I tend to wrap myself so tight around decisions, trying my best to foresee every possible outcome of each side of the issue. This, of course, leads to paralysis… or indecisiveness. I look hard, I pray, I meditate, I think. Less than I should, I talk to other people. Even though talking seems to help the most, I rarely talk, as I am a bit isolated in my world of children now. Or maybe just because I’m thinking too hard to talk.
Some days, a decision I made three years ago about one of the boys will come barrelling down so hard on me today, that I realize now, was a big mistake. I am wounded when this happens. Worse, it makes the decisions that are facing me today seem all that more insurmountable. That mistake begins to weigh heavily on my future decisions.
Some people, wisely, I guess, use their blog as a forum to search for answers; to gather opinions from others as what they should do. The blog-sphere does, usually, respond generously with help, solutions, advice and support. The perfect “village that raises the child.” I like to come here, fresh to the page, with a solution perfectly in mind, undistracted, unfettered about what to do; whether or not I know yet if I’m right or wrong. (Please, by all means, feel free to give me advice anyway, as I am hopelessly indecisive, and your opinion could greatly turn the tide.)
This morning, rain was blessing our earth with its earthy smells, the wild noise of splashes, and trees brushing against the house as wind blew. The sounds meant that we wouldn’t be rushing a boy out at 7:40 this Saturday morning, in uniform, to lacrosse practice. We could all sleep, and get much needed rest, I thought. He woke anyway at 7, to work on homework. When the car pulled up at 7:40, and we were still blurry-eyed and in our jammies, (let me re-phrase that… my children have enlightened me that they are called b-jammes), I realized I had made another mistake. Apparently, there was lacrosse practice this morning, my son wasn’t ready, and this up-and-at-’em-Mom had driven out of her way to pick up my son. “Oh Hi. I’m sorry, I thought it was cancelled. He’s not ready… so just go ahead without him.”
He was working so intently on his homework, I wasn’t about to rush him around now and get him there. So, I stewed about the missed practice, not checking e-mails like I should have, my inability to be “up-and-at-’em” and of course, the Mom who had went out of her way.
Two hours later, I went to the computer, to dutifully check this time, to see if the 11’o clock practices were still on as well, as more rain came shooting down. Yes, they were still on… but what’s this? I see that the 8 a.m. lacrosse practice was cancelled, after-all. I was right. There was no lacrosse practice this morning.
Gratefully, as time passes, more information and irrelevant facts that were hidden are revealed, and the burnished brass begins to look more like gold. Bad decisions, miraculously sometimes turn out to be great ones. Even the ones that look wrong three years later can, with more time, begin to look like brilliant decisions. I’m not sure if we “grow around” those bad decisions like a tree will sometimes heal itself from injury, or that our path was clearly not meant for that choice.
I still can’t help but wish, everyday, that the all-mighty creator, who is much wiser than me, would just step down and show me what is right for them, and we would gladly follow that dictum. A wise, kind minister told me, during a dark time, that the Bible promises to restore to us all that we’ve lost. I hope so. People are so full of faults, and we are prone to mistakes, naturally. We need something bigger than us, to hold everything together. That force that helps the tree grow around the injury, and to keep growing tall, despite the fault. What I hope for, and need, for my future, is that regardless of my mistakes, that there is an overriding power that will make everything turn out OK, after all.
He has his father’s grin. That confidence his Father has. “No worries. Everything will turn out OK.”
Sunday Scribbling asks, What is the future of the planet?