy’s name) in my class told us during recess that his big brother told him that.”

The eye rolling happened, and I reminded them that when something is knowingly inappropriate, we do not share it.

Look, folks, I didn’t sign up for this. It took me back to my 7^th grade English, when Greg Hopkins annoyed me because every time he came across the word chicken breast in a passage, he would giggle for minutes on end, spewing saliva through his braces. I always hoped I wouldn’t have such nerdiness to deal with because my children, of course, would have a sense of appropriateness and be more classy.

Unfortunately, children will be children, and I’m learning that monitoring what they see and hear is very important, at least when we can. In my case, as they grow older and their interests quickly change from cartoons and toys to “real people” shows and electronics/ “big girl stuff,” I just need to be more available and continue to keep our lines of communication open, especially with the little diva, as always. She picks up so much from watching and listening to conversations that don’t concern her, and sometimes that scares me. The thing is, she trusts me, so she knows I’ll always hear her out, and we’ll discuss whatever she’s heard and seen, even if initially I squirm or wish I could disappear. 

E No Easy

From a distance, I watched them as they rode. I smiled. I laughed. I watched, mesmerized in wonder. I recalled a similar scenario from twenty-two months ago, when we first moved here, when the mood was not quite as joyous. There was whining, crying, complaining, and accidents. We didn’t make it quite as far that day. In fact, I was angry that I had taken them on a jog with me, especially since they had begged and promised they would keep up and not complain. Today, there I was, lagging behind, leisurely walking and watching the three of them. Over two miles in, and they wanted to go on.

That moment, as have many in the last several weeks, has made me realize just how quickly they grow. I’ve done more pondering and reminiscing than I think I’ve ever done in my life. I’ve asked myself questions that were never important to me before. I have sought my purpose in life. I have wondered if I’m doing, or have done, enough. I’ve wondered if what I have done will jeopardize their future, mess them up as adults, or help them be the amazing people God has called them to be.

Since I was younger, my parents and siblings have been aware of my strong leadership and my difficulty accepting mediocrity. I don’t take nonsense and have great expectations of people I care about and love. I believe everyone has amazing potential, as long as they self-evaluate. We all have gifts. There is something that differentiates us, sets us apart from those around us. So, when my children want to quit, say they can’t, don’t want to make an attempt, say they’ll “try” rather than do their best, I’m not at all about that. Our dad always says, “Na wa o, your reign is tough, Esther.” The thing he knows though, as do those who know me well, is I’m extremely tough on myself. The standards to which I hold others, I hold myself to even more, hence, my concern that I could potentially be ruining my children.

I’m what my children consider “a mean mommy” on certain days. Those days are the difficult ones. They are the days I have to make the tough decision to stand by my word and not succumb to empty threats. Those are the days I hold them accountable for their actions. Those are the days I remind them that when they find money on the ground and spend it without attempting to seek the owner, it is equivalent to stealing. Those are the days when one child loses a game and receives what I tell him is a consolation prize and remind him that’s not how things work in the real world. Those are the days that I hear one of his siblings reply, “Stop being mean; at least they tried.” And the child on the losing team replies, “No, it’s okay. We didn’t win. We didn’t earn it. Mommy is right. We just have focus and play harder next time.” On those days I wonder, ‘Am I wrong? Am I creating monsters or fostering insecurity in them?’

I may be old school in my ways, or when it comes to my thought process, but I try to be straight-forward with my children. I don’t give cutesy names to body parts. My “yes” is “yes”; it takes a lot to change my mind. I want them to trust that if I say I will do something, I intend to do it. I want them to know if I say they cannot do something, I intend to stand by that, regardless of how many times they beg and plead, especially when taking a stand on a topic we have clearly discussed several times.

So, on days like today, Mother’s Day, when I am showered with cards, pictures, sweet notes about how much I mean to them, I become overwhelmed. To some degree, it helps validate that I’m not such a horrible mom; they see that I really do just want the best for them. When I overhear them consoling a scolded sibling:  “Mommy only said/did that because she doesn’t want us to go to  jail when we’re bigger,” I feel sad but hope they see my heart. I hope that in a few years they will appreciate what I was really going for – helping them to become productive citizens of this Earth and not liabilities. I want them to be a joy to those around them. I want them to be reliable and respectful. I want them to use their manners. I want them to greet people, even if they don’t receive responses. I want them to think little of others’ opinions, especially when it makes them question whether they are good, or pretty, enough. I want them to love who they are, so I rock a style I’m not feeling with confidence, to prove that as long as we are secure in ourselves, who cares what others think. I hope it shows them they are enough. They should pursue their dreams. They should think outside the box. They should challenge themselves to make one person’s day better on a daily basis. They should never leave a person’s house worse than they met it.

Should I be less strict? Maybe. Should I scold less? Possibly. Should I stop telling them they can do better when they come home with Bs or Cs? Ehn. All I know is my drive and passion about life and the things I hold dear and fight for are due to the fact that I had parents who believed in me. They did not allow me to settle for less than my best. I was not encouraged to do subpar work or be complacent. We may not have had a lot growing up, but we knew that if we put our minds to it, we could conquer the world.

As each day passes, each month goes by, and the years become decades, I pray that as the story of my life is unfolding before my children’s eyes, it is making some sense. I pray they see that despite my hard exterior, I hold them dear and very close to my heart. I pray they don’t despise me. I hope they see love. Their wings are growing, and before long, they will take flight. I just want them to be ready for this crazy, evil world. I just want the best for them. They deserve it, but e no easy o.