When you send your heart walking around the world.
When the twins were born, a friend gave me a carved wooden heart with the inscription, "having a child is deciding forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."
As much as I preached a few days ago about not finding inspiration or truth in frothy, little quotes, I have to admit that this one hits home. Because it is so true. There is nothing more painful or frightening or difficult then sending your children out into the world.
I don't know how I could survive if something every happened to one of them. It is my deepest, blackest, wake-me-in-a-sweat-in-the-middle-of-the-night FEAR.
It is the reason that I quit blogging a little more than a year ago, and it is the reason it took me a year to even want to write again. When I wrote something a reader didn't like on my blog, he or she commented, "Keep calling it like it is on a worldwide web and there will be no demand for ransom when you or your children are caught." My hands are shaking to even re-read such a thing. I saved all the comments for security reasons, but I took down my blog, immediately. And then I cried for a week in deep shame for putting my children at risk by writing a blog about our experiences here. I posted pictures of my family on that blog and wrote about their school, our favorite restaurants, our home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I am still ashamed that I could have been so careless. (Hence the need for password-protection now.)
There is something savage and feral about a mother's instinct to protect her children. A little girl tried to rip my daughter's dress the other day, and Elizabeth was sobbing. I wasn't there, thank goodness, because I still feel the urge to get a hold of that 8-year-old and shake her.
Living in Nigeria also messes with my fear. It was my husband's and my decision to bring our children here. They are innocent bystanders. If anything should happen to them, how would I ever forgive myself? I don't know. There are no answers. And there is no way to protect your children from all the dangers and pain of life. And if I am honest with myself, I wouldn't want to if I could.
I want my children to experience some pain and loss in their lives because I know from experience that it is a life-enriching experience. It brings us closer to God and to our fellow human beings. But, damn it hurts to do so. That's what happens when you send your heart walking around the world. It hurts. And it's scary.
But what is the alternative?
C.S. Lewis wrote, "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."
I do not want an irredeemable heart. I'll live with the fear because it also means that I live with the joy of being a mother and sharing my life with my children. And in that, there is exponentially more joy than fear.
As much as I preached a few days ago about not finding inspiration or truth in frothy, little quotes, I have to admit that this one hits home. Because it is so true. There is nothing more painful or frightening or difficult then sending your children out into the world.
I don't know how I could survive if something every happened to one of them. It is my deepest, blackest, wake-me-in-a-sweat-in-the-middle-of-the-night FEAR.
It is the reason that I quit blogging a little more than a year ago, and it is the reason it took me a year to even want to write again. When I wrote something a reader didn't like on my blog, he or she commented, "Keep calling it like it is on a worldwide web and there will be no demand for ransom when you or your children are caught." My hands are shaking to even re-read such a thing. I saved all the comments for security reasons, but I took down my blog, immediately. And then I cried for a week in deep shame for putting my children at risk by writing a blog about our experiences here. I posted pictures of my family on that blog and wrote about their school, our favorite restaurants, our home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I am still ashamed that I could have been so careless. (Hence the need for password-protection now.)
There is something savage and feral about a mother's instinct to protect her children. A little girl tried to rip my daughter's dress the other day, and Elizabeth was sobbing. I wasn't there, thank goodness, because I still feel the urge to get a hold of that 8-year-old and shake her.
Living in Nigeria also messes with my fear. It was my husband's and my decision to bring our children here. They are innocent bystanders. If anything should happen to them, how would I ever forgive myself? I don't know. There are no answers. And there is no way to protect your children from all the dangers and pain of life. And if I am honest with myself, I wouldn't want to if I could.
I want my children to experience some pain and loss in their lives because I know from experience that it is a life-enriching experience. It brings us closer to God and to our fellow human beings. But, damn it hurts to do so. That's what happens when you send your heart walking around the world. It hurts. And it's scary.
But what is the alternative?
C.S. Lewis wrote, "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."
I do not want an irredeemable heart. I'll live with the fear because it also means that I live with the joy of being a mother and sharing my life with my children. And in that, there is exponentially more joy than fear.
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