They have been a challenge to my skills of motherhood and what little patience i've managed to acquire for like, oh, 6 years. Full of curiosity, opinions, and so many great ideas that get themselves in trouble over and over and over again. Their hair has opinions of its own also, preferring to stand slightly askew like the heads they adorn. Living in a compound has only compounded (ha! compound-compounded.....get it?) the problem of their great ideas and my pride. (sorry, the joke is lame but we just massacred like 200 chickens and my humor is a bit off.)
Back in the day when i had more opinions than brains i made the audacious comment that i want spunky kids. Kids that are full of vim and vigor and rock the world. I have repented over and over but the damage is done. God seems to have taken me seriously and i have 7 boys with very large ideas and even larger catastrophes.
One reason the compound had to butcher chickens on a saturday had to do with a blond haired 6 yr old boy. Actually, he's the only reason. He saw the chickens water line leaking and ever so kindly turned off the water so the chickens wouldn't get wet. It worked but they started dying of thirst instead. So instead of a leisurely saturday morning we hacked and plucked away at bloody carcasses. It made me struggle because even while the men of the compound were discussing Friday evening whether we should butcher the next morning or hold off til Monday like the original plans, the twins were in the compound lane constructing something great and wonderful with trash from the shop. They were in the lane because we were celebrating the school teachers birthdays with cake and ice cream and the lane is where we held the party. (Yeah, we hold birthday parties in the lane here because we like to watch the young people play volleyball and get nailed every so often by a stray shot.) I never noticed the trash treasures being strewn over the lane because i was helping to get ready for the brunch that happens after butchering which was happening unexpectedly thanks to the chickens gasping their last breaths. Because of those very same boys. Who the night before thot it would be great fun to jump on food and clothing packages ready to send out to poor orphans. You can imagine......what happened. I mean, seriously, how much can two little boys do???? How much should a parent endure before it's socially acceptable to walk around mumbling and pulling their hair out? And no, we don't let them roam wildly. Seriously. We're like the model parents for Michael and Debbie Pearl.
You can stop laughing now.
After the chickens were safely in the freezers today and our brunch/lunch was eaten, we headed back to our house for an afternoon siesta. I was pondering why it seems its ALWAYS a child with the last name of Weaver and especially a certain pair that's involved in any fiasco. They stretched me quite literally even while in the womb and have never stopped. So while i was thinking about this, i recognized that still, small voice.
"Delight in them."
Huh? You mean with a paddle?
"No, instead of being humiliated and totally frustrated, delight in two healthy little boys who are full of life and love."
"And trouble, God. Don't forget the trouble part."
But my heart has been touched and God has spoken. I have nothing to prove to Him or anyone else about being any kind of amazing parent. I ruined that image a long time ago. But it will change my children's lives if i DELIGHT in them. I love them more than life, no doubt about that, but to delight in the crazy loudness and raging energy takes a power from the Holy Spirit and a whole lot of training. Lord knows i needed a whole lot of training and should've gotten a lot more so if anyone can empathize with those two little monkeys it's their mama. We won't discuss their angelic father nor the monkey right underneath the twins who's a whole lot like his angelic father but hasn't figured out the angelic part yet.
And i pray that someday they really do rock the world. For Jesus.