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I remember growing up and watching the tumultuous relationship my mom had with my grandmother. It was the type of thing that would have my head in a tail spin - watching two women whom I loved and both loved me dearly - treat one another so poorly. When I was young, I had no idea what the problem was. But by the time I turned 8 or so, I had figured out where all that ugly was coming from: unforgiveness. I was certain at a very young age that I didn't want to have that type of relationship - or rather lack thereof - with my children.
The humidity hung on my shirt, sticky and dense. I felt heavy trying to take in a breath as my cab whizzed through Queens and into Manhattan, taking me home after a summer spent in my heart's home: the beautiful mountains of the Pacific Northwest, full of glacier lakes and lush beauty. Back in the city, all I could see was grime. Trash piled high on sidewalks, crumbling concrete, dull paint. I closed my eyes and cringed as my children called out that they spotted the Chrystler Building, now The Empire State's tip, and the Freedom Tower beyond. What were were doing here? Why were we forsaking beauty and nature and wide open spaces? Even as they celebrated the familiar scene of a city that was home for them, all I could see was grey and bleak.
he day we pulled up into our driveway with them -- into the home that had been full of empty bedrooms for years while we waited for them -- we sat with the keys in the ignition while they, buckled into boosters in the back, slept off days of sleepless travel and we sighed.
Done.
We’d finished the hardest part, hadn't we? They were … home.
In your anger do not sin: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold. Ephesians 4:26–27
I wrestled with several plastic grocery bags as my purse swung wildly from my shoulder. I was trying desperately to free up a hand to open the back door that leads from our garage into the kitchen. Tired from a long day of errands and appointments, I just wanted to get into the house, put the groceries away, and then collapse on the couch.
As I fumbled with my keys and stepped up onto the landing that leads into the kitchen, I nearly tripped and broke my neck. I also broke out into a horrible rant as I saw the reason for my near trip and fall.
“Kenna! Mitchell! Spencer! You kids get out here right now and take care of these shoes and boots. I am sick and tired of how you all just toss your shoes here with absolutely no regard for what I’ve told you. You know your shoes go on the rug. I don’t want to ever see this junk lying here again. You hear me? You are all so lazy! Now I said get out here … right now!”
My kids heard me all right. So did half the neighborhood.
I’ve always loved this quote my pastor often refers back to,
“Seek not to avoid a wounded life, but rather seek to avoid a wasted one.”
And, it’s been present in my thoughts even more so lately as we finish up the first month of this new year, and life attempts to drag us back into old patterns and habits. The newness has started to wear off, and it’s easy to let that fresh hope slip through our fingers. The purposes we may have set out to achieve can easily begin to appear blurry.
