Circling the Runway

Holding patterns.

 

Our lives are circling the airport. It’s been two years of circling. We spent one circling cancer. The waiting and being, in the moment, proved grueling and beautiful.

It’s been a shocker to find ourselves again in the holding pattern. We got word from the tower on my birthday. Jobs changed and work that was, now does not exist. You know the drill, America, she knows the drill.

Big decisions had to be made and a sacrifice marred red on every one of the pro and con sheets. The question that hung heavy in the tension of our house, Which sacrifice will we make?

We prayed and fasted.

It’s a bummer when God speaks clearly but I make it an issue because His words aren’t the answer I’m looking for.

There are so many times when I am disappointed with my human response. My head knows how I should behave and yet I throw a temper tantrum.

My temper tantrums fuel the tank to circle longer.

I wish I could tell you that I have that childishness under control, go ahead… let’s all have a good belly laugh over the insanity of that statement.

When will I truly mature?

This is not my first time circling the airport. I can say that I have grown some. Previous holding patterns found me withdrawn and sullen. I have remained engaged, personally, with the folks around me.

This just means my tantrums are of a new nature and God and me, we are having to work them out. Thankfully, this God is in for the long haul even when this girl is ready to nose dive in fiery flames.

This Cycle

I’m here in this little corner of quiet, quiet in a broken wicker chair with faded, fraying cushions. Here in my bare faced, pajama clad self. A few moments of introspect, retrospect….time to inspect. Sit down with God and ask, “What did you thing of my behavior this last week?”

It was a tough week. I tried to stay true to our families ‘standard operating procedures’. The struggles of one child say I didn’t do a grand job.

They’re always looking for the crack in the surface.
My daily uphill battle.
It is so hard. 

Hard to parent, hard to want to parent.
Hard to hold to the truth that the work I’m doing is molding, shaping.

My heart’s longing? 

Children with souls hungry, thirsty for righteousness, forever panting for more of him, longing to serve and obey him all their lifelong days.

But those cracks, those chinks, that sin of mine.
How do I keep it from being a net they are forever tangled in?

Sometimes, so invisible and it wraps, twists and knots around their little ankles. And, like tangled jewelry they bring it to me to repair, make usable again, I must help them untangle and make visible what seems transparent and yet all the world can see, could see. I bend down to unwind, unknot and I find myself tripped with them in the same sordid sin.

I come back to my quiet little space, my broken chair and write, to search my soul. I read, to wash my mind. Pray, to receive his knowledge and wisdom.

I ask, beg, for his light to illuminate the invisible thread net that has brought me to my knees.

I find scarred hands assisting in the process.

I grow.

I ask how?
Now that I’ve shown, spoke, led in all the wrong ways,
How?

Lord, reveal to me how to bend down with them, with you, and untangle the mess.

I’m so diligent the first time and maybe even the second,  
but then I’m bored.

We’ve gone over this dozens of times and I don’t want to go over it anymore. 
I’m a tangled mess….again.  

So, here I am in the cycle…
A hard fought week with only baby steps.
So small, but maybe, milestones?

I’m grateful for this moment working alongside him, holding his scarred hand.

Finding peace in the task of being. 

And I’ll be better at heading into the busyness and life away from my quiet corner.

It’s Amazing Love, his for me, mine for them, that whirls me through this cycle over and over again.
Peaceful Counting:
822.
Girlie #2’s  photos of the Suzuki Samurai
823.
The Man happily tackling all the Tuesday Taxi Craziness so I can indulge.
826. 
A family on a field trip.
827.
New friends and attending their birthday parties with old  friends.
828.
Generations of Bride & Groom beauty gazing out from the picture frames in our house.
829.
Intimate talks with engaged  couples.
830.
The Dad calling to tell me tomorrow’s moon will be closer than ever in 20 some odd years and  so we should be outside tomorrow eve to embrace it.
831.
The amazing beauty of The Small Blue Heron and having it cross the path right in front of me.
832.
A day spent in Florida Wetlands and so much room to breath.

My Boy’s Battle

He storms in. I recognize this anger. On too many occasions I’ve enveloped myself in it like a warm cape. I confine him and his garment to a chair in my office but the emotion must be released. He hits the chair, beats the floor and makes noises to draw me into his cloak of anger.

Not long ago I chose to go there with my children. Anger would build up inside while I tried to be

A patient I wasn’t,
Fought for a Calm I Didn’t Have.

Today was different. In a prayerful state I asked for guidance. I invested time and attention to navigate my way so I could help him work through his Heart of Anger.

He continued to throw venemous, sarcastic words at me.

Why, oh why is he so adept at this painful art at such a young age,
Is it because I led him there and now I must help him find his way out.

I took his place in the chair and pulled his young body onto my lap. I flipped past ink filled, tear stained pages of my anger journal to find a clean list of questions and we began the process of unraveling his sin.

His body’s hard and stiff in my arms and I beian to whisper truth into his ear.
Only seven, but he says to me,

“My sins are too many”

And he feels this way and I understand because how many times have I been brought to my knees with the same knowledge.

We read Righteous Anger vs. Sinful Anger and we read Romans 12 and he begins to sob. So cleanly aware of the messiness of his life and I get to pray with him. We ask for wisdom and listening ears so we can clearly hear the Holy Spirit’s guidance.

His body begins to soften. He takes the tissues used to wipe his tears and begins to stuff them in his mouth. The tender moment too much, it must be punctuated with laughter. I frame his precious face in my hands and we speak kind words to each other. I proclaim him a child of the King and he humbly and prayerfully asks for forgiveness.

And here in this little room my boy has fought a mighty battle and he has made his King proud.
God has been glorified .