The Elder Brother and Family Trauma

I've read many commentaries discussing the parable commonly called The Prodigal Son. I have heard many sermons, and I have discussed it with family, colleagues, and friends. There are still times, however, I think about it in a new way. This week is one of those....

I keep thinking about the elder son--not about his anger, well kind of about his anger. But I'm thinking about what he's angry about, what is it fueling his anger. I'm wondering if maybe there is more to his anger, maybe his anger is really fear or maybe it's defensive or maybe it's both.

Hear me out...(well, read me out!)

When the younger son left, I suspect the father was heartbroken. We know he saw his son from a long way off. I'm imagining the father (just to be totally honest, I put myself in the story and become the father, so I picture a mother...anyway) finishing each day, and perhaps starting each day, staring down the road dreaming of his son returning. I'm imagining the years his son was gone with no communication. He had no idea if his son was even still alive. And I keep picturing the elder son standing at a distance and watching his father's shoulders droop lower and lower. I picture the elder son watching his father age before his very eyes. 

I wonder if the elder son saw the sadness behind his father's eyes even when he tried to mask it. I wonder if instead of the house being filled with his father's booming laugh it became more and more silent as the father's grief slid out of the corners and crept across the floors. I wonder if there were nights the elder son fell asleep listening to his father's muffled sobs.

I wonder if the elder brother was exhausted--so exhausted from trying to be perfect so he didn't add to his father's grief? I wonder if he was tired of hiding his own feelings of brokenness? I wonder if he was tired of pretending his life was perfect so his father didn't worry about him? And I wonder if, in addition to resenting the amount of work he was now doing, he was also heartbroken because he was taking on more responsibility as a result of his father's crushing depression which led to a loss of interest in work, socializing, and even family. Heartbroken because he missed the father he knew, and maybe even his brother...

So I wonder, when the elder brother came out of the field and saw the happiness on his father's face, was he terrified? Was he thinking of all the days, weeks, months, and years when he saw the despair shrouding his father's entire body? Was he guarding his own heart and trying, and failing, to protect his father's? Was he already wondering if his brother would disappear again and he would have to watch his father shrivel for a second and maybe then a third and maybe a fourth time?

Brokeness in families is pervasive and complex. Maybe in addition to recognizing God's unconditional love and mercy and grace, we are also called to remember that we are all connected. Maybe we are to remember our connections are complicated, and as hard as it can be, we are to offer that same love and mercy and grace to each other--despite the risk and possible pain. 

Jesus did walk to the cross.....

Out of Control--Also Known as Losing My Sh*t

I really get a kick out of hearing people say, "you're just so good at going with the flow." I suppose having four children in 4 1/2 years can do that to you. The reason I get a kick out of it, however, is because I'm really not....

Well, maybe I am more so than some, but I'm only good at it until I'm totally not. There is no in-between for me--totally laid back or spinning so far out of control because I'm not in control that people who know me well know to just stand clear. 

I woke up this morning and knew before I ever got out of bed I was moving to the spinning...the music to You Spin Me Right Round began playing in my mind before I could wipe the sleep out of my eyes. I tried to ignore it. (Yeah, it's entertaining for me too to believe I can do that.)

Chris got up first--mistake number 1 on days when I'm feeling out of control....I jumped on him for not following MY routine with the dogs. He, because he has lived with me for 28+ years and has learned the hard way, responded with a joke instead of an angry or even rational retort. "They're just dogs," was a part of the joke. It didn't work. I felt the need to explain they weren't dogs, they were beloved creatures of God. (Who probably care less about routine than I do, but again, I was revving up...plus Chris had already left to take a shower so the dogs were my only audience.)

I started up the stairs (you can, if you so choose, read that as stomped) ready to take on the next injustice in my life. It didn't take long--walked into our bedroom and there were two large duffel bags full of

MALE clothes which had been moved over from the apartment. "You said you were going to put those away," I spit out, "when exactly are you going to do that?" Looking back I can see he was starting to lose his patience with me (can't say that I blame him), but he tried to remain calm, "Probably not until this weekend. I'm having a long week with long days."

Oh, Sweet Jesus--Sweet Jesus might have run away with the bluegrass band at this point because my head snapped up. "Well, I've had a lot going on this week too." And at this point, Chris might have just made his acceptance speech to sainthood, "I know you do, but here's the thing. They can both be true. Just because I say my week has been long doesn't mean yours hasn't as well." Butter my butt and call me a biscuit! How did he stay so calm and rationale when I clearly was not!?!?!?

Now because I have the world's greatest therapist, and I have indeed made progress, Chris's rationale (at least to my face) response stopped me in my tracks and forced me to acknowledge what is really going on. I feel out of control...

