Update #44

Had a tough interchange with Emilie last night. My hold-her-cards-close-to-her-chest kid said some pretty hard things to me. While I don't know, in full, where some of her complaints and perceptions come from, some of them I absolutely do. I cringe because I know exactly where some of them come from.

They come from me. From wrong choices I've made as a mom. From wrong things I've said, from poorly worded comments I've made, from numerous times I don't stop and listen - truly listen - to the internal, softly spoken voices of my kids.

The truth is that Emilie's perceptions - some of them anyway - come because I've earned those perceptions. And that's…well…that's a huge "ouch."

Yes, it's painful at any time to see the effects of your weaknesses, mistakes, sins.
It cuts to the core at any time, right?
But it cuts particularly deep when you hear those words the day before you head to the doctor to find out what your tumor markers are doing.

Shouldn't you, Kristie, of all people know better? Shouldn't you choose better? Shouldn't you prioritize better? Live better? Love better?
Oh yes. Oh yes, I should.
But I don't always remember that.
And, because I don't, last night's conversation happened.

Tears flowed.  And then, thankfully, apologies poured out. Snuggles happened. I love you's were said. Smiles returned. The light was turned out and goodnight's were spoken.

And then what happened?
What do you do after you leave her room after hearing these hard, hard things?

You go into your room. Into the dark closet and you spend several minutes crying. Quietly so that she won't hear and be alarmed.

You spend more than a second thinking - wrongly, but you still think it anyway - that perhaps your children would be better off if someone else was their mom.

You spend a few painful moments wishing you could make everything all better. Wishing either your cancer diagnosis were gone or wishing that you'd never make another mistake again. Yet knowing that both would be nothing short of miraculous outcomes.

These moments are painful. Yet they also serve as deep reminders.

Humble reminders of who I really am. And who I am not.

And that I have a God who sees me.

Exactly as I am.

Imperfect. Mistake-laden. In a wimpy puddle of tears in her darkened closet.

And that He loves me anyway.

He forgives me anyway.

He holds on to me anyway.

He never walks away. Even when I might very well deserve it.

The dark moments of last night are a reminder of the depth of grace - undeserved favor - God has for me, for you. That, through Christ, He called us His own when we were far from deserving. And He keeps us as His own when we don't reflect Him very well.

And, ultimately, that's why I'm sharing this story. Not so you'll assure me that I won't be on the next America's Most Wanted for being the Worst Mom in the USA. But because even in the darkest moments, you and I both need to know that God's forgiving truth matters.

So as I head to Roswell tomorrow to hear - yet again - the internal status of my body, I would covet your prayers. Not just for my tumor markers to be in the normal range, but that - just as God's truth penetrated my darkened heart last night - it would penetrate into any of those dark places in Em's heart as well.

Thanks friends. Back in touch tomorrow or Wednesday…

K.



Thankfully there are many, many, many fun and silly moments too!