I REMEMBER JENNY
And The Interruption
Gingerly I crept toward the door. Yes, my girls were well-fed. Yes, I’d spent focused time with each. Yes, I’d eft them occupied – crayons, paper, stickers. Why did I feel so apprehensive?
Before we go any further, let me explain: I was not headed toward the FRONT door – Jenny is four and Elizabeth two. The place that causes my gray hair is (and I’m embarrassed to admit it) the bathroom door.
There’s just something about my closing that door that causes instant squabbling. That or the kind of screams that put you in gear for another trip to the emergency room.
My kids are past the nap stage and not yet in school. What’s a mother to do? When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.
The three-minute trips shouldn’t be impossible. After all, I tell myself, how much Clorox can a child swallow in three minutes? How many blows to the head with a baseball bat can Jenny deliver to Elizabeth? How many muggers can they let in the door?
There is something about placing one foot into that private room that triggers my kids. One day in utter frustration I asked God, “How much longer will they do this to me?” His answer? A quiet, “As long as it bothers you so much.”
“That’ll be forever!” I let Him know.
But I did want change. That meant growth. And that often means growing pains.
First I experimented with ear plugs. I reasoned, “If I can’t hear them, I won’t be bothered. Then it’ll stop. Right?
Wrong!
Twenty tiny fingers wiggling wildly from underneath the crack in the door is not eliminated by earplugs. And it’s amazing how much pain and need to multi-talented kids can transmit with only the means of their fingertips.
“Leave the door open, for Heaven’s sake,” you say? You apparently don’t live in my neighborhood.
“Oh, crime a problem?” No, wish it were that simple. My neighbors are friendly. Kids run freely in, out and around my house. Their parents run in, out and around looking for their kids. Why knock? We’re all such good friends. Aren’t I lucky!
One day I decided to couple a blindfold with the earplugs. But in my mine’s eye I could see the next day’s headlines: “Woman Blindfolds Self – Trips, Drowns in Toliet?” I could see the coroner’s puzzled face as he discovered the earplugs. In the blank for Cause of Death, he’d write: “Caused by Weirdness.” I could hear the neighbors: “I always knew that woman was a real whacko; that’s why I always ran in her bouse to get my kids out?” I could see my (then) husband’s grim face and know his thoughts: “She always said those kids would drive her nuts.”
I decided against the blindfold.
Better try God’s way since nothing else works, I told myself for the thousandth time.
“So what is it this time?” I asked my Maker.
“Selfishness.”
“WHAT!? You know I gave up my job I love to raise these kids. I swallow my food whole, spend my time playing