Sunday, July 12, 2015

"Imagine Me with You"

Welcome to Ways of Remembrance and the very first post! I've long felt a need to write out daily spiritual experiences for the joy of my own record, but I hope that this place will also serve to renew and inspire you, that we may be edified together and made “partakers of the heavenly gift.”  I will post on a weekly basis, so stop by every Monday morning to begin the week with wings. Thank you beyond words for being here! 

Sketch by Rembrandt

I am a mother. While my two-year-old James and five-month-old Meg are sunshine and rich soil to my soul, they are also my wind and beating rain. This week they tested the strength of my character with storms of messes and tantrums that stretched me thin-to-bursting. James cracked eggs on the floor and caused all kinds of disasters. He lost it when he couldn’t watch another episode of Curious George. He almost died if he couldn’t hold my keys on the way to the car. He kept trying to step on the small of Meg’s back. He kicked his legs like crazy every time I tried to change his diaper. He ran away from me in public. He hit me when he was mad. Add Meg’s cries into all of that, as well as many nights spent nursing in a chair, and it’s no wonder that by Thursday I felt exhausted, like a candle at the end of its wick, caught up in a whirlwind of incessant whining and sticky messes. 

I regret to tell you that I became a bit of a monster. I yelled. I lost it. I couldn’t think of “natural consequences.” I was afraid that I was failing, that people were judging me, and I pitied myself. 

And yet I didn't want to be a yeller. It didn't feel good. Deep inside I felt like I was offending the spirit, but I also felt overwhelmed by my inability to change, to overcome the urge to scream and spank and stomp about. 

Then, when James got deliriously mad about something flippant, all I could do was summon my might, set his flailing body in the crib and crumble to the ground. In between sobs, I managed to cry out a prayer--you know the kind: one of those genuine, raw, incoherent pleas for help and comfort, a desperate reach for the divine.

It seemed like I had scarcely begun to speak and He was there, falling upon me in the form of gentle clarity. I saw a picture in my mind of a holy being, the Savior, clothed in brilliant light. And the words that came with Him were these: 

"Imagine me with you."

That was it--an instant, simple message, four words wrapped around a single image, the perfect present. 

This small revelation brought me a well of comfort, one from which I have drawn with pleasure and thanksgiving ever since. Imagining Him nearby when I don't know how to handle bad behavior or one more spill has been like conjuring a patronus of sorts, a guardian of light in dark places. Doing so has helped me react with a balance of love and firmness that cultivates the spirit. 

The loveliest thing to come of it was, however, James' surprising reaction to my change of approach. He suddenly seems prone to enthusiastic obedience at best and mild nods of regretful understanding at worst. It's like he knows and trusts that I'm coming from a place of loving kindness that has his true interests in mind. What a difference it has made. 

But I must admit that since receiving this beautiful piece of revelation I have not always remembered to use it. That is the challenge, isn't it? The great pursuit. To return again and again to what we know--to repent, to constantly "stir [ourselves] up to the ways of remembrance." But I find that He is always just a reach away when I happen to forget, with answers that calm interior storms and light up the heart with splendid song.

1 comment:

  1. Jacque! I love you! This is the first time I've visited your space and I'm so glad I did. Thank you for this. I love how words of the spirit are universal and timeless. I know I will refer to this in my own experience again and again.

    -Sascha

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