We are getting into routines here at Boys Home, but they're not natural yet. I'm tired from the time change, but more so from the pain in my shoulder. I do have long days right now, but I know those will end as they are now when camp is over in July and I say goodbye to the Diocese of Kentucky (well maybe just see you later...). I have no idea what will come next. I'm trying to be patient, and I'm pretty good at it--again until I'm not. And while the downstairs of the house is awesome, I still have no kitchen and our bedroom isn't put together. Those are just the things I'm going to admit publicly. 

I knew, again because of an amazing therapist, the thing to do was to find something I could control or that at least would make me feel in control. My go-to's--cleaning baseboards and ironing are out of the question. I mean seriously, even I know it would be coo coo for cocoa puffs to clean freshly painted baseboards, and I can't iron because of the dang blasted shoulder. (See if the doctor who asked if it really hurt knew I wasn't ironing because it hurt so badly he wouldn't have had to ask that question!!!! He would also have had to know ironing is one of my favorite things to do.)

While showering it came to me!!! I could make our bed look like the room was put together even though it's not. Stay with me here. 

When we decided to accept this call, we agreed our bedroom would be one of the first rooms done and we would get all new bedding and window treatments.  I have piecemealed our room together for years. They are on order, but not here yet. I decided several weeks ago (you know prior to losing my sh*t this morning) that it was senseless to put the bed together with the old bedding when we'd have to undo it for the new. Again, this was on the other end of my control spectrum when I was so go with the flow we slept on a mattress on the floor for six weeks....

That all changed this morning. I dug out the bedding, stripped the bed down, got the last set of freshly ironed sheets out of the linen closet, and made that baby right up! I feel so much better.

Life sometimes feels like it's coming at us. We can let it trample us or we can grab it by the horns, swing ourselves up on its bareback, and ride it like the wind! 

---and yes I do know moving the mattress to put the dust ruffle on with an injured shoulder was not the smartest thing I've ever done. At least I did it BEFORE pt this afternoon....

I also consider it a win, I have posted a picture of it WITH wrinkles!!

It's Not Either/Or

 I'm a privileged sometimes spoiled whiny brat. There I've said it so no one needs to add that to a comment or send me a private message--I mean you can, but just so you know I'll only respond with, "I know." Here goes anyway....

Today was a long day--long and productive for a reason. I scrubbed our bathroom floors, unpacked boxes, vacuumed, dusted, supervised moving furniture, laundry, and various other chores--including polishing silver and brass--silver in one of the tubs. Oh, and that was also while I was working on summer camp. I'll admit, I did enjoy it, but I was also doing it thinking about the bath I was going to take late this afternoon. 

Another few asides, I recognize there are some people who are creeped out by baths, but I love them. I was also going to use a Buff City bath bomb, which yes, does belong to my daughter, but I bought them, she won't use them at college, and I'm sure she'll be fine with me replacing them--plus I paid her tolls today...back to the story.

I chose a book, chose a bath bomb, got the towel to cover the window (a whole other story), and began to run the bathwater. I tried to pull up the little thing to stop up the drain--wouldn't move. Tried again, and again, and again, and again. It wouldn't budge. I headed downstairs in search of my hammer--the one from attempting to hang the flag pole. I hit it (up) over and over--still no move. I was so frustrated--called my husband who said, "You're using the hammer again?" Me, "I can use it on the drain or your head." (I can also be dramatic...)

I went downstairs, poured a beverage from my new friends, watched basketball, and fumed, I mean thought and perhaps felt a little guilty.

While thinking, fuming and pouting a good friend called. She is an only child who is caring for a chronically ill parent. She has a job, is married, and is an incredible friend to everyone. Over the past several weeks although she has been walking through hell, every single time we talk/text she always asks about me and my family and celebrates with us. We hung up; I stomped upstairs for a SHOWER!

As I stood under the hot water I thought about all the Facebook posts I've seen today, my semi-temper tantrum, my friend, and what I believe about God. Here it is....

• I can be frustrated there always seems to be something wrong with this house, and have compassion for all those who have no homes. 
• I can be over the moon excited my sister is coming to help me tomorrow, and feel sad for all those who have no family or are estranged from their families.
• I can be filled with joy that today all of our children are in happy, healthy places, and have empathy for parents who have buried children, don't know where their children are, or know where they are and are estranged.
• I can be grateful neither Chris nor I have buried a parent, and hold in my heart friends who no longer have their parents. 
• I can worry about the war in Ukraine, and find joy in watching the boys here play soccer in the sunshine. 
• and the list goes on....

If we read the Psalms, we hear ALL these emotions and more. And here's something else. I believe God rejoices when a baby is born enveloping the new parents in God's loving embrace and at the same time, those same arms can be wrapped around people saying goodbye to a loved one. We are created in the image of God. We can hold multiple emotions at the same time. It's not an either/or.

In the meantime, I'm going to wrap myself in a Hecht hug...