One of those ordinary weekends playing keepy uppy and tackling
the laundry. This morning whilst folding, I remembered a laundry related
story from years ago.
When our children were small, as parents Sunday mornings
consisted of a manic couple of hours supervising the washing and
dressing of two pre-schoolers and one just-in-schooler. At the same time we tried
to keep an atmosphere that might maintain the previous hours of holy preparation prior
to preaching (him.) Anything else was a bonus (ie that I might actually have my
top on the right way round and for extra points a dash of make up approximately
applied.) The reality was that our children probably picked up a number of words
they shouldn’t have, from me.
One such morning in the middle
of it all daughter (who was still too young to speak properly) started
yelping once her leggings were on her legs. It soon became clear that this did
not fall into the category of a tantrum and that she was actually making a genuine commotion
about something on her leg. The leggings came back off and she calmed down
eventually. After a time the leggings went back on again and the yelling
started even louder and so the leggings came off once more. Only this time it
became clear what the problem was.
A wasp dropped onto the floor.
The black and yellow striped blighter had probably crawled
into the leggings whilst they were on the washing line the day before and dozed
off. It didn’t take too kindly to being woken up and consequently had stung
daughter a few times before any of us worked out what was happening. Needless
to say by this point she and I were both equally distraught and both stayed home that morning and shared lots of cuddles.
The story has been re-counted a few times since, under
the bad mother header. At the time I felt awful that I had not been able to
work out sooner what was happening. (And perhaps almost as bad that I had not ironed
the leggings and squashed the problem beforehand). Anyway short of installing and
monitoring washing line CCTV, BBC TV wildlife-style, I couldn’t have prevented
it.
I was reminded just this week too of some painful experiences of
recent years when I saw someone at the station. A person whose inability to
deal with their own pain meant that pain was meted out to others, including us.
And the associated feelings from that time quickly came rushing back, making me
realise it’s not all dealt with yet.
We don’t want those we love to be hurt and to be in pain. We
don’t want to be wounded by others. And pain inflicted by others sometimes
reveals things about ourselves that we really don’t want to see.
All the foresight and micromanaging cannot prevent pain
occurring. Sometimes it just happens.
Most of the time we are a work in progress along the way, releasing
it to our Father as we go. And that’s OK.
But the peace that follows after we’ve moved through it is
usually the best.
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