I decided to join this blog carnival that I found via The Miller Mix. I love reading Kelly’s writing, and today was no exception. Her post on ‘Courage’ was outstanding, so, I checked out Momalom.com and decided I wanted in.
Well, it wasn’t too difficult to come up with this post, because it was something that happened just the other day, and is so vivid in my mind…
I can’t type fast enough!
As you know, by reading previous posts, that we are moving in exactly 26 days. Yup, 26 DAYS! You would think that after living in 9 different homes in 13 and 1/2 years that it wouldn’t be a huge deal. You would think… However, it still can be pretty stressful. Not just the packing and unpacking. No…we’re talking the rental agreements, the signing and exchanging of the lease, having every little detail in writing so that everyone stays ‘friendly’, getting the utilities put in your name, ordering the cable and DSL package, or whatever will make computer life happy, the moving truck details, getting the right size boxes and having enough packing tape and sharpie pens so that when they go missing in a sea of newspaper and bubble wrap, it’s not the end of the world… changing my meal planning to paper plate menus and one pot meals, keeping out enough toys to keep the little ones happy, but packing enough to keep the living spaces sane….*breath taken here* Shall I go on? I didn’t think so. You get it.
So, after having most of these things taken care of, and I think I’m well on my way to success, my phone rings. It’s the real estate agent. He’s spoken to the home owner, and decides 26 days before the occupancy date, to drop this bomb:
Our cats are not allowed to occupy the home with us !
Our boys…who we have had for over 6 years, are not allowed!! Now, this is after a full 6 months of searching for that perfect home….in our price range…with the right amount of space for a home-schooling family of five (with incredible references including a husband who can build or fix anything on the property, mind you) and one who allowed pets. Well, the last part was obviously a mis-communication.
My heart sunk to the middle of my stomach.
WE HAVE THREE WEEKS UNTIL MOVING DAY!!!
Come on man! They are fat, lazy, de-clawed cats who delight in getting an ice-cube from the ice maker a few times a day for entertainment!
How much damage could they possibly do?!
Immediately I begin to panic. Now, mind you, I am not the panicky type. Emotional, outspoken and very out-going, yes, but I usually handle stress fairly well. But being completely honest, I think my coping tank was on ‘E’ at this point and I couldn’t take one more situation that was going to force me into hard-core ‘faith mode’. Do I trust God? Yes. Am I human? You bet I am. So, as fast as my little fingers could go, I began to research. More rentals, more dead ends. More phone calls, more answering machines. I had tears in my eyes, and a lump in my throat as I listened to my three precious girls behind me, playing in the background, laughing, without a clue as to what was happening.
My oldest daughter, still laughing from whatever silly conversation they were all having, stopped dead in her tracks once she caught a glimpse of my face. There was no faking this one. She slowly sauntered over to me, her long legs moving so slow I felt as if the whole room had stood still.
With her eyebrows raised in concern and her thin little lips pursed, she quietly asked, “Mom…what’s wrong?”
That’s all it took. I burst into tears (no thanks to my premenstrual condition), looked at her and spilled it.
By this time, the other two girls had come over, speechless. Mommy is not only losing it, but she’s crying? That can’t be good!
Here I was, the one who had been spouting out declarations of faith, and trust in God, and confidence in our decision to make this crazy move,
now crying like a baby and displaying more fear in a matter of moments than I had the last 6 months!
(I know, you’re thinking, wasn’t this supposed to be a post about courage? I’m getting to it.)
She looked at me, put both of her sweet dainty little hands on my knotted-up shoulders and simply said, “Mom…you don’t have to worry about it.”
Still unmoved by her sweet voice, I continued on in my rant, “Yes! Yes I DO!
Either we have to find another place to live, or we have to find a home for the boys! What am I going to do!?”
I couldn’t believe those words were actually coming out of my mouth! What an idiot! Great job, Mom! Way to go!
‘And the award for the worst mom goes to……..’
I can hear it now!
But before God would allow my pity party to continue any longer, my brave, courageous, beautiful, strong 12-year-old grabbed my knotted-up shoulders even more firmly, stared straight into my distraught, tear-filled eyes, and with a still, small voice said,
“No Mom. You don’t. What have you been saying to us? Not only for the last few months, but for as long as I can remember? God has it. He always had, and He always will. Every detail, right? You’ve always said, ‘Do not worry about tomorrow…it has enough trouble of its own’, right?”
I stared at her as if our ages had transferred in a matter of minutes, just nodding my head.
“Well then,” she continued “there’s nothing to do but pray, and wait…and get off of that computer. You need a break!”
What could I say? I was speechless! It was perfect! She couldn’t have rebuked me any more loving or respectful that that! Absolutely spot on!!!
I looked at my girl, my heart swelling with more love, mommy pride and peace than ever, and just said,