I am not patient. Yes, Patience is a virtue, but its definitely not my virtue. Yet. Whenever I am out with the children, one of my favorite (moreover, the most comical) comments I get, is “you have so much patience! Three children THAT close together?! You must be a saint!” The truth? I. Am. Not. Patient. I have the temper of a child sometimes. I’m selfish too. I want it my way and my children are determined to give me a run for my money in that area. They have my bull-headed determination and sometimes, I have to stand in awe of how reflective it is of myself. So much so, that I can’t even be mad about it. Battling my own flaws, insecurities and hang ups while making feeble attempts to guide those of my children into some semblance of decent people, is not for the faint of heart. It takes patience but it’s not that I have a plethora of it. It’s a daily reality check. I’m currently watching This is Us. It has me in all the feels tonight. It’s also a great reminder that, no matter what, I was chosen to raise these treasures. I. Me. It has been bestowed upon ME. (Sure, my husband and I as a whole, but I am the primary caregiver.)
I have been charged and blessed to mold these young, wild spirits into discerning humans who know when to tone it down or kick it up a notch. On days like today, I find myself repeating in mantra-like tones: “I was chosen to raise them because I CAN do it” or “I was made for this and these are MY BLESSINGS.” Far too often, I struggle to see the raw beauty of their yet fully developed, but already oh so spunky little personalities. See, it’s like clay pots.
I helped my late gramma garden in my younger years. She would use old clay pots sometimes and I recall asking her why she still used the pots with the cracks in them. She told me that cracks don’t defeat the pots. Yes, they make them more vulnerable, but they also give the soil more oxygen. And for some plants, that’s what they need to grow more.
Maybe I’m likened to those pots. I have so many cracks that I occasionally feel as though I may very well fall apart. I feel completely vulnerable. Now, see it is because of my vulnerability; because of my cracks, that the soil in which my little ‘seedlings’ are planted, may receive a bit of an dose of that which they need to grow.
Often, I find that my soil is dry and thirsting for the refreshing water that brings life to myself, my children and everyone around. I’ve mentioned before that I’m working my order. One of the first things that needs order is my spiritual life. How can I expect my flesh – my non-spiritual self – to raise to a higher level, if I don’t first, raise that of my spirit. That my friends is the water. It permeates every crack; saturating every grain of soil, penetrating every impenetrable, solid clump. Each plant needs something different to flourish and grow properly. Each soil needs a particular portion to sufficiently nourish the seeds within. This is my portion and these are my blessings. I don’t it all together and I surely am not perfect, but I have what I need to do the task at hand.
So the next time someone accuses me of having more patience than a saint, I’ll just smile and tell them my garden is growing and so am I. (And I’ll probably get a good chuckle out of the perplexed expression on their face.)