In times like these you need a Saviour
In times like these you need an anchor
Be very sure, be very sure
Your anchor holds and grips the solid rock
This rock is Jesus, yes He's the one
This rock is Jesus the only one
Be very sure, be very sure
Your anchor holds and grips the solid rock.
These are the words I used to sing in my head whenever I felt alone--especially after a beating or after a steady stream of hurtful words lobbied at me--words that fail my own understanding, words that hurt me more than the beating. I sing this song and several others that I learned while attending a private Protestant elementary school.
I don't really mean to be a domineering mother. It's just that I've fought so much to be where I am now. I never even dreamed of becoming a mother. I had no idea how to raise children. I still don't know how to talk to them. I am still at a loss when I am with children because I don't know how to be a child. But I am a mother and have raised four children.
I made some decisions as I carried my first child. I will never beat them. I will never call them names. I will protect them from abusers. They will never be out of my sight. I will never trust anyone to be alone with them. No one will ever hurt them. I will protect them with my life. I will never use my own language to raise them for fear that I may automatically talk to them the way my parents did---for fear that my repertoire of phrases and words born from my childhood might suddenly spew out of my mouth in a moment of weakness. I was not going to let that happen. I gave up that privilege and right conscientiously. I will bring them up in a new culture lest my own culture betray me. These are the things I promised myself and I remember the clarity of mind with which I made these declarations.
The clarity. Yes, the clarity. Some mothers expect having children joyously. So did I. But I also did so with trepidation. Something that I had that others may not have because of my own childhood is the zeal and determination NOT to be what I feared I could be. So I had children with an imbedded code of "NEVERS". I will never spank. I will never call them names. I will never...this and that. I do not profess to have been perfectly successful in executing these codes but I can say that I gave it my all. I gave it my ALL.
And yet, I can see how my failings, excesses and perhaps, overzealousness have hurt my children. I do have expectations. I do live vicariously through them. I do have opinions about many things. And I do have a strong personality. I HAD to. Without that strong determination, I would have failed miserably at mothering them. But its a double-edged sword. I am domineering. I am opinionated. And I am fearless. And sometimes I don't know how to attain a balance between control and patience, zeal and flexibility, fear and trust, guilt and confidence, a measured pace or excessive generosity. I am the epitome of imperious.
The Saviour's enabling powers from His atoning sacrifice is what I rely on now. As I age and as my children create their own lives separate from mine, what I fear the most is that they will never understand nor appreciate what I've done, what I've given up, what I've happily changed to be congruent with that vision I had in my head of what a mother should be...or should not be. Perhaps it is very possible that I was too obsessed about what I should NOT be that I didn't pay attention to what I should be. I don't know. And now that I'm alone, there is much time to second guess and castigate.
It's hard to let go but I'm doing it. And I find myself on my knees for the better part of the day...or conversing with God about my fears and weaknesses. I never thought I would ever be 57 but here I am and I don't know if I'm ready for the inevitable stages and transitions in life that await me.
I cannot wait until all my children-- especially my daughters, have their own children. When that happens, I think they can understand me better. Until then, I just have to endure.
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