Tired mothers push their children in strollers with wheels that are coming off from overuse.
Mere children so afraid of gang violence and cartels that they're leaving their own families before they're in double digits. Walking a thousand plus miles with strangers just to have a chance at asylum. A chance to feel safe.
Mother's hearts breaking as children run off in the night to join the masses.
Pink eye from the dust stirred beneath their sore-covered feet.
Running from the kind of poverty we can't even fathom. Not the food stamp, homeless shelter, food pantry kind of poverty we know.
Afraid of their own government
of political unrest
of gang violence.
Blistered and dehydrated, the children still laugh and play and hope.
How desperate does one have to be to leave their homes, their families, their culture, familiarity, just to have a fighting chance at refuge?
Poor restaurant owners pass out beans and rice and bottled water. The people with the least helping the most.
Then we throw tear gas to those who are just asking for help. 1,243 miles later, and they extend their hands to us with high hopes and are met with poison and push back.
Denying Christ isn't just a verbal renunciation of belief, but the thousand different ways we trample the image of Christ in others.
We renouce Christ by ignoring the cries of the oppressed
by giving stones to those asking for bread
by spraying poison at children asking for peace
by protecting our way of life instead of the actual lives of others.
We deny Christ when we refuse to see his image in the lives of everyone around us: migrant, refugee, native, neighbor, and brother alike.
We deny Christ when we say we carry His name and act nothing like him.
Others will use our lives to define who God is. Do you look like Jesus? The one who offers peace and promise, or are you presenting serpents instead?
We are tabernacled by a holy God.
Filled with the capacity to hold the world within our hearts
to carry the oppressed, the voiceless, the marginalized, and to carry it all with grace.
So as mothers carry babies, and babies carry fear, let’s allow the love of Christ to enable us to carry them.
To respond to their vulnerability with understanding, to respond to their pain with aide, to allow others to jump on the same caravan of Grace that’s been carrying each and every one.
Motherhood is such a beautiful ideal, and an extremely difficult truth. We have such difficult scales to balance - to nourish adequately, to help our children navigate their way out of their unkempt outpour of emotions. To teach them to be flexible and to share, to be kind and brave, and to steward their belongings with care. We feed and nap them, we give deliriously without asking for anything in return, except the hopeful anticipation that our children will be happy and love well in the end. We manage all of these aspects of their lives, while we, ourselves, are sleep-deprived, and have our very own emotional gardens that need tending.
In the midst of chaos - the no's and time-outs, the tantrums and upset, the whining and general non-cooperation - I can experience a lot of anxiety, especially when the delirium of sleep-deprivation sets in. Most days, I deal with the messes as they come. I can take one incident at a time, isolate it from the rest of the chaos, and move on with relative ease. But there are some days when my mind is overstimulated from multi-tasking, "exhausted" is an understatement, my fine motor skills are more like a joke, and my nerves are raw and exposed. I feel the anxiety creep through me like a sickness, and I internally implode over every rebuttal of my authority.
I don't check in with myself, I continue to justify every nuance of frustration until anger is born. I lose it in front of the very beings I am teaching to have self-control. I yell and I cry and I feel such an enormous amount of relief from unloading. I take all of the weight back when I realize the repercussions of what I've done.
I am guilt-ridden and overwrought with the fact that I am giving my kids life-tools. I am personally handing them mechanisms to deal with conflict and to navigate reconciliation and peace. I am the one that will set the standard for their lives. What I say and how I react in one moment, has the power and opportunity to settle into their personalities, and to become their inner dialogue.
So I take my children into my arms. I humbly ask them for forgiveness, and I vow not to behave so recklessly in the future, and a miracle happens, one that makes me realize that I'm doing alright at this parenting gig, despite my mishaps. My children embrace me right back, and through teary-eyes, they forgive me. They forgive me.
We can't be perfect, but we can be sorry. We need to sit with our children and let them see that humility and forgiveness have power. I realized in that moment that my children are understanding their role in conflict resolution - their very choice. Our home will never be completely conflict-free, but we can all make the individual choice to forgive. We love each other enough that we can make allowances for each other's mistakes because the safest place to practice...is at home.
So we move forward, safeguarding our hearts with practical ways we can diffuse our frustrations before they give birth to destruction. I promise to keep more careful track of my emotions, to keep better balance of chores and fun, to put down the dish towel or the laundry and to guard our relationships most carefully when the stress meter seems dangerously overworked. And above all, to have a little grace for each and every one of us.
I was able to teach my children a valuable lesson - albeit the wrong way - and they taught me one too: that love is messy and imperfect, and ALWAYS a choice. No matter what, we are there for each other, and that is what matters most. Love is a powerful motivator, and they are doing it right. It compels me to be a better person, to love harder, and to let go of the things in this life that pester and nag me into defeat.
(First published in The Village Magazine's blog in October 2017)
In a particular African tribe when someone goes spiritually astray, they form a circle around that person and tell them stories of their life and the good things they've done from their birth until present. Isn't that absolutely beautiful?! It is such an intentional act of connection and compassion. It is an act that refuses to leave the impoverished person to float in and out of their own false sense of self.
I have 5 children who are all at different developmental stages, and sometimes the weight of these differences drive me mad. They annoy each other, they fight, they behave like savages. It can become so easy to overlook who they really are, and just see what is. While my children aren't spiritually astray, it's true that they forget who they are, especially while wearing the degradations of their siblings, and the impatience of their mother.
What if instead of commanding the bickering to stop, we joined hands and spoke into each other's lives? It's not really the act of correction that creates receptivity in our heart. Correction merely calls for behavior to change without digging to see what the root of that behavior attaches to. What if instead of regurgitating some rote and meaningless regulations, we actually looked deep into each other's hearts and met each other there? In our humanness, with the understanding that we all behave worse when we feel bad about ourselves.
I need to dig deep and remind my children why they're loved and who they really are when they've forgotten the way. I need my children to tell me why I am a good mother in those moments when I've misplaced my patience. We all need to feel that powerful connection that comes when hearing "you're good."
It's my responsibility as their mother to be the softness that they can fall into after a hard day, To encourage them through the worst, their worst. The only way that I can do that is by consciously focusing on who they truly are, and keeping that before them (and myself) always. They must get to a point when they know their worth so deeply, that they wouldn't dare disturb another's.
I've accepted this challenge for my children, this daily habit of connection. I want to escape the negative cycles that can bleed us through the day. I want to engage with them in a way that will forcibly adjust what I focus on, encouraging us all into healthier behaviors. I believe that this practice, no, this art of seeing, will divine a powerful shift into my family dynamic, one that will align the heart AND the behavior, igniting both peace and truth into a deeper and more lovingly connected tribe.