Our children learn from us. Good and bad. My oldest learned independence and a severe aversion to ask for help. Asking for help seems weak. We can handle this on our own. We handled POTS at it’s worst. We can handle anything? WRONG.
Sometimes we can’t.
But we try.
And then, eventually have a moment of tears and frustration feeling so strongly that “it’s not fair.”
It’s not fair. Sometimes it truly isn’t…
…but it was never supposed to be.
Then in that fit of “not fair,” we start comparing… to the girls who have boyfriends and cars and full-ride scholarships, the kids with great jobs, the ones who are healthy and don’t have to worry, the people for whom life seems easy, .
It’s easy to do. With Facebook and the internet and so many social media sites showing off the best and hiding the worst, it’s easy to compare… and then to fall into a slump and feel that it’s not fair.
The feeling’s aren’t the problem. It’s the solitude. Because we feel lonely.
She feels isolated and uniquely miserable in a sea of friends who have such great lives that they’ve seemed to forget about her. Her friends are carefree this summer while she’s agonizing over the news that she won’t be able to earn residency status this year – or ever, that her school bills just tripled. And she loves her school and has worked hard and found friends, that she feels healthier there and…
There are so many amazingly wonderful things that she’s accomplished. She didn’t complain when we moved from Spain and her Maryland school made her test and wouldn’t let her start school for three weeks. She didn’t complain when she was behind in AP classes and swamped with school work, yet had to have a surgery. She worked hard through post-op illness and doctors who thought she was crazy, home-hospital teaching for most of her junior year and all of her senior year. She saw doctors, found her diagnosis, behaved like the ideal patient, went to physical therapy 3 times a week, walked with assistance for 18 months, then finally was able to walk alone across the stage and graduate from a school she barely knew full of faces she knew but a handful.
She’s moved 2000 miles away to be independent and live on her own and go to school full-time to study and has done extremely well earning high marks and becoming involved, now the vice-president of her dressage club. Through so much adversity, she’s prevailed, never complaining, always pushing through.
And now she’s tired. The financial burden of the non-resident status is overwhelming. The idea of changing schools and moving again just makes her so very sad. After all she worked for and the sense of belonging she finally has found in Oregon, a move is another hardship. Watching her, as her mom, I want so badly for her to get a break, to find an easy path for a while, for something to go right. It’s frustrating that I can’t swoop in and fix everything. So, so frustrating.
I found this in an article about “the Shaun this Sheep Movie” of all things, this morning: “And religion, like the law, cannot be followed privately. It’s a collective undertaking. Job, Buber writes, isn’t one man; “Behind this [Job’s] ‘I,’ there stands the ‘I’ of Israel.” Disaster leads to revelation. Revelation leads to rebirth. Rebirth requires community.”
She needs community.
But we don’t know how to ask for help, so I’m doing the next best thing.
I do know to ask for prayer. Because God has gotten her this far and God has a plan, even in this.
It’s time for prayer.
[The phone rang just a few minutes ago and it was my Mary Kay director reminding me it was time to order. We spoke only briefly then she asked if there was anything that I needed prayer for. Yup. God is here. He’s got this.]