For most of my life I have been able to be at least modestly successful at the things I have tried. Without blushing I can honestly admit that I am blessed with a decent brain and a strong body. I have participated in sports, music, theater, choir, and improv. I have held leadership positions at various levels. I don’t get nervous when I have to speak in public. I have run two marathons. I have taught myself to juggle, play guitar, and am learning Spanish. I have read Dostoevsky, Solzhenitsyn, Steinbeck, and Updike. There is not much that, if I find mildly interesting, I lack the confidence to attempt.
Until now.
I find myself completely helpless. When I hold one of the twins in my arms and he or she is crying, creating sounds that defy description, that must be pulled from some secret evil sound-dimension, I am face to face with my own futility. Nothing from the above paragraph has prepared me for this.
Eden and Sebastien do not care what I have done in the past. In fact, they do not even know or care that I have had a past. They live in “the now” and they force me to do like-wise. They attend to their hunger, tiredness, and personal comfort and demand that I do the same.
When they need my help calming down, too often I look outside myself for a technique or method of soothing, some trick to stop their wailing. But I am learning that I must look inside, find the peace inside me and draw that forth to share with them. This is not easy for me because I am worried that I will try to reach down for the necessary patience and will come up empty. What then?
I am fortunate to have a wife who seems to have deep, rich pools of patience for this kind of work. I look to her as my role model. I have a lot to learn from her. I love her and because of her I know that our children will always be well cared for.
I love our children and I do my best in caring for them, but I am coming to realize that my lack of experience with children and my natural temperament have placed me in a position where I have a lot to learn. About caring for children, surely, but also about myself, about what is important, about sacrifice, love, and tenderness.
Maybe other new parents feel this way, but if they do, but it doesn’t come across in parenting books. I have yet to read, “There may be moments when you are trying to put your kids to bed, and when your wife holds them, they are content, but when you even look at them they will transform into a howling banshee. You will hate the fact that you are responsible for this life in your hands. The rawness of it all will touch you in such a raw way, that, once your wife has gotten them to sleep, the only thing you can do is lie on the floor for a few minutes rubbing your eyes until you muster enough strength to get ready for bed even through it’s only 9:30 at night.”
That is a book I could have used.
I am hopeful that things will get better, but it is the truest kind of hope, because it is not based on evidence, it is based on the intense feeling in my stomach that it-simply-must. For now, I will take it one day at a time. I will delight in their smiles and coos when they come and do my best, trusting that God’s grace is not just about getting to heaven some day, but also about the tasks we have to face right here, right now.
