When my children were young and living under my roof, when we had a problem, when she had a problem, whether it was school, health, or friend related, I was on location. I was the first responder, the marine on the beach. I could help my child solve the problem; there were even times when the problem was mine to solve.
Now that they are grown adults, each living independently of my first aid, two with children of their own, I can rarely solve their problems. I am not invited to solve their problems. I stand on the periphery which leaves me very few options except to worry and pray. And carry...
The burden of my children's burdens.
I once thought that mothering was difficult; I now see it was easy, because my children's burdens were mine. Now their burdens are fenced with a No Trespassing sign.
Burdens are heavy when I can't stop to rearrange or shift from my back to my hip. Burdens are wrenching when the carrier can't transfer even a portion to me, when a child can't say, "Mom please help." Instead she stands on the other side of a raging river without a bridge to cross.
This past week I've realized I need a strategy to deal with cuts I can't bandage and tears I can't wipe away. A nanny unexpectedly quits in Chicago, an insurance company decides not to cover a pre-approved surgery; a marriage hits a rocky ledge.
I want to call upon Star Trek Scotty to "Beam me to Chicago!" I want to take over the nanny position until she finds another. I want to dive in and write a check for the surgery. I want to shake the errant husband into submission.
But I can't take away those burdens because burdens bring growth and blessings. They bring humility and strength. The very things I want to take away are the things that give.
Now that they are grown adults, each living independently of my first aid, two with children of their own, I can rarely solve their problems. I am not invited to solve their problems. I stand on the periphery which leaves me very few options except to worry and pray. And carry...
The burden of my children's burdens.
I once thought that mothering was difficult; I now see it was easy, because my children's burdens were mine. Now their burdens are fenced with a No Trespassing sign.
Burdens are heavy when I can't stop to rearrange or shift from my back to my hip. Burdens are wrenching when the carrier can't transfer even a portion to me, when a child can't say, "Mom please help." Instead she stands on the other side of a raging river without a bridge to cross.
This past week I've realized I need a strategy to deal with cuts I can't bandage and tears I can't wipe away. A nanny unexpectedly quits in Chicago, an insurance company decides not to cover a pre-approved surgery; a marriage hits a rocky ledge.
I want to call upon Star Trek Scotty to "Beam me to Chicago!" I want to take over the nanny position until she finds another. I want to dive in and write a check for the surgery. I want to shake the errant husband into submission.
But I can't take away those burdens because burdens bring growth and blessings. They bring humility and strength. The very things I want to take away are the things that give.
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