Presence

I’m a few weeks in to my stay with my daughter’s family. The new baby is almost three weeks old and we’re finding some sort of rhythm – incorporating some significant changes, especially where the three-year old is concerned. Grandma’s here – all the time! There’s a new baby – and she’s so cute! No climbing on Mommy right now – but we can snuggle! It’s a lot to process.

But not just for her. I’ve got a front row seat to the expansion of a family – where three become four, what a recent Washington Post article calls The Singular Chaos of a Second Child. We’re all feeling the change and navigating it in unique ways.

I can only speak to my perspective, even as I watch my daughter’s beatific face as she nurses a newborn and speaks kindness to her firstborn. That is to say, She seems to be getting it right. And the father of these kids, meeting his eldest daughter at her level to validate her big feelings and affirm his big love and affection for her – all the while honoring and adoring his wife and the new baby.

That is to say, it’s like being in a really good, uplifting movie where I am very familiar with the characters, and rooting for them in the middle of all these changes. And they’re getting it right.

In the midst of what does, occasionally, feel like chaos, but mostly is simply a new balancing act, rife with kindness and love, I am discovering something quite unexpected in terms of my state of mind, my spiritual life.

For context, a little history: I have five children, all born within the space of 10 years. This was during the afore-mentioned era of a certain brand of fundamentalist, patriarchal Christianity that included some significant influence from the Quiverfull movement. If you’re not familiar:

Quiverfull is a Christian theological position that sees large families as a blessing from God. It encourages procreation, abstaining from all forms of birth control…

Wikipedia

My kids’ dad was one of seven (“God’s favorite number.”) We didn’t abstain completely from birth control, but we weren’t quite as intentional or serious about preventing pregnancy, and so…

Our first three were girls, born in the space of four years. I remember my obstetrician asking if I wanted to consider a tubal ligation, cautioning me that three kids was plenty for a modern-day family…but there was no doubt we would continue until we had a son. The influence of the religious and family systems around us were strong; I remember commenting about three kids being a pretty big family, and being told, “Well, it wasn’t too long ago that women would easily have ten or twelve kids, no problem!”

Yeah…no problem, except they were exhausted and died at 58.

Regardless, we had our son 15 months after our third daughter. Then we got the bonus baby, four years later; and then we were done.

And then our marriage fell apart.

I’ve been navigating the fallout ever since. Undoubtedly, the failure of that marriage and the trauma for all of us – mostly especially the five kids – has been the defining event of my life.

But…I digress.

The point I am meandering towards has less to do with my personal history, and more to do with how I regarded my emotional and spiritual health during those early decades of child-rearing. I’ve had the chance to do a good bit of reflecting on that this week.

I was a music teacher, but after we started our family, I stayed home with my kids. I did a brief stint as a long-term elementary music sub, I taught piano lessons at home, I sold Pampered Chef at home parties, and then moved into serving part-time at our church as a worship leader when my eldest was 11 and the baby was old enough for a preschool experience. Throughout that decade, I did my best to manage our household and all the domestic duties required – most of the time, painfully aware that my best seemed to fall very, very short. My mother was constantly disappointed at the chaos of our house. I barely kept my head above water with laundry and cleaning. We arrived at places intact and close to on time, and the kids seemed to be thriving – but I always, always, always felt like I didn’t know what I was doing. It was a wild ride, and I seemed to be holding on by my fingertips. There was never enough time to think, it seemed; the days were a blur, and then we went to bed and woke up a few hours later and it started all over again.

To be honest, it wasn’t something I ever envisioned doing. I never dreamed of marrying and having children; I simply found myself, in 1990, in a friendship that became an attraction that morphed into a good reason to marry and settle into a religious community that could give me the boundaries and rules I sensed I needed to live a better life. Having lots of kids seemed to be part of the deal, with that particular husband and that faith community.

So that’s what I did. Pregnant three months after we married, I finished the school year and then became a stay-at-home-mom, officially.

I’ve observed, since then, that the character forged in me through the challenges of raising kids was exactly what I needed to make a dent in my natural propensity to be selfish, lazy, and navel-gazing. My head’s in the clouds a lot, but keeping babies and toddlers alive requires presence and attention. I’ve always held that my soul was crafted in a unique and necessary way because I had to turn so much attention to five humans, for whom I was completely responsible.

But I always felt like my spiritual growth was stuck – that other than the occasional Bible study (with child care – thank God!), my spiritual life was on cruise control while I lived. I’ve held that opinion for a good while, even as my life today – with adult children – has space for deeper studies, more time, continuing education, and the long walks in the woods that – for me – are the hallmark of this contemplative spiritual life that feels like home. In short: It seemed that my spiritual self was simply set to idle for the two decades during which my focus was my kids.

These past few weeks have brought a new perspective. Back to where I started this rambling essay: I’m watching my son-in-law and daughter parent their toddler, care for a newborn, and navigate the significant changes that are happening to their family in real time. I’m observing the very real presence that is required.

And I’m pushing a stroller up and down the hills of this little German village, listening to my granddaughter set her observations about all she sees to a rambling, rhythmic melody (life seems to be A Musical! for her, which I’m completely good with), and I’m paying attention. I’m responding to her questions, and spending 15 minutes hopping back and forth, back and forth, across the four stones that span the small creek in the park. I’m crouched by the side of a pond, tossing frozen peas to the little duck family paddling through the algae, singing Five little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away, while a little German boy looks on with rapt attention. I’m reading one more chapter in My Father’s Dragon, even if it’s time for lights out. I’m stopping to look at ladybugs and taking the time to watch her lick every last drop of dough out of the mixing bowl. I’m walking through the Lego museum just one more time, looking for ‘the space one’ (AKA Star Wars). I’m pushing the stroller through the park gift store, “I know we’re not gonna buy anything but can we look, Grandma?” I’m asking for Zwei Brezel, bitte, because she is confident she can eat a whole pretzel by herself – and I watch her do it.

Every single one of those moments – pretty much every single interactive moment of the day – I am required to be present. And so, I am.

I remember, as a young mom, reading an article that acknowledged the impossibility of being 100% present to your kids at all times. Sometimes, you go on autopilot and just nod at the appropriate times. Sometimes, your brain has to run on two tracks at the same time, and your kids get half your attention. A good parent knows when to focus and be completely present to their child(ren).

And this is the grace I have learned to give myself, in retrospect: For the most part, I was present. For all those moments, all those years, piled up one after another – I was there. I valued presence above a clean house, above a career (until circumstances forced me back to being the primary breadwinner), above a social life, above everything.

That’s not to say I was a great mom; I’m not the one to judge. But I’m holding grace for my daughter and her family, and for the me that did the very best she could, all those years ago. And the bonus is that from this perspective – that of the ‘wise old woman’ I have long wanted to be – my spiritual formation was alive and well and growing deep, well-watered roots. For what matters more than being present to the moment we are in, when it comes to the health of your soul?

Not much, in my opinion.

Moms and Dads, hang in there. You’re doing it right, if you’re showing up. Lock eyes with those little ones, sing the songs, explain yourself for the umpteenth time. Pour the juice, push the stroller, watch another episode of Bluey. Soak in every moment and never, not for one moment, stop believing that the good work that began in you will come to fruition; that all things – all things work together for good; and that this season is one of digging deep, setting a foundation in stone, and preparing for all the good years to come.

And they will be good, trust me.

They will be good.

Just hang on.