7QT: The Many Crosses of Parenthood

1. As a true Minnesotan I feel I am beholden to begin by commenting on the weather. 6+ inches of snow in Easter week took the oomph out of the rejoicing. In fact, it took the oomph out of pretty much everything. And yet, despite the temperatures then dropping back to below freezing, Christ is still risen.

I think there's a profound thought lurking beneath the surface - something about the wisdom of Christ and His Church in recognizing the human need to engage our senses to really understand and appreciate mysteries and miracles - but I am too cold and tired to attempt coherency at that depth.

~The above is what I wrote Easter week. That's about as far as I got, time to try again.~

April showers seem to consist only of snow this year

2. All that snow melted (well, minus the shoveled hills and drifts that have been known to stick around until June) and was replaced, with interest, in the one true blizzard of our as yet unfinished winter. More than a foot fell over the weekend and we had a harrowing drive home through the beginning of the white-out conditions last Saturday.

I didn't take a picture of that snowfall because I won't need a picture to remember it by, nor do I want one.

3. The only people excited to see the spring blizzard were the kids. Snowpants and sleds came back out and fresh clean snow was eaten in abundance. So much innocent joy... And this is where the title of the post comes in. Because we live in a valley of tears, and the moments of innocent joy are pure gift, not to be taken for granted, because they are fleeting.

4. We found out on Monday that the youngest son of some dear friends of ours was run over by a neighbor's car while playing in the snow. He was rushed to the hospital where he later died in his parents' arms. He was just 17 months old, one of the jolliest little boys I'd ever met, chubby cheeked, bright eyed, always smiling...

And now he is gone and we're left trying to make sense of his unimaginable absence. Because toddler sized coffins aren't meant to be imagined. There's no way to make sense of it.

As high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are God's ways above ours.

We can believe and take hope in those words, and yet it is still small comfort. Down here on earth, so far below the heavens, we look up and struggle to see clearly. Until we are in the presence of Infinite Wisdom, our limited minds simply cannot comprehend.

5. And now we're trying to understand how to live in the wake of this tragedy. I quickly discovered that as much as I want to love my children perfectly, to appreciate each moment, knowing that our time together is precious, I am still impatient, quick-tempered, distracted.

This week has been a cycle of sadness and anxiety leading to impatience and frustration followed by guilt and more sadness. I want to sit with my grief, holding my children close... and then my toddler elbows me and headbutts his sister and I snap at him and wish I could be alone. And then I remember, and I wish I could take back every harsh moment... but life doesn't work that way.

6. Between the new foot of snow, an ear infection, and high emotions we have been struggling mightily with spring fever, lack of sleep, and toddler destruction. Eric compared the spiritual load of parenthood to a room scattered with tiny crosses that have to be picked up and put away each day, rather than one large cross on your back. But an abundance of small crosses doesn't mean that the big crosses won't come too.

7. The suffering that our friends are experiencing is beyond anything I have ever known. Please hold them in your prayers, and hug your family a little tighter today.