Unfolding Soul Prints

sarah 

This morning I sat in a hospital room and held a new born baby. It seems like only yesterday that Sarah was a new born, and now she's graduating from high school. It amazes me that all three of my daughters were uniquely different from each other. Of the three Sarah was the one from the very beginning that HATED change. Even as an infant if I nursed her or held her in a different position she would throw a fit. As she grew older getting rid of an old toy or a stuffed animal that was losing its stuffing had to be done very gently and usually with much ceremony. I was hoping that it was something she would grow out of, but I'm still waiting. As her older sisters have moved away from home, our holiday traditions have had to change a bit, and with each change Sarah would dig in her heels and fight for things to stay the same. Now she's packing up her room for college, saying good-bye to teachers and friends, and every step requires deep courage and is bathed in tears. The other night she pulled out one of her childhood books and asked me if I'd read her a bedtime story.
Change is difficult for a lot of us. There are times when I want time to stop and just for a moment for everything to stay like it is. That is one of the reasons I love to journal and take photos. No matter how much changes I can open a journal, read an entry, or flip through a photo album and I'm immediately transported to a moment that no longer is and I can remember and rejoice in the change that happened and find the strength to face the changes that are happening now.

I took 20 high school and college students to Oklahoma Saturday for a day of hiking, rock climbing and rappelling. It was a perfect day. I'll have to confess that I didn't make it beyond the first tree that was sticking out of the side of the cliff. After spending several minutes in an intimate embrace with that tree, I decided that I had experienced all the rock climbing I wanted to experience for awhile. I spent the day watching the others. I watched them hang on and keep going even when they were exhausted. I saw them lose their footing and slip down the face of this stone wall of rock, losing the last several steps they had struggled to obtain. I saw their eyes widen with fear as the clung with their fingers and toes, trying to hang on. And they never quit. It didn't matter how tired they were, or how slowly they inched their way to the top, or even how frightened they were along they way. How did these young people find the courage to hang on and eventually reach the top? Well, some of it was the strength of youthfulness, but I think some succeeded because they were constantly being encouraged by people who knew them and loved them and believed in them. I kept hearing people say, "Hang on! Don't give up! You're almost there! I have the rope, I won't let you fall." I couldn't help but think of how many people I've been blessed to know, who have done the very same thing for me when I was hanging off the cliffs of life.

May 8, 2004 

This Sunday is Mother's Day and my thoughts are filled with the impossible task of it all. I think about the millions of scarred adults who limp through life wounded by what they did or didn't receive at the hands of their mothers. Wounds that were sometimes infected by the illusions of what a "good" mother looked like on TV sitcoms and fairy tales. The sorrow that enfolds those who see through filtered lenses into the homes and families of friends who seem to have the perfect mom. I think about children who grow up with moms who are sick from disease, mental and emotion illnesses, or simply handicapped by the wounds of their own childhood. I think about myself. I think about the things I longed for as a child that I never received and the holes that were left that still ache to be filled. This Sunday is Mother's Day and my thoughts are filled with the impossible task of it all. I think about my daughters who limp through life wounded by what they did or didn't receive at the hands of their mother....ME.