Good Lists Versus Bad Lists--Steering Toward Peace

I have a penchant for making lists, particularly the to-do and grocery kind. Both help me organize what needs to be done and the grocery one gets me in and out of the store with items I need that without a piece of paper to guide me could easily make me forgetful. Lately I found out that I keep another kind of list, one I have, unfortunately, used many times before. It's one that I store in my mind, one that is a tally of what I’ve done wrong or messed up doing. This type of list leads to regret, remorse, and for an unhappy Saturday (or any day of the week).

Sure, we all have times we make mistakes. Usually we make amends, deal with the consequences, forgive if we need to, and move on. The damage is when we aren’t able to follow these steps and instead of moving on, we take the list in our head---a mental list---with us. The mental list can be degrading and when gone over too many times can cause us to miss out on living life to the fullest. The mental list of negatives is a violent thunderstorm happening in our heads.

Recently I had a mental list going. It started with one disappointment, and another, then it grew larger when I added mistakes I'd made that week, all along telling myself I should have known better. This mental list didn’t grow on its own, I fed and watered it. It became worrisome and caused anxiety. Of course I prayed, asking God to help me. I knew the verses in the book of Philippians that tells us not to be anxious, but nothing seemed to help. I was in a funky state of mind.

After a day of self-induced angst, my eldest daughter Rachel invited me to the beach. She knew nothing of my bad list because I'd shared it with no one. She wanted to spend a day with me and texted that she'd drive. A day at the beach! My heart did a little happy dance. A day at one of my favorite places would be therapeutic. Rachel and I planned, and four days later, we were at Carolina Beach enjoying the sun, the ocean view, salad lunches, seagulls who ventured close, laughter, and being together away from our other lives. We splashed some in the waves, but the wind and current were fierce, so we mostly stuck to the safety of the shore.

When I got home, sunburned and sandy, I was able to think more clearly about mental lists of agony humans bring on themselves. I think we carry these types of lists too long because we don't trust that God does care for us as he tells us that he does in scripture. Instead of carrying petitions before God and allowing ourselves to continue on, trusting him enough to know that he does care deeply for us, we let the mental thunderstorms continue. The beach day was an unexpected blessing from God, a God who saw my needs and mental health when I was at a low point. A God who cared for me and will always care for me.

Sometimes taking a piece of paper and writing my struggles on it and then crumpling it and tossing it into the garbage bin works to show that I will not carry negativity around with me. If only I can remind myself each time I'm tempted to recall those items on the piece of paper I've thrown out that I need to refrain. I have given my problems over to God. No backsies.

I want to free my mind from worry and know that I cannot do it on my own. I will still keep lists to help organize my life, but the lists of tallying up my wrongs are not welcomed. Instead a list of gratitude will be just the thing to steer my mind toward a positive and peaceful direction. I'll end this with one of my all-time favorite scripture verses about God's care and our need to invite the peace he gives--and only he can give--into our minds.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you. ~ Philippians 4:6-9, NIV

A Mother Looks at Life on the Corner of Fear and Hope

I remember being normal or something related to it. I recall thinking deep tragedies happened to other people who didn't know how to take care of themselves or trust God enough.  

And then it all changed . . .

A bump.  A three-year-old son with a boo-boo in his neck.  It will be okay. Deep breaths. Chemo. Surgeries. Perhaps the radiation will zap it away.

Certainly his prayers should.  Beside the stain-glass window inside the hospital chapel knelt a little bald-headed boy with his eyes closed.

After he died, I used to check my other children to make sure nothing looked wicked, like cancer. Each fever, cough, peculiar lump, oh, yes, nothing went unnoticed.

My kids have grown, but so have my fears. Driving and owning cars are now part of our lives.  So are small accidents.  Knowing that any crash can be fatal, my prayers increase.

As Mother's Day approaches, I recall being normal once upon a time.  My kids gave me cards made of painted hand prints, signed with chunky crayons. Once I heard about the tragedies other moms experienced, and felt sadness only.  I had the luxury of being tearful for a short while when I heard of the death of someone else's loved one. There was no fear that sorrow would make her home in my parameters.

But that was then. Then I had the ability to bounce back. The agony of pain subsided. I was able to carry on doing my motherly things like looking for missing socks, buying large quantities of diapers, finding mac and cheese on sale, and explaining why we needed to share.

These bad things happen to other people.  Not me.  Not my family.

When I was 36, cancer treatments cost me a child to death.  And as I looked at a woman in the mirror whom I no longer recognized, I thought: Apparently, these kinds of things do happen to my family.

Since then I must confess that I have feared that my other children will die.

And there is nothing I can do.

At a bereaved parents conference where I spoke, one man confessed that he, too, worried.  "What's to say that another child of mine won't die? How can I protect my children from the car accident or the illness?"  

I handed him a tissue and then pulled one out of the box for me.

I have become more strange, not more adept, as the years have progressed. I am no longer a stranger to living with fear.

I often hear people, usually older women, tell me to just trust my kids to God.

"Ladies, " I want to rebuttal.  "I did.  And my Daniel died."

But usually I keep my mouth sealed.  They wouldn't understand.  Some things are not discovered unless you walk in a grieving mother's worn shoes.

Stranded, that's what I've become----somewhere between fear and hope.

"Carl says that you keep all the text messages from us and save them until you see us again," my eldest who was six when Daniel died, told me the other day.  She's twenty-four now.

"Yes. Do you know why?"

"In case something happens to us and those messages are the last correspondence you have with us?"

We both knew that the answer was yes.

Children are on loan to us from God, they say.  From the moment I held my firstborn, I never thought it was a loan. She was mine.  Mine to raise, mine to love, mine to fuss over, read to, and hold.

Every time I hear of a shooting or a car accident or an illness, I know the next time it could affect one of my children.  Random happenings, why should I feel protected or spared?

God, how can I live this way?

The question is redundant. I have, and I will.

Some seasons I am not as wracked by fear.  There are days when I am not living on the edge.   But like the monster under the bed, it is there, always present. Sometimes just a shadow; other nights I can feel the sharp claws.

I also live with hope.  Hope that my children will grow up to be lovely responsible people with hearts of gold who know that they are so loved.  

And always aware that today could be all I get.  Today in all its imperfection, beauty, strength, joy, and uncertainty------like each day, it has obvious and unearthed blessings. 

And each is always worth treasuring.