I’m sitting here in the sticky air of my basement in front of the computer while Lala watches a show. It’s giving me a few minutes to write and so I’m choosing to be thankful, rather than guilty.
Within the last 24 hours, I’ve read three great pieces about guilt (of the mama variety – here and here – and of the everyday human sort), so I’m certainly noticing the theme and wondering why this binds so much. This feeling that we should be somewhere else doing something else, and I’m trying to remember that this is OK: Lala doing her thing, me doing mine, tapping out words that help me know what I think.
The air around here is thick with new beginnings, the surfaces piled high with shin guards, homework, take home sheets and papers to sign. This is the girls’ second week of school and, even with the occasional blip, things are going swimmingly. Really, I’m grateful.
We’re also walking through some endings, and these are places of loss and I’m struggling not to feel guilty about the implications.
Because while losses certainly represent endings, they can also embody opportunities for new growth and continuations.
And it’s these continuations that have me thinking extra long. Because even though things feel unclear, we are the same us under the same sky, given life and grace by the same God. We are the same us, seeking to do life the best we can, making mistakes, trying to learn and keep growing.
___
Last week, our jogger stroller/bike trailer was stolen off our porch. It wasn’t locked up (I know!), and so someone took the opportunity to make it theirs. Really, in the midst of our first school days and soccer practice and life changes, I don’t even know when it happened. Could very well have been the night I left the keys in the front door all night long. I know.
The theft of the stroller ticked me off (at myself and the mystery person) and kicked me into sadness about the end of an era when I could just up and go with my girl for a walk at my own pace.
Really, the loss of something with a push bar I could see and touch caused me to remember my sadness, the continual need for letting go in this life while still clinging to what is true.
And that can be a hard place to find.
___
Over the last week, in the midst of changes (and possibly due in part to the White Witch from our family reading of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe), Lala decided she was terrified to walk up the stairs by herself.
We turned on every light, tried calming her fears by telling her she is safe, walked with her to the top floor to say, “See, everything’s good. Nothing behind the shower curtain.” We talked to her from the floor below, reminding her that God’s with her even when we’re not, and nothing’s really worked. Most often she’s tried to time her potty breaks with another member of the family’s, so she wouldn’t have to go alone.
Yesterday, I told her I was happy to walk the flight with her if she would speak aloud some words with me — the words of her favorite verse. With each step, another word: “God. Is. With. Me. Always. God. Is. With. Me. Always.”
It seemed almost too good to be true, but I could feel her strengthening with each step and when we got to the top of the seventeen stairs, I saw the huge smile that had spread across her face.
On the way back down, we repeated the same: “God. Is. With. Me. Always. God. Is. With. Me. Always.”
Since that together walk, she’s gone up and down by herself each time, sometimes saying her mantra loudly, other times in a whisper I can barely hear.
So I’m trying to repeat this drumbeat affirmation in the alone moments of my own mind — doing my best to listen to life words and not the ones that hammer guilt or pound fear.
No, I do not know what tomorrow holds, I do not know when I’ll make my next foolish mistake or when I’ll smack right into my next limitation, but I can know it won’t be feelings of shame or anxiety that will push and pull.
Instead I’m attempting to fall in step with the steady truth beat that belongs to my girl and me, too. God. Is. With. Me. Always.
Linking with Heather, Emily and Jennifer.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
![Sometimes nothing says it quite like the way of a child. Before the rest of the house wakes, I read the account of Easter morning in the Jesus Storybook Bible: "And it seemed to [Mary Magdalene] that morning, as she ran, almost as if the whole world was singing for joy-- the trees, tiny sounds in the grass, the birds...her heart." The tomb is empty. Jesus is alive, and so are we. And it is new. Once again. Yes, it is always new...He is risen indeed!](https://scontent.cdninstagram.com/t51.2885-15/s320x320/e35/17934124_1877271335863004_8139172358331039744_n.jpg "Sometimes nothing says it quite like the way of a child. Before the rest of the house wakes, I read the account of Easter morning in the Jesus Storybook Bible: \"And it seemed to [Mary Magdalene] that morning, as she ran, almost as if the whole world was singing for joy-- the trees, tiny sounds in the grass, the birds...her heart.\" The tomb is empty. Jesus is alive, and so are we. And it is new. Once again. Yes, it is always new...He is risen indeed!")
Oh, that all our steps would rattle out such a reminder. What a beautiful post, Ashley.
