{camaraderie}
June, I gotta be right down honest with you. I have these 2 you see here in my possession. And they couldn't be more opposite in personality and presentation. They were occupants in the same tight quarter apartment for 9 months. One moved out. There was a brief vacancy. And then one moved in. Currently, they live across the hall from one another rent free. They share a bathroom. They share the same set of parents. Their meals are pro bono.
And June? You have been summoned. To hear my story. To listen to my cries. Yes, to laugh. {Loud. I mean ridiculously loud & convincing} at my jokes too. I've asked you to pull up a chair on the contents called life and hear me out. We can roast marshmallows if you like. Sip wine. Drink a fresh fountain coke too. I am down with all of that. Heck, let's even make popcorn and go out to dinner this month. But, I am asking you to listen. And I am vowing that I'll give you just the same respect.
June, these 2 are so precious. Gifts. Flat out heavenly handed over to Kenny and me. We take this job seriously. Parenting. Praying. Hoping that what we are handing out and over is worthy and good. We fail. Like crazy, we fall short daily with missed opportunities and misguided words. I know that's kinda part of the deal with this whole "nobody's perfect" thing. But, I need you to know that we never miss out on love. On care and truth. We keep that vow.
Parenting is hard. It's everything uncertain. It's trusting the coffee's not too hot right as you take your first sip. It's jumping off a cliff with the crazed hope that the water is just deep enough. It's pretending everything is fine because you have to when in reality it may just not be. Parenting is soul work. It is effort. Intention and massive, freakin' massive, amounts of sacrifice.
June, I'm scared. Flat out afraid that we will fail them. That we won't let them fall enough or perhaps we'll watch them fall too much. I wonder what enough really even looks like. Better yet, how does it feel? I struggle with balance. With clarity too. I know my love is all in. Fanatically all in. But are the mishaps of me all in too?
To be a guide feels so heavy at times. Knowing when to let go and when to hold on. Efforting grace and demanding more. Raising the bar yet building a relationship that will stand the test of time. Of braces. Of heartbreaks. Of hurt feelings. Of failures. Of differences. Geez, June. Sometimes I even question why God gave not one, but two humans to our care.
Do you want to know something? It's honest what I'm about to tell you. I feel like I give my best when my eyes are closed and my ears are plugged. Closed to what I see around me and to what I hear. When my heart takes lead, my footing is secure. My time is for them. My mission has pace. Relationship, richness and communication take a peaceful precedence over success verses failure. My unpaid occupation of Mom finds rhythm.
And yet in one sideways exhale, I lose it again. June, I am asking for camaraderie. I'm not only asking for it, but I am praying for it. For the trust and the friendship that can happen in a family. I need these 2 to know that their Dad and me will never err on care and on truth. That we will never not love them. That our place in their lives is meant to encourage and to teach and to hold and yes, to make mistakes too.
Help me, June. Help Kenny and I show them what human looks and feels like. And, most importantly, June. Help them to know how holy works in their person. Help them to be able to touch that place in themselves, in us and in those that cross their path.
Parenting people into the best, most beautiful person they can be scares the daylights out of me. I am facing this fear of me and the focus of them with wild eyes and a brave heart. Camaraderie, June. It's what I'm after.
.mac
