97 years of mercy

It's been a lot of living.  She's always said "When you live another 31 years you will know." 

We each know in our own way, in our own time, I suppose.  I guess I’ve thought and maybe even said the same, though not to my daughters, for I know they are strong-willed capable women who will discover truth in their own way and time.  I also imagine that hearing it from me would probably hamper more than it helped.

The truth is I’ve always loved my kids even if I didn’t think they had a right to their own decision process.  We parents can be bad that way.  And it doesn’t really accomplish much to tell them how hard my life is, though a couple of times I’ve made the effort just because I wanted them to know that I know.  But they don’t know that I know. Yet I’ve always, always wanted the best for them.

Over the years –especially the years since my father’s death- I’ve seen the sorrow, self-doubt and disappointment that colored my mother’s path to this day.  She has officially lived longer than any of her family that I know about.  I believe the previous record belonged to a 96 year old.  But that said, my knowledge of the trial of my mother’s heart has come from watching more than listening to the complaint.  Sometimes it has been listening more to what wasn’t really said or learning to interpret what was said that has brought the most comprehension. 

And so I see the personal lesson available to me.  No, my children will not understand my life nor will they appreciate me understanding theirs.  Yet there is much to pray about and much to stand in place for both in my life and theirs.  One day they may discover that I did understand, but that discovery will mean more than any words I can speak to them.  The words I speak to the Father in their behalf are more effective. 

I’m often distressed by the amount of time God takes to answer my prayers for redemption with mercy in the life of those I love.  The old “Whatever it takes!” prayers may be faster but do I want that?  I want the kind, slow working result.  I want the “Whatever  . . .” speed.  The difference is like the difference between the Dr saying my dad’s legs needed amputated to stop the blood poisoning from the diabetic sores and my daily effort to heal and restore the legs.  The legs did get better, but it took a long time and a lot of patience: nights of gentle cleansing and massage and preparations and wrapping the wounds; mornings of the same.  It wasn’t a swift one time fix.  It took my dedication and willingness to face discouraging set backs and slow progress.  It took my willingness to see minute change and to value little victories.  And to this day, 14 + years since his death, it is worth the effort.  Also, I see that having my children’s problems hacked off in a hurry is not the best way either, even if waiting and praying diligently means times of breathless tears.

This is a picture of prayer effort that came into my mind today.  I see small victories in the life of my mother.  God has worked with me and with others to help her let go of much of the pain that has imprisoned her for years.  But I also see that it is the way God has worked in my own life, cleaning and massaging and adding his balm to change the hurt and the misunderstanding, to allow forgiveness and release.  I suppose it is the way he will answer the prayers of restoration and healing that I have for others I love as well.

It is more of a gift given to me on this, my mother’s 97th birthday.  I do have some goodies to take her this weekend though.  I hope they mean even a shred as much.