It's a Matter of Perspective

     "Mommy, why do so many bad things keep happening to us?"  ...Sigh...and as my eight year old throws herself in a fit of gut-wrenching sobs, it takes everything in me not to join her.  This was in the wake of what was probably a scary moment for her as we had a tire blow out while merging onto a busy highway.  As I maneuvered over to the shoulder and the 18-wheelers zoomed by, it seemed to occur to us all , in an unspoken moment of horror, that just recently someone was killed sitting on the shoulder of this same highway only weeks ago.  I took a deep breath and with my hazards blinking in their rhythmic fashion, hobbled back onto the highway to make the few thousand feet to the closest exit ramp where we were able to pull into a gas station, (all the while with three nervous children all telling me how to drive, how helpful).  I put the music on and suggested reading from our library books as we waited for Daddy to come and help us (and as I steadied my shaking hands).  Because nerves weren't tested enough, as the kids were still in the van while it was being jacked up, ("Isn't this fun?!), the van rolled off of the jack and bottomed out onto the concrete.  Ashen-faced children were ushered out and arrangements were made to get us home safely, notwithstanding the fact that the other car available was pulled off of a lift for a much-needed brake job to come and rescue us.  Happily, we're home safe and, well apparently not quite sound.

     Can I be honest?  I feel like some sort of human pinata lately.  I could write a novel about the last decade or so, but most recently it has been a storm of sorts around here.  For whatever reason, there is usually some generous amount of nonsense happening.  Whether it's water leaking from the roof on my bed at night, sliding off the road into a retaining wall with a car full of kids and their presents on Christmas Eve during a sudden snowfall, or more recently the drying up of our well.  These meddlesome adventures are where the name of my blog came from.  Understandably, life with five children pretty much guarantees a rollercoaster ride of not only emotions but of circumstances.  However, my life in and of itself, kids aside, sometimes plays out like the Benny Hill Show; granted more slapstick, less smut.

     While raising a gaggle of kids is definitely a challenge even on the best of days, add a household that barely has running water and you've just kicked the insanity level up a notch.  (Disclaimer alert:  I am aware that for people all over the world clean running water is an unfound luxury and I am in no way forgetting that and therefore read to the end and then feel free to scold me.)  In my busy house I find myself rationing toilet flushing and dish washing, cooking with only bottled water (rich girl problems I know), showering at the houses of generous family members and friends and doing the 3+ loads of laundry (moment of gratitude:  we have enough clothes to constitute that much laundry!) a day at various satellite locations keeping me on my toes more than I really ever wanted to be.  I have spent an incredible amount of time in mental conversation.  Sometimes with God (that's between He and I), but more often with myself and yes I realize I just admitted that I may be going a little nutty.  The conversations with my frustrated-self are often filled with the things that I put in parenthesis, that constant struggling with what I find difficult and yet knowing deep down, that my problems really are high-class.  It has become a mental yoga-class of sorts where I have to force myself to bend and become more flexible in my ability to accept what I am powerless over (I still haven't figured out how to make it rain.), to become more trusting in myself and my situation and that there is a higher plan for me, (making the calls to find out how in the world I am going to come up with the money to drill my well deeper.) and to finally and most importantly keep it all in perspective.  The kind of perspective I shared with my daughter tonight in spite of the real despair that I felt.

     As she stood there with that quiver in her lower lip that signaled an inevitable break down and she asked me that question while the sobs escaped, I was able to ask my little girl, "Charlotte, can you see me?" (nod of the head), "Charlotte can you hear my voice?" (again a tearful nod)  "Charlotte, can you use your legs to walk over to Mommy so that I can give you a big hug?"  As she ran with those healthy little legs over to me and I was able to wrap my strong arms around her and smell her shampoo and feel her warm tears against my skin I began to believe the message that I was about to tell my little girl.  That the things that have been happening are indeed not fun and they are upsetting, but to remember that the most important things in our life, such as the ability to hold each other are still intact.  We know people firsthand who can't hold each other because continents and evil separate them. That we are blessed with bodies that work and not everyone has that luxury. That our love for one another cannot be ruined by broken material things in this world.  Houses may fall apart, wells may dry up, cars come and go and as we age our health begins to fade too but the relationships in our lives are where are true legacy lives.  How we touch one another's hearts can last forever.  No matter where I hang my hat or what I drive or even  if I can see or hear, I can only truly put the value of my life in the love that I choose to be a part of.