Friday, February 23, 2018

Beware the storm clouds

The storm rolled in atop the Peaks as I watched, mesmerized by the beauty and brooding nature of the beast. My view of the mountains was quickly obscured by the thick bank of snow, and soon even the nearby surrounding hills disappeared into the mouth of the storm. As flakes began to fall in earnest around me, I considered how reminiscent the storm is of the storms I allow to overtake my thoughts, and quickly my day, and even my joy, at times. Not unlike the storms that shadow the Peaks, the storms that shadow my heart come from many directions and often without a great deal of warning. The beauty of the mountain storms is coupled with the danger, but, in contrast, I find the beauty in the storms of my own life to be nearly obscure, unless perhaps in hindsight.

Today, as a storm was built out of a frustration stacked upon frustration, spilled milk, a task list that remained elusively incomplete, canceled appointments, and unmet expectations, I knew danger lurked. When the very large jar of hand soap splattered onto the floor in an array of tiny glass shards, the building storm erupted in volcanic fashion and my children were the hapless victims of it's wrath. I administered an emphatic explanation of why carelessness is a deplorable wrongdoing, in a considerably escalated volume and with far more energy than was strictly necessary - okay, I went totally overboard, and yelling happened. The eldest of the small humans (who hold my heart) withered into a puddle while maintaining stoic resolve to hold himself together and be strong in spite of his mother's most overwhelming state of being.

As I looked at his strength holding him together as his joy crumbled in (self) disappointment, the storm inside me disappeared and was replaced with horrifying sorrow. I stepped across the heap of soap and glass oozing across the floor, grabbed that tender human into my arms and let him sob into my chest. I told him how incredibly sorry I was for unjustly hurting him and for thrusting him into the eye of my storm. I asked him if he would please grab me, hold me firm and remind me in those moments of tornado pressure to stop, breathe and remember that I am responsible to make the right choice, just as I frequently remind him. He asked me why I still have problems "minding your temper" even though I'm older and understand more. I reminded him that I am a fallen creature capable of much naughtiness and capable of much good, just like him. His whole face smiled as he said, "So, I am going to need to remind you to behave when you are making bad choices. You can do better, Mama, and you'll be happier with yourself  when you're a really old person if you do better now." Yikes. Good thing I've got four (well, five, if we start from the top, with Daddy) holding my feet to the fire (even if it burns them, sometimes). I'm a lucky girl. And. I. Know. It.


Sarahhh said...

What a blessing you and the brood of men you live with are, sharpening one another and sharing your lives. Thank you for the reminder that we all have work to do- both within and without- but are loved by an incredible Father.

Gwendolyn1946 said...

Thank you, dearest, for these words of contrition and admonition, of revelation, conviction, and pure unfettered openness. You speak so much truth as you lay bare the fractured reality that engulfs each of us...and true to the “Pollyanna” you’ve always been, even as a little girl, you see through to the other side where there is wholeness and hope, beauty and purpose. You have a gift. Each blog you share not only blesses but enlightens, maybe even enables. I love you so much♥️

teona said...

"Life is messy. Love is messier." Those words, spoken in a movie, the name of which I've forgotten, but the words stuck with me, still hit home.
Eryn, your amazing ability to not only survive all the 'messes', but somehow blossom in their aftermath, reminds me of taking a long hot shower after pulling weeds all day, or dancing in the rain after sloshing through the mud, or better yet excitedly jumping into Lake Powell, after hours of playing on the sand slides. The power you draw from, fueled by whom or whatever, seems to always leave you and those of us who are blessed by your words, stronger....ready to take on the next 'mess', which inevitably will of course come.:-). I love you my niece!