Persistence and Setbacks and Perspective

This wasn't exactly my favourite day.
Vava's been sick, and after struggling to control her fever and cough for a few days, I phoned the telehealth line. The nurse recommended she be seen by a doctor, so Patrick came home from work and I set off with Vava for the walk-in.

The first one: full.
The second one: full.
The third one: closed for vacation.
The fourth one: full.
The fifth one: closed for vacation.

I'm not going to lie.  My typical tolerance level for persisting through setbacks is pretty small. But I've been trying to deliberately instill determination and persistence in the kids, talking with them about setbacks and attitude and reframing bad situations with positive words, so I guess it was time for me to practice what I've been preaching.  But after driving all over the city, dragging my feverish little girl in and out of the cold, I felt the last of my small store of pluck give way as we saw the closed sign on the fifth clinic's door.

A kind lady nearby recommended the emergency room. "They're usually a little quicker with the young ones," she smiled.

So I straightened my back and we buckled in for one last try.

And they were great - the Thunder Bay emergency room is one of the fastest I've ever been in.  We were assessed and saw the doctor straight away. Somehow there was a mix up though, and we waited for maybe 2 hours after seeing the doctor before we were sent for xrays.

Vava was awesome. Sweet and good and funny. But her eyes were red and her fever was determined to return and she was shy.  She was hungry, but told me she'd rather wait for pizza from her favourite place than buy anything at the hospital.  She cooperated through her swabs and xrays without a peep.  Finally she was diagnosed with strep throat and we left with a prescription, four hours after pulling into the parking lot.

As I helped her hop out of the van to go buy pizza, she squeezed me tight and sighed, "oh mama, thank you for a lovely outing!"

♡ ♡ ♡

It's always always always about perspective, isn't it?

What was a really challenging day for me was a chance for uninterrupted cuddles and one-on-one time for Vava.

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I hope you, too, can find something in it that's lovely.  A four-year-old can almost always help.

Xo.

Grownups Have A Lot of Chores

I was cuddling Sam a few nights ago and he asked me if I was sad that I was a grownup, "because grownups have to do lots of chores?"

I laughed for a moment, then asked if he knew one of the great secrets of life.

"I know it," he said, "the secret of life is that life is challenging."

I love this kid.

When I was his age, I probably would have said that the secret of life is burying yourself in a stack of Judy Blumes. 

I don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling kind of tired by all the work there is to do. Dustbunnies and clutter and dirty dishes seem to build up endlessly. Everywhere. In my house. In my character. In my small corner of the world.

And yeah, I do still want to bury myself in a cozy place and just read til I'm a little old lady with enormous glasses and papery skin, but I'd miss out on a lot.

Because life is challenging. 

Life is challenging.

So every day I get up and feed six people and pack three lunches and dress the kids in clothes and snowsuits and put them on the bus and wash dishes and wipe the table and fold some clothes and make beds and vacuum and make lunch and sweep and feed the baby and put the kids down for naps and make snack and greet the big kids off the bus and unpack their backpacks and feelings and lunchboxes and read some stories and wash more dishes and start supper and get out the art supplies and feed the baby again and teach the kids how to set the table for the hundredth time and change bums and let someone help me cook and serve and eat supper and wash the dishes and make bedtime snacks and get the kids ready for bed and brush teeth and cuddle Kachi, and cuddle the big kids, and feed the baby and then tackle one area to declutter and

and
right about this time of night I start to think that maybe Sam isn't wrong, and being a grownup is synonymous with doing chores.  There's always something that needs doing.

And I guess the difference between maturity and immaturity is how I treat the to-do list.  Because kid Janelle only knew how good it was to ignore the list and lose herself in a good book; grownup Janelle knows how good it is to work hard. Not necessarily because it feels good to have dishpan hands, but because a clean kitchen is a great place to make food for my family. Because clean clothes and a full lunchbox are evidences of ordinary grace. Because uncluttered spaces nourish uncluttered thoughts and uncluttered hearts.  Because when I pour myself out for my family, I build something a whole lot richer than if I stayed in bed with some good books.

To sum it all up, Sam? You're right. Grownups do a lot of chores. And life is challenging.  But it's not sad.

The great secret of life is that it's worth it.
Every.
Single.
Day.

Lord Hear Our Prayer

"Lord, hear our prayer."

Today I saw that comment on facebook.  I don't often read public comment sections because they make me sad. (So much hate. So much misunderstanding.)  But I read a post from a blogger I follow and browsed through the comments.  Someone posted about an ache, a sadness in their heart, and a lady replied, "Lord, hear our prayer."

And I can't think of a kinder reply, a better reply, to the cry of sorrow.
No criticism.
No answers.
No advice.
Just those four words.

I want to be that kind of friend.  Because I know that sometimes I need someone like that - someone who puts their arms around me and just stands beside me as they take my burden and place it in God's hands.  Because sometimes we're just so weak and weary from the sorrow that we can't even lift it from our hearts to place it in His care on our own.
We need someone to stand with us and pray.

Lord, hear our prayer.
This sorrow.  This burden.  This ache.
I am here with my sister, my brother.
Hear our prayer.

Maybe it's something we can't articulate.  Maybe it's something that hurts too badly to put into words. Maybe it's something so tender, so private, we can't even speak of it.

It's okay.  We don't need to share details.  We can stand together, kneel together, be silent together, and just cry "Lord, hear our prayer."

My friend, I see you.
I see you trying so hard, fighting so much.
And I am praying with you.
I am praying with you.

Lord, hear our prayer.