gift of grace
October 28, 2015 § 4 Comments
Yesterday I struggled to string a cohesive thought among ideas. My mind was caught on the emotional experience of moving; the immediacy of our environment and the distractibility I feel lately. The subtle disconnect from urgency as we nestle into a gentler pace.
Then, as if life were trying desperately to capture my attention, I missed an appointment. A calendar date that wasn’t inked into my schedule, something that I wouldn’t have forgotten four months ago.
I could return to my previous efforts to communicate the nervous energy of our move, the cautious attention to detail that has unraveled into a distracted calm, but I want to preserve, instead, yesterday’s lesson in grace.
The forgotten appointment was with our children’s new therapist. A service in our old community that functioned with an impersonal protocol of strict attention to 24 hour cancellation policies and impersonal accountability for human error despite the predictability of lengthy waiting room delays. Understandable, but inflexible.
When an unfamiliar local phone number announced my error with a concerned phone message from our new therapist, embarrassment hid behind an experience of defensiveness. I felt immediately disoriented by my forgetfulness and ashamed of my shortcomings of such a manageable responsibility.
I reacted with an expectation of blame, judgement, and clinical billing.
A quick phone call to our therapist’s voicemail was cluttered by frantic apologies and nervous embarrassment compounded by anxiety over mom guilt for our absence. When a second call reached the direct attention of our therapist, I was gifted a unique moment of forgiveness.
Our therapist offered me grace for my mistake at the cost of her time. She dismissed me the financial responsibility of her fee and cited the reality of human error while rescheduling our appointment. No matter the emotional distractions or logical practicalities that might have explained my mistake, there was no call for excuses or windy apologies. I was allowed error and forgiveness in equal measure.
Today I am thinking of the lesson in my mistake, the generosity of another’s kindness, and the forgiveness that accompanies such an expectation of error. Challenging myself to offer another the same measure of grace without explanation or apology, embarrassment or shame.
parenting in progress
September 12, 2011 § Leave a comment
I am an amateur. I have lofty dreams of parenting from a serene source of strength, but sometimes I struggle to be the mother I strive to be.
I never intend to raise my voice to my children and still I have. The sharp sound of my voice tinged with anger makes me feel horrible and has yet to fix poor behavior, but in moments of extreme frustration I sometimes lose sight of intentions and ideologies grasping desperately for order and authority. Shame for my own impatience guides me to apologize. In our house we have expanded sorry to encompass a promise, we say: Sorry means I will try to do better.
My kids know I am fallible, it would seem silly to hide this. I cannot imagine the standard of perfection that would cast judgment on their own mistakes without the balance of my errors. I hope my children are comfortable with both making mistakes and striving to learn from them. I often think of my children as consultants in parenting; sometimes they teach me, often times they forgive me, but mostly they hold me accountable to do my best.
On Saturday, my son snapped at my daughter and my daughter threw a noisy, public temper tantrum. I was horrified and snapped back. Maybe they were tired, hungry, overheated, or under the weather. Regardless of why, they were unhappy and ugliness seemed to puddle around us drawing each of us further into a muck of misery. Underneath the unpleasantness were these amazing little souls that provide me with moments of joy, humor, compassion, and wisdom.
I sat both children down and held for them the mirror of accountability that they hold for me. We talked our way through the problems and I asked them who they want to be; if their behavior best represented the person they are on the inside. They are no more bad kids, than I am a bad mom. They are little people still making sense of their world just as I am finding my way through motherhood. Forgiveness and understanding, acceptance for our imperfections and opportunities to do better are all any of us can hope for.
Parenting is an ongoing effort full of adjustments, lessons, apologies, and hope; a work in progress. Each day is a new beginning, an opportunity to do better.
ink
March 30, 2011 § 1 Comment
My daughter began writing journal entries, in ink. When I saw her pen, poised over paper, I panicked and scrounged for a pencil. My instinct was to guard her work from mistakes, provide second chances to do her best. I almost overlooked the value of simple spelling mistakes marking my daughter’s development in to a writer and the beauty of her free-flowing thoughts captured, unedited, permanently.
I often find myself wanting to shelter my children from the uncomfortable feelings of frustration or disappointment. With every attempt to prevent mistakes, my children find their way around me. Sometimes they dodge poor choices and occasionally they stumble into disappointment, but always with independence and adventure. My children seem determined to teach me that I cannot protect them from their own experiences, there must be moments of unerasable error.
scribblechic 