We've officially entered Toddler-hood. We don't technically have a little one toddling about yet - Camden Virginia is taking her time on the walking front. But where steps lack, the large scale of her many emotions makes up for it!
She is a vivacious gal, I'm telling you. She will laugh as loudly as us and get so excited that her whole face will scrunch up and you can't see her eyeballs. She loves big and shows it through cuddling, hugging, and baby kisses. She'll make you feel like your heart might burst. She says "Hey!" to anyone and everyone, loves to eat just about anything we offer, and is the most magnificently ticklish tot!
She's also a gal that knows what she wants. She's smart as a whip and frequently uses the words "no" "yes" and "bite", sometimes followed by a sudden burst of emotion if your actions don't quickly follow her requests. (I use request mildly. They are really more of a demand.) She is quick to let you know when something isn't meeting her standards by crying out. And sometimes, she's crying over seemingly nothing at all.
Recently, we learned how exciting a cardboard box can be, so we put a playhouse together using a large leftover box from the moving company. As far as playhouses go, it's top notch. For reals. This sucker is complete with a swinging door - with a handle - and two windows. She can stand up inside of it. I have plans to cover the door with wrapping paper just to make it a little bit more fabulous! But I digress.
Sometimes, she crawls in and the door won't quite shut. I don't know why the laws of physics can't bend for the sake of a sixteen-month-old, but alas, a door just won't shut when there is a baby booty in front of it. None of that matters - it pisses her off every time. (I can see Mama rolling her eyes and saying "Piss piss piss!" in her disgruntled tone. She hated when we said that word!!) Truly though, it really does PISS Camden off. A full on YELL and/or cry of frustration follows every time this happens. I have no idea where she gets this from... (Insert sheepish shrug from me here.)
All this leads me to a story. Earlier today, I put Camden down in her crib for a nap, and left the room to her talking and happily squealing. I came downstairs, turned on the monitor, and watched as her energy lessened and her little eyelids became heavier. Soon, she was out!
Forty minutes later however, she is standing against the railing of her crib, screaming. And loudly. She usually sleeps for AT LEAST 1.5 hours, but usually it is more like 2.5 hours. I watched for a few minutes to see if it would pass, wondering if she might lay back down. Nope! So ten minutes later, we are downstairs with a clean diaper and dressed for the day, Mommy attempting to put Camden's hair up, all coupled with a Camden tantrum. And not just typical crying. I'm talking full-on crocodile tears and how-the-heck-can-you-hit-that-volume, baby-doesn't-want-to-be-touched kind of crying.
It's kind of one of those days that you look in the mirror and what's staring back at you is a Mombie. Have you heard of that word? It's a Zombie-Mom. A Mama of the half-dead variety. You know the one - greasy hair in a "messy" bun (And by messy I mean there are maybe three strands left in the bun and the rest is falling out and knotted), not a stitch of makeup on, with a wide-eyed, borderline I-might-go-crazy look in her eye. The look that says, "If one more thing goes wrong, I might just curl up in a ball and stay there."
So what did I do? I took a video of my kid completely losing it. Mainly because I'm a loving Mom who wants to capture every precious and special moment of her little one's childhood. But also maybe because I didn't know what else to do, so I pulled out my phone just to capture the craziness of the moment. And then, I sat my girl in her highchair, gave her a cookie as I heated up her lunch, and watched the video.
Ironically, Camden wanted to watch, too. So we sat at the table and watched the video of her losing her mind over nothing (or everything, depending on whose POV we are talking about). She stared at the video at first with a wide-eyed, mouth-agape expression, and then started to laugh. So I capitalized on the video magic and we watched old footage of newborn baby Camden sleeping, baby Camden spitting up, Camden wiggling, Camden crying in the bathtub, and all the other wonders that come with the life of a newborn.
We made it all the way to the folder of videos taken during her eighth week of life, when I found the sweetest memory of my Camden cooing softly as I sang to her.
When I made this video, I had been practicing a worship song of healing that my sister and I planned to sing over Mama. We were praying boldly that God would heal Mama on Earth, that He would restore her to a place better than she'd been in years. I reached out to you, my readers, whomever you may be, that you would join with us in praying. We believed He would heal her, and in that faith, sang over her one evening in December 2014, claiming boldly what we believed God would do. And then on November 5, 2015, we listened to the words of that same song as it was played during her funeral service.
Sometimes, God's plans don't align with ours. And that can be a hard and bitter pill to swallow.
So naturally, life has been hard lately. Between being in a new country without the comfort of my family and friends and grieving the loss of my Mom, I've found some days to just to be too much. The air is too thick, the weight too heavy, the sky too dark. Sounds are too loud, touch too invasive. Hopelessness has slowly creeped in to the crevices of my soul like a black sludge, poisoning me with every space it fills.
As we watched the video, I began to cry. First, it was just a few tears making their way down my cheeks. But soon, I was weeping. Weeping from a place of deep hurt. From a place of anger. From a place of missing my Mama. But also, weeping from the knowing that God did answer our prayer, and He performed a miracle through Mama's physical death better than we could have ever seen in her life on Earth. Weeping because God is so good. As as I wept, my soul opened, letting out the hurt and pain.
I felt the slightest hint of something within. Where the darkness has been residing, light is moving in. The deep hurt feels slightly more shallow. The air feels thinner, the burden not quite as heavy. Outside, the sun shines, making this one of the few days of clear skies in months.
No, God's plans don't always align with ours. Often, His plans are accompanied with pain. The type of pain that might leave us questioning a lot about life and wondering where to go next, how to continue taking steps forward. But just as true as the pain that can come with His direction, so also is His presence. Moreover, living in His presence does not mean living without pain. No; in our deepest hurt, His presence is the sweetest.
Right now, my life is filled with hurt. I'm struggling, plain and simple. But if I know anything to be true, I know that this is a season that will pass. I can look back to my past and recall the seasons of deep hurt and depression, but also recall that God delivered me out of each one. Each day I will have to fight for my joy, and some days I won't be able to lift my sword very high. Some days I will trip and fall. But then those days will become fewer, and as they become fewer, good days will come. And before I know it, I'll realize I'm dancing again.
Psalm 30 verses 11-12 say, "You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent. Lord my God, I will praise you forever."
Sometimes, the purpose of pain is so that we can learn to praise.
Thank you, Jesus, for bringing me truth in the form of my toddler's temper tantrum. Thank you for promising to love me when I don't know how to love myself. Thank you for the day that you will deliver me from this season. And Jesus, thank you for my pain. Thank you for the work You continue to do in my life.
We praise You.
