Family Raises the Spirit

Exactly six years and two months ago (add seven minutes if you want to be exact) Jackson and I welcomed our first baby girl into the world.  It was such an anticipated event that came after the longest nine months of my life and I would have to say that it was worth every millisecond of the count-down.  Jane was such a great baby and was so full of life.  The words cute and adorable didn’t do her much justice.  She had large round eyes framed by long dark lashes and an explosive, bigger-than-life personality cased in the teeny-tiniest of bodies.  She brought such joy to so many faces and many of them belonging to people we didn’t even know.  Even at a young age of just a few months old there was something different about her.  It was as though she had been blessed in heaven with some sort of magic running through the marrow of her bones. 

As Jane grew and changed she met each new milestone with overwhelming excitement as her world opened up to a whole new perspective.  By the time she was old enough to pull herself up to a standing position one of her  favorite things to do was stand at the window in our family room and stare outside.  With every passer-by she would fill the room with high-pitched squeals and laughter, sometimes being so loud that the people would stop for a moment, looking around for the origin of the playful and infectious sounds.  She was my own personal miniature version of a one-woman show that kept me captivated for hours on end.

One of the greatest joys of being a first time parent and to a child like Jane was getting to experience this tiny new life discovering so much joy out of the sort of things I had become callused to over the years:  the feeling of grass rising between our toes, the splendor of walking up to the sky-walk in downtown Lexington to watch the tiny world moving below us, or watching the way a bubble gracefully floats through the air with such ease before it suddenly pops out of existence.  Even back then, when time seemed to slow down to suite our life together in our own little world, I knew that some day it would all have to end.  The time then was delicate, just like that bubble, and there we were encased safely inside moving gently along in a world that was moving at a much faster pace.  I knew that one day the bubble would suddenly pop and we would fall very quickly back into reality.  At the time all I could do was pray that no matter when and where it happened I would still be able to hold onto Jane so tightly, knowing every inch of her so well, and being able to still borrow from the magic of her bones.

I’m not sure exactly the time and space that our little bubble popped, but I am certain that it has.  Life is moving so much faster these days, but I have to admit that as Jane has grown and changed, so have I.  In those days when life moved at a pace that left me two steps ahead I was organized and more neatly put together in a pretty impressive Mommy package.  Two cities and two more children later I feel like quite a mess.  To add to it, for the past few days my youngest has held me prisoner in a breastfeeding concentration camp and yesterday my emotions finally got the best of me.  As I walked through our living room that has been carpeted with stuffed animals, pet shops, and crayons for more days that I would like to confess, there was a fresh batch of large blankets piled up beside the basket where moments before they were nicely folded into.  I lost it.  “That’s it, I’m moving out,” I yelled, tears streaming down my face.  “I can’t do this anymore!  You have to live here with Daddy and I’ll come and visit, but I just need to live somewhere organized and clean.”  With that I walked out of the living room, my tiny warden riding on my hip.

As I entered the kitchen I felt so angry and disappointed, but surprisingly it was with myself.  I knew exactly what I had done.  In that moment, I had failed to stop before a raging ball of emotions spilled from my lips, drenching the securities of my innocent little girls with my own fears and anxieties.  I proceeded to set up Camp Molly in the high chair with toys and a pacifier and safely buckled her in.  I cried quietly as I began to pray.  “I am a horrible mother.  I’m a stinking, rotten horrible mother!  Please forgive me, please forgive me, and please, Lord, let them forgive me.”

As I collected myself and began to pull the makings of dinner from the cupboards and the refrigerator I was interrupted by the sound of hurried bare feet slapping against the tiles of the kitchen floor.  It was Jane, happy and playfully rushing in to join me.  I looked down at her and she seemed unscathed as though nothing ever happened. 

“Jane,” I told her.  “Mommy didn’t mean that.  I’m not really going to move out.  I’m just really tired and stressed out and it wasn’t fair for me to unload all of that onto you.”

“I know, Mommy,” she replied in an upbeat voice.  “You can’t leave anyway.  You give our family love.” 

With that she turned and started rearranging the magnetic letters that decorate our refrigerator door in a disorderly mess.  As I took a head of lettuce and placed it on the cutting board, there was only the sound of Molly banging her toys, and Jane talking to herself.  “Let’s see,” she said as she started arranging letters.  “F… and… R…. and… T… and… S.  There, family rises the spirit.”

I stopped and turned to her, looking at the letters in primary color that formed the most beautiful acronym I had ever heard.  “Where did you hear that, Jane?” 

“What?”

“Family raises the spirit.  Did you hear that in church?”

“No, Mommy.  I just made it up in my mind.  Ya, know?”

I asked, “What do you mean by spirit?”

“Ya, know,” she replied, “like the invisible kind… like inside and like God.” 

I stood there quietly watching her as she stood to walk out of the room.  It was as though an angel had entered the room long enough to lift us back into that bubble for one more brief moment in time.  To be there with her yet again, and to, yet again, soak up some of the magic running through her bones was as magnificent and healing as God Himself.

I smiled at her, looking into those same recognizable large, round eyes and said, “Thank you, Jane.  That’s brilliant.”

 

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