Ambivalence

Well, school is now officially over for Aidan. I am feeling a great deal of ambivalence about this, which in a way surprises me.

Things that I won't miss:
- bratty children somehow armed with the hurtful guidebook, "How to Form Cliques At An Age When You Shouldn't Know Anything About It."
- a boy named Zachary, who not only told Aidan he wasn't cool, but today -- on the very last day! -- ran up to Aidan on the playground and hit him smack in his little manhood, for no reason. I asked Aidan how he responded, and he said he told his teacher, because it hurt. The teacher got very angry and put Zachary on the naughty bench. I'd like to hit HIM in his little manhood with the naughty bench!

However ...
- I foresee very, very loooonnnnggg summer days with kids whining that they don't know what to do
- I foresee a big, gaping hole in the corner of my brain where Creativity should reside, not knowing how to entertain my children for those loooonnnnnggg summer days
- I foresee an incredible stroke of creative genius, finally, on my part -- coming up with some awesome activity ... only to have them be bored with it after 2.5 minutes (rather than the 2.5 hours I envisioned)
- I foresee a lot of frustration and tears on my part
- I foresee lots of Vacation Bible School, bouncing from one neighborhood church to the next (oh, that's bad!)
- I foresee a lot of water going into the little swimming pool

Things I will miss:
- a few hours alone (well, with one child -- but a sleeping one during those hours)
- hearing Aidan's tales of what he did, and what he accomplished, seeing his little crafts, etc.

And this is the big one that I'm going to miss:
- Prayer. Now this might sound strange, but this ended up being one of the greatest gifts to me during these past few months. When we were (quite literally) kicked out of PA, and feeling the tsunami of pain wash over us, my prayer life stopped. Utterly and completely. Admittedly, I was never one to have an established daily "quiet time" spent in prayer and devotions. With my two kids, and my personality, that just wasn't going to happen. But I did pray -- often. Cleaning the house, washing the dishes, walking Grace in her stroller. Lots o' prayer. But when Don was terminated on Jan. 5, I stopped praying. I couldn't pray. My last "prayer" was a cry up to God, the night before Don was fired, and I will never, ever forget that God actually responded. I've never had that happen to me before, but with my soul ripped open, I "saw" God. God was speaking to Don, whose head was bowed and shoulders stopped, and God said something very, very prophetic. It was almost creepy, yet not because it was surrounded by some kind of strange peace. That was my very last prayer -- and the last time I "heard" from God.

Fast-forward a few prayer-less months. I knew many, many people were praying for us and I was grateful. I could feel it, actually, but I couldn't do it myself. There were moments where I tried, like I was dipping my toe into the water of a dark pond, but as soon as that first little synapse fired the message of "toe-touching-water" a strange wall flew up, stopping the prayer. There were times when I wanted to pray but couldn't, times when I did not want to pray at all because I was too angry and confused, times where I was actually terrified to pray because I had become afraid of God. The six horrible months in PA were indeed dark; the months following were an abysmal Black Hole.

However, one day I was driving back from dropping Aidan off, around 12:20 p.m. It was a perfect spring day, gorgeous blue sky, a flew fluffy white clouds, a nice breeze. It was quiet in the car, and all of a sudden I felt it -- this compulsion, this undeniable pull toward prayer. I didn't want to -- I was very tired, and I still had those lingering fears. But I couldn't stop it. I had to pray ... and I did. And the coolest thing happened: I could almost "see" in my mind God sitting there, listening intently. God never left. I had no choice in that moment but to pray. I'm not exactly sure what I said. I know I cried the whole way home (makes driving a little difficult with water-blurry eyes). I know I said, "I'm sorry" about a thousand times. I know I asked for forgiveness, for things "done and left undone." I know I was forgiven. I know I was sinned against in a big, bad way -- I know there is nothing I can do about that. I know I was welcomed back like the Prodigal Son (er, daughter). And I have to say it felt good to be back.

I'm going to miss those afternoon drives. For 12 minutes, 3 days a week, I had God's ear, with absolute peace and no interruption. I ranted, I raved, I praised, I cried, I thanked, I smiled, I questioned, I begged. 12 incredibly powerful minutes in my day. But what I found to be absolutely astonishing is that the nature of my prayer has changed. Not the prayer itself -- although that too has taken interesting turns -- but more like my spirit behind the prayer. I can feel, in some inexplicable way, that I am changed. The way I talk to God is different, and lately I've been feeling a confidence and a strength that I didn't feel before. I've been feeling an intense, burning anger, too -- not at God, but at the darkness, at the evil I've seen and experienced, at the injustice I've encountered, at hypocricy and lies. It was almost an empowering feeling, really. I almost felt I could start casting out demons, for goodness sake! But to finally be able to open up my soul, to hold it up to God and say, "See? Here it is, every last shred of it" and to let the prayers pour out in a kind of intimacy I'm not sure I felt before ... it has been very, very cool.

Now I'm not sure what I am going to do. I'm going to miss those 12 minutes. I can't even take these few minutes here to write down these meager thoughts without 25 interruptions, or screams from the yard which bring me a-runnin'. I guess we'll just have to wait and see how this next phase -- summer vacation -- plays itself out.

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P.S. Just as I finished writing this, Aidan ran in the house yelling, "Grace isn't in the yard!" Another 5 minutes of absolute terror, racing around the house, down the basement, up to my parents' house, back out in the yard, screaming her name ... Finally Aidan looked out the porch window and said, "There she is! In the street!" I don't think I've ever run as fast as that in my entire life (my legs are still shaking). Thankfully a woman (whom I never met before) who apparently lives down the next block saw her wandering in the street and brought her back over to the sidewalk. Unbelievable. That's Escape #2 for her already. I still haven't stopped shaking, or crying. This really is going to be a long, long summer.