First there was Harper’s practice 5K, (run prior to breaking her arm), where she, and we, discovered that she’s got running in her blood.
She must have gotten a transfusion at some point in her 9 years.
Then, there was Zane’s participation in his school’s spring show AND end of the year graduation ceremony, where he worked through and overcame some enormous fears that he actually shared with us about both of the events.
I am blessed to have verbal children who trust us enough to share their honest feelings.
First, Harper. Those who know her now probably think I’m just one of “those” mothers when I talk about her “disappearance” and miraculous transformation that took our family on a rocky journey between years 5-8. To those folks, I just give up trying to describe or explain that time for our family, because, truly, unless you have experience anxiety first-hand, you just don’t get it. If that sounds cliche, sorry. You just can’t possibly understand unless you either walked beside us through that storm, or have experienced it yourself.
So, when we moved and Harper took to Beaver more quickly than any of us, we knew that we had really reached closure.
She’s made amazing friends, enjoys our church so very much, and now, she has found a new “niche” with running. The comfort in which she carries herself is a testament to God, my family (who didn’t chalk up my concerns to be dramatic), an amazing first grade teacher who was first to join us in the trenches, friends (who didn’t dismiss me as being high-maintenance), and some wonderfully skilled therapists who Harper chatted with right up until the week we moved.
Having gone through that experience, one can understand why, when I found my son hiding in his room the day of the school show, and crying before graduation because, as he shared it with us later “I didn’t know all the other kids in the room”, (all the classes graduated together), I take pause, catch my breath, and wonder if we’re headed down a path that is eerily familiar – down to that statement.
Only, he surprises us and perseveres. He sings and dances with his class and he is caught on video joyously shaking his booty off at graduation.
Even so, I will NEVER again dismiss a child’s fearful tears after having gone through what we did. And I am thankful that God has brought other parents my way who are in desperate need of answers and direction and just need to talk through their concerns.
Fast forward to this week, when I had the pleasure of thanking Harper’s running coach for loving her as an individual and really taking time to get to know who she is. For her coach didn’t treat her as just another 9 year old, but, rather, as a unique person.
I also had the joy of walking into the local Elementary School where rather than addressing me first, the school secretary looked Zane straight in the eye and welcomed him as a new Kindergartner, going the extra mile to give him special attention during which I simply stood by feeling pleasantly ignored. That treatment continued at the registration table where Zane was again welcomed ahead of me. Those small gestures were the catalyst for Zane being on cloud 9. No kidding, ever since those two introductions and his Kindergarten assessment, his demeanor and the way he carries himself, has blossomed. He even looks taller.
Both of them are moving onward and upward. I even think they sense it and feel it.
Suddenly, the changes seem to be moving by so quickly.
But not so quickly that I can’t them all down. Here.
Harper and Zane – you inspire me to do this.
I love you both more than you will ever know and more than I will ever be able to show you, for more often than not, my human insufficiency clutters my ability to parent.
Thanks for the grace.