There are times when I look back on the faults, failures and shortcomings of my parenting years and think; God, how did I ever recover? I honestly have not always had the faith I have today. I guess I got by on mustard seed faith.
I have five children and at some point all of them with the exception of one have let me have it with both barrels. The one, she’s grown into a gentle soul where I am concerned, she’s given it also, but in a kind way. I have to say; my only son, although I have heard from him as well on my parental skills, or lack thereof, he slides a cushion under his, probably that innate sense to protect me; I am after all his mother. From somewhere inside most little boys are born protectors of their mothers. Then there are the ones who have let me have it! No mercy, driven me away like a wounded little animal, where I retreated to my bed, pulled the bed covers over my head and wept sorrowfully as I wondered. How does a person, such as me, decide intentionally, on purpose to raise healthy happy children? I mean before I placed my trust and hope in my faith, I must have read several hundred self help books on children, marriage and family. How in the world does this happen?
It was out of my tumultuous upbringing my greatest heart’s desire quickened. It was to give my children a better life than I knew and yet somehow I still failed. I ended up twice divorced a broken home, a statistic, in a world where no matter the rise of divorce, the nuclear home is still preferred. Not that this is a bad thing. It becomes bad in a world where a shadow of failure is cast over your life and you live out the profound effect the little demon; divorce has on your family. Something breaks, and leaving you to feel as though you will never recover. Children grow up, leave home, but there is forever that mistake, the failure hanging around your neck like a noose.
Then something amazing happens. One of those children that have flown the nest stops by to tell you her recollection, and it’s good, sometimes what she saw in you as a mother and other times as a wife. Still there are more times, recently my youngest daughter said to me; “I just want to say; as long as I can remember, it is like you were the only parent and I think you did a great job with all of us.” My heart warmed, toasty warm, like drinking a hot cocoa by the fireplace on a winter morning. Tears caught up in my throat, as I hugged her close, thanking her. Only four days shy of twenty-one and already able to push past that imperfect mom I was, and still am. In spite of years she barreled through quite miserable. She now comes with ovations!
When this happens, you feel just crazy enough to believe you must have sown something good. Yes! Good seed in rich soil. How else would you reap words so rewarding, so you smile, tell yourself for absolute, there are no perfect parent and all your faults, shortcomings and failures are redeemable.
You crawl into bed and say a prayer to God, the giver of life, and thank him for your wonderful imperfect purrfextlife!
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