Amen, friend. Let ’em rattle.
Amen, friend! Couldn’t help but think of the new song “He is With Us” by Love & The Outcome:
Here are the lyrics:
http://www.klove.com/music/artists/love-the-outcome/songs/he-is-with-us-lyrics.aspx
He is with us, He is with us, always, always
He is with us, He is with us, always
Thank you for sharing this with me — and us — Mags. Hadn’t heard this song. Comforting and empowering, my friend.
God. Is. With. Me. Always.
So. Very. True.
(And lovingly spun.)
Thank you~
Thank you for your presence here, Lori. You always bless me.
Thank you, my amazing, gifted friend!!! Needed these words today. Love to you!!
So glad this touched you where you were. I love you, Nanc.
You lift me high. You are digging around in very rich soil indeed. And you are growing a Master Garden I am sure. Because your heart and your God are tending well the ground below your feet. Lovely.
Thank you for that word picture, Elizabeth. Heard again today about this soil tilled under my feet. I’m trusting God is doing something good, trying not to turn away or back. Love you.
Ashley, I treasure these words and how you have chosen to share this process with us – of loss and sorrow, wrestling with guilt and choosing another way, of letting go and the steps up and down of walking with the Savior in trust. I always, always love how you can take something so complex and frame it in the everyday occurrences. A stolen stroller, a fear of climbing steps. In fact, it’s your words – these reminders and continuances of growth here – that stick in my mind often these days. Of whispering, “Jesus, I trust you” when I’m feeling afraid or doubtful or overwhelmed. And I’m praying for you as you continue this path, sweetie.
Thank you so much for your prayers, dear Amber. It is vulnerable, as you know, to share the process, but good for us all to know we are not alone…I’ve learned much about writing through hard times by reading your beautiful and pain-filled words. I love you and am praying that you are experiencing glimmers of light, hope and trust on your path these days, my friend.
God.is.with.me.always.
He will never leave me nor forsake me.
:-)
Hugs,
Kelly
That’s right, dear Kelly. Thank you for being here.
“doing my best to listen to life words and not the ones that hammer guilt or pound fear.”
Precious Ashley, your words get in me and make me better…I’m so grateful to have these beautiful bits of you to hold inside. And that mantra – amen to that.
I love you & have missed you so…
Julia, I miss you, too! I’ve responded far too often to the pain of the guilt & fear hammering away. That’s often been a layer of unneeded pain that has taken away from the actual grieving I needed to do. Trying to change that pattern in my life. Remembering I’m held and seen right in the middle of where I am helps a lot. Love you, friend.
I needed to hear this in a desperate way….
thank you for mothering so many of us women with your words….
Thank you, precious friend. Isn’t it amazing how we women keep on mothering each other throughout our lives? Thinking right now of all the ways you’ve done that for me.
Such challenges & unknown’s, yet so much wisdom in your thoughts & words! Love those words “God. Is. With. Me. Always. God. Is. With. Me. Always.”& often need to repeat them to myself as I continue to face the unknown’s & unexpected challenges life brings my way. Love you beautiful friend!!!
I love you, Becca. Yes, let’s keep on repeating those words because it’s too easy to forget. As you say, with all the unknowns and unexpecteds, we’ve got to remember what (and who) never changes.
That little story made me cry, not only for its sweetness and great application of truth, but because I am just so happy a little girl out there has such a treasure trove of spiritual gems like this one in her childhood memories. And nothing will take them away. It reminds to simply be aware of how I can do the same…even while making time to zone out in front of this pc screen and sit in cafes for hours at a time without my family each week, guilt-free, right! I am writing out your “we are the same us, under the same sky” I don’t know why but that word picture just grabbed me, and just needs to be our mantra right now.
Thanks for your time, spirit, and heart, Ashley.
Cheers
The “same us, under the same sky” helps me, too, Leah. In those times when everything — the ground, the context, the supporting characters, — seems to be shifting and changing, we need to know some things aren’t/haven’t. I know you are filling your own children with all kinds of treasures (gratitude among them), though it can be so hard to see in the up-close of our own lives. Rest assured, though, friend, not a drop of it is wasted.
crying over here. oh, i love what you taught your daughter: to brave the darkness with the light of God’s word. so, so good.
Thank you, dear Emily. I want to keep pointing her (and my other girls) to the power that is greater than darkness. Yes, the word is more powerful than any other image I can conjure up, though sometimes I forgot. Oh, that I would remember.