I deleted my last post. My pictures apparently had minds of their own, and I don’t like pictures who think for themselves. Creeps me out. So I quit. I thought I should clarify in case you were here, and now you are here again, and they are gone. You aren’t crazy, although I am not a doctor. So, you could be.
Anyway. I am watching everything happen around me and trying to refrain from building a bubble around my family and moving in.
- friends’ car broke down
- friend had a baby, her gall bladder broke, then her whole body broke which is super convenient when you have a preschooler, a toddler, and a newborn.
- friends are on their way to move here and their UHaul broke, twice. still waiting on news from that as they camp out on the side of the freeway in Washington and try to stay positive
- friend’s kid had surgery and had a wicked reaction to everything: fever, sick, sick, and sick
- The Man learned that 19 fire fighters were killed in action yesterday. News like this always hits close to home.
- friend’s washer exploded and ruined their house. Twice.
Seriously, every where I look there is craziness. But bubbles don’t protect. They are flimsy and probably smell.
Instead I am standing firm that if something breaks through our calm, God is legit. Like MC Hammer, only better because God would never wear Velcro pants. Ever.
This morning I put my baby on a plane with another teenager today. No grown up. Just a teenager who shares her snarky wit and affinity for recognizing a movie quote when the speaker didn’t realize anyone would catch on. Isabelle is 15; I don’t even have to right to call her a baby anymore, but she is MY baby. I can’t decide if I am sadder that she is so independent and rocks at life or if I would be sadder if she was clingy and lame. She doesn’t need me because she depends heavily on Jesus. Even when I am there, we stop and pray when crap happens. She doesn’t need me. I am glad, but sort of not.
In a few months, she is going to leave for another country to minister to El Salvadorians. It’s what God wants of her. It’s what she wants. It will change her life and remind her of God’s big plan for her. But it means she goes without me. Again. This is the risk in raising your kids to be radical for God. They do it. With or without you, they go and become fishers of men. Happy fishing, baby girl. I am proud of your choices even when you corn dog your brother and your aim is a bit off and you make him cry.