I Teach Them How

I found this in a notebook when I was clearing out “stuff”. I wrote this way back in 2007, before I ever started this blog space and when I still drove my four kids around to things and often drove them crazy. Written before I knew how quickly those years of parenting would pass and written, well, during everything that mattered.

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I Teach Them How

by Jane Tawel, 2007

Morning seeps in.

I wake… frayed.

To start the day whole,

I pray.

“Dear God, open my eyes — 

literally.”

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I drive.

Tires screeching at cement,

me screeching at other drivers — 

“Jesus! Watch out!” — 

as if they could hear me.

(Thank God they can’t.)

My children watch me

and catch on –

they are learning — 

Life is Stress.

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Move on. Move on.

No time for now.

I teach my children how

to live ahead.

And how to dread,

Time’s screeching stops,

and miss the drops

of grace that only appear

when fear of something being taken

is prayed away

by living in the present

of the Present.

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“Dear God of Open Roads Ahead,

and open skies and open hands;

Dear God of open minds and open hearts,

please open mine.

Open my life to Yours.

Open me to just this moment.”

“Okay, Kids, Open the Door.

Everyone get out.

We’re here.”

*

Home, hone, hold.

Hope.

Home.

Here.

*

Frazzled at day’s close,

clinging and cuddling

those who look to me — 

and I — I look to them.

The holy diadem of motherhood

is tarnished but not lost.

I thank God for the cost and pray:

“Oh, let there be a better day,

a better way

for me to love as You,

Great Parent-Father-Mother,

Who does at greatest cost,

Parent the small and lost.

Redeem my every childish way,

my every willful, careless day,

and help my children see,

the You that lives

even in one as immature as me.”

*

© Jane Tawel, 2007