Mary was all in...Am I all in?

Standing near the cross was Jesus's mother - John 19:25

I think about Mary. A lot. And especially with it being Easter weekend I think of her more and more.  As a mother, I try to imagine what thoughts went through her mind as she experienced God's work first hand time and time again. 

No matter the task, no matter what was ahead, no matter what she had just went through Mary was "all in" for God's plan. 

She gave of herself, of her family, her own son. 

And she was still "all in."

I have often wondered, after the angel appeared to her, did she really know what was going to be asked of her for the rest of her life. 

Probably not. But that didn't matter. 

Because she was still "all in." 

Oh, if I had the "all in", that Mary did. 

Her appearances in the Bible are limited so it can be hard to get to know Mary. But what a testimony Mary carried on as a mother, as a wife, as a woman. She was willing to follow through with God's plan for her life no matter what it would cost her and cost her it did. From going through the disgrace as a unwed mother to caring for the Son of God in a day to day manner. She was there when he was born and she was there when He died. Her life had much honor but with it came much suffering.

Am I willing to be "all in" for God's plan? So many times I say I am open to whatever God has in store for me but in the back of my mind I am putting that into a neat little box that looks and feels good and I am limiting what works can be done in my life. 

And by doing that, I'm not really "all in." I've got one foot in and one foot out trying to balance myself and hearing myself say, "Here I am God. I will do this, this and this but don't ask me to do that because I can't." 

I want to strive to be "all in." God chose Mary because He knew she was "all in" and in it for the long haul.

How many times have I missed out on a call for my own life because I wasn't really "all in."

 "Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us..." - Ephesians 3:20

Fingerprints that wash away but thankfully the memories never do.

"Tiny hands, tiny fingers, that always want to play,

That never stop exploring that wonder of today,
Tiny hands, tiny fingers, that from the very start,

Will reach out for tomorrow yet always hold your heart."

This past Saturday I was working around my house cleaning here and cleaning there. After a morning of work I lastly came to my front storm door that is all glass. I remember this door being one of the first things I installed when we moved into our house because the other one was old and you couldn't see out it very well. I wasn't thinking about all the tiny handprints that would be all over my door for years to come and me, being the OCD person I am, feeling the need to constantly clean it almost everyday. My kids LOVED this door and the view it provided them. They would set and watch the weather, other kids play, the mailmen come and go and, one of their favorites, the city dump truck as it would cruise through the neighborhood. 

As I was cleaning away, on a door that didn't need as much attention as it did a few years ago, I was reminded of those long days of cleaning that glass along with a million other things I had to get done with two preschoolers who were 18 months apart. I felt like the days would never end and it was just minutes between waking up in the morning to lying down at night. The day flew by that fast and they, along with the demands of life, took all the energy I had. 

Honestly I don't know how I did it and I don't know if I could do it at the age I am now. I remember all those seasoned mothers who told me, "this is just a season" and "this time too shall pass." Easy for them to say. They looked put together, even had their hair brushed and were on time for events. They were actually setting down and enjoying their meals. I, on the other hand, felt like I had been in a mud wrestling competition with two untamed horses. They could be the sweetest things but, at times, I looked at the two of them and seriously questioned their maternity. How could I have produced such creatures that did such things and caused me to act in a way I never would have?  Sometimes the only reassurance of control I had was to remind myself I had a measured out portion of Benadryl for each child ready to be inserted into their mouths within a moment's notice. 

I've always felt called to being in the ministry and I truly enjoy it. It has been a privilege for my kids to get to be loved on by so many of our church members and they have always been there to give me encouraging and loving advice, but there was sometimes, I am sure even they questioned my mothering skills during those preschool years. I can recall, one evening, a church member coming up to me during our Wednesday evening meal and telling me "how well behaved your children are." I was glowing with pride and almost missed the last of the sentence when this was added, "compared to last year. They are actually setting down and not throwing their food at people." The pride quickly dissolved and I thanked her for, what I think, was meant as a compliment.

Oh, the memories. Oh, the joyous times. Oh, the rushing around, the seemingly never ending household duties to take care of.

Washed away...just like those handprints.

Life, for me now, is so different. My laundry is caught up. My to do list is shorter...and gets checked off each day. My house stays clean and my schedule is manageable. There is extra time for one more cup of coffee in the mornings. I can actually set down and watch a tv show from start to finish. I no longer have to hide my desserts for fear of little mouths wanting it. I used to request, "could someone please just give me 5 minutes of peace and quiet?" 

Sure life is busy with a teenage girl but those 5 minutes of peace and quiet are far too easy to come by now. Those handprints are gone and the glass is all clean, but the memories they left behind will most certainly last and carry me through a lifetime.

So mommas and daddies with little ones remember wise words I was once told. "This is just a season" and "this time too shall pass" cause it surely is and it surely will. 

But always, ALWAYS keep the Benadryl, or something of like nature, close at hand. 

And in just a moment

And in just a moment I realize his Legos mean the world to me and I wish I had watched all the moments of his little hands carefully working with them.

And in just a moment I feel how precious anything he had last touched becomes like gold to me and I want to run my fingers up and down and all around to try and feel some connection to his skin or maybe some lingering smell.

And in just a moment I can consume myself with pictures that are priceless treasures no amount of money can buy. I obsess over them taking in every expression, every article of clothing and even every little thing that was in his hand wondering where those things are now.

And in just a moment fear can overtake me when I remember something I have forgotten about him, a phrase he would say, a scar on his face, a toy he had and I wonder to myself, "what else about him has left my memory."

And in just a moment I see kids growing up including Haleigh Raye. She's getting so tall and he's not. What would he have in common with her. With other kids. What would he be doing with them right now. What sport would he be playing in. What toy would he like me to get him. Where exactly is he...? What is he doing right now? Right this minute.

And in just a moment I forget he is gone. I call for him. I grocery shop for him. I look for him.

And in just a moment I realize...I remember.

And in just those moments I experience an unexplainable hurt, solitude and loneliness. I know the ache of being torn between two worlds. His and hers. I know the desire to live out life with Haleigh Raye, to watch her grow up, to guide her on this journey but still wrestling with a longing, a want that I have no control over.

And in just a moment it hits me again and again...the moments she needs from me in life are no longer moments I will be able to give to Noah.

He doesn't need me in anyway form or fashion.  He is much better off then any of us here. But it still doesn't make it any easier with the aftermath we are dealing with. I'm trying to understand "the bigger plan." I'm trying to comprehend "it's not for me to know this side." I try to reason with myself. I tell myself I lived 26 years without him and I was just fine. He just was passing through my life and I will be the one who is ok.

And in the next moment, the next breath, still yet, still to this day, there are moments I beg, bargain and barter to have him back with me. With us. It could happen. It's just been a moment. It's just been months since I held him, touched him, texted him...kissed him. Things I took for granted just months  ago which, in a moment, has turned into

a year ago.

And in just a moment it won't be months.  We will add the words I've come to dread to add for some time now. A year.

 A year without Noah Dean.

The Supposed To's vs. What Is

“If a mother is mourning not for what she has lost but for what her dead child has lost, it is a comfort to believe that the child has not lost the end for which it was created. And it is a comfort to believe that she herself, in losing her chief or only natural happiness, has not lost a greater thing, that she may still hope to "glorify God and enjoy Him forever." A comfort to the God-aimed, eternal spirit within her. But not to her motherhood. The specifically maternal happiness must be written off. Never, in any place or time, will she have her son on her knees, or bathe him, or tell him a story, or plan for his future, or see her grandchild.” 

― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

The past couple of months I feel like, through much prayer, self control and discipline, I have learned to "manage" my grief per say. I've not come upon too many things that make me totally shut down in public. I've not ran away and hid when a memory presents itself.  I've not let myself get too upset when I feel someone or a situation is forgetting Noah...or, on the flip side, someone or something reminds me that he is supposed to be here. 

But, without question, I still mourn for Noah. 

I mourn for what Noah has lost. A life he was supposed to be living. Field trips he should be on, school and church plays he should be singing in and roads he should be running up and down on. I will admit I feel a twinge of jealousy and bitterness arise in me when I see a group of boys out laughing and playing. He's supposed to be there. And then I try to remember what I've been told. What I've learned. What I know. "Noah is ok! Noah is in a better place." His end on earth does not mean the end of him. It is the end of what I knew of Noah. But it wasn't supposed to end this way. At this time. 

Sometimes, however, my grief will take a different turn.  I can get lost in my own grief and so consumed by it I just zone out and will tend to shut even those closest to me out of my world. I am oblivious to what is going on and I find myself in complete mourning, depression and just plain feeling sorry for myself of what has been taken from me and wondering how on earth will I go on without someone I was never supposed to lose in the first place. 

And then, I mourn as a mother. 

I ask myself how did this happen? Why did this happen? What part did I play in this? It wasn't supposed to go this way. I have lost my son and there is nothing I can do to bring him back. All those times he was scared and I gently reassured him, "Noah's it's ok, mommy won't let anyone or anything hurt you." I didn't come through on that and even now I find myself hesitating when I say those words to Haleigh Raye. What if she doubts me, as a mother, and thinks, "but something did hurt my brother." A confidence about my maternal role has been taken away. I can't protect them, I didn't protect him like I thought I could...like I was supposed to. And then another wave hits me and I mourn for all the "supposed to's" that I can't do anymore. 

I can't mother him anymore. The anxiety, the fears, the worries come back like they are all new.

I won't get to watch him grow up.

I won't get to watch him graduate high school. 

I won't get to watch him decide what career he will choose.

I won't get to watch him fall in love, pick out a ring and marry his bride.

But I'm supposed to be able to do all those things and more. It's not fair. I made sure he participated in sports, budgeted for braces and did yearly physicals. I helped him with homework, tried to secure him a good education so he could choose the career field he wanted. I prayed for his future wife and wondered what she was doing at the moments I prayed for her. 

I did that because I was his mom. That is what I was supposed to do. It is what I was called to do. It is what I wanted to do. But it is not what is. 

So, now, what am I supposed to do when he doesn't need me anymore? When the natural instinct and yearning of being a mom to him is there but he is not. 

What's supposed to happen now? 

(I set on this post for a few days trying to find some neat and tidy way to close this post rather than leave it open ended with a question. But I realized I can't because I don't know what is supposed to happen next. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do next. There is no correct way to deal with the turn my life has taken. Anyone that knew me before the loss of Noah knows what a planner I prided myself in being. Part of this struggle, with my own grief, is the fact that so much is unknown and that can scare me more than anything. I've had to give up a control in my life I thought I had, I thought was mine when all along the control was not mine to have. Noah's death has brought me to my knees and made me really stop and think, "do I really believe what I say I believe." I will be honest I've doubted a lot of things and I've had to come face to face with that and deal with it. And there are sometimes it has not been pretty to be confronted with myself in that way. But when the grief has exhausted me, the supposed to's are too much and pain has lost its numbness I can rest that Noah made a decision to put his childlike faith and trust into a God so that, in death, he would be where he was supposed to be.)