Made to Break
For my son’s 21st birthday, he and my husband went to the Rage Room. They bundled up in industrial overalls and had protective gear on, headed into a room spray-painted with graffiti, and for an hour, they threw bottles against the wall and used a sledgehammer to destroy stereos and all manners of breakables. The epitome of controlled chaos. The bottles and glassware and old electronics were obviously not made to be broken. What after all is made to be broken?
A mother’s heart.
When my kids hurt, I hurt. When my kids are disappointed, I hurt. When my kids are stressed, I feel stress. When my kids are across the country and experience something monumental and I can’t be there to witness it, I hurt. The tug-of-war of pride, and excitement, and empathetic hurt in relation to my kids far outweighs the hurts of my own direct life!
My daughter just got a large unexpected bill and I know she’s stressing about finances. My heart hurts for her. I just want to fix it. I want to come up with solutions and press her until it’s resolved. I want to ask her too many times if she’s ok, and get her to measure her stress for me so I know she’s ok. She’s experiencing her own hurt and disappointment (and probably anger) over this. My hurt is secondary and I don’t want that to spill into her own experience and make it worse. I’ve got to give her space. Which hurts too.
My son just got baptized… five states away and I missed it. My heart hurts. I got to see the video. I’m so proud of him. And then I cried a little. He has made a decision about his faith that is so important, and I missed it. He chose to do that without me. He actually didn’t even tell me. Someone else sent me the video. During a time of celebration, I feel a little sadness and disappointment. Yet there is no way I can let that cast a shadow on his decision and the true blessing and excitement this brings. I’ve got to tuck away my hurt and process it on my own.
I miss my dad. His birthday is coming up. We just went to the classy old downtown theater and watched Christmas Vacation… his favorite Christmas movie. My youngest misses him too. He was her person. He made her feel the most special out of everyone. He had a way of doing that. She put together a picture and poem today. A heartfelt poem; so fitting. And a funny, ridiculous picture. My dad, in a completely ripped up flannel (we told him to get rid of it countless times!) pushing his granddaughters… his most favorite people in the world… in a stroller (while they dangerously stood rebelling against the manufacturers instructions), on the beach. Her grief over the loss of her grandfather kills me. It amplifies my own grief. Her hurt hurts me so drastically. If by some strange miracle, we could have my dad back for five minutes, I would gladly hand that five minutes to my kids rather than take it myself. And that’s not being selfless. It’s being selfish. It would be an exchange of their hurt for joy, which would ease the burden of my own hurt.
I know I’m not the only one with a heart that breaks for her children. Their heartache is mine. Their imprudent decisions that lead to unfavorable consequences breaks my heart. When they experience the unfairness of this world, it ravages my heart. When someone hurts them… I rage. Not to mention normal healthy maturing that hurts… them moving out, moving away, replacing my position in their lives with a significant other! Oh the motherly woes that so frequently lives in the secret crevices of my heart!
With all the pain and heart break that comes with being Mom… I wouldn’t give it up for the world. God created this heart to take it all in; all the pain and disappointment and fear. He put me here, so they wouldn’t have to go thru it alone. God created this heart to break. And in the breaking, He’s created me to hold space for my own hurt and also theirs. And in doing so… I get to experience all the excitement. I get a front row seat to the amazing up-and-down-and-all-around lives that these young people are living. What a joy. What a pleasure. I happily accept the pain to participate in the lives of these people God so graciously let me borrow. That something can be broken and abundantly full at the same time… simply incredible.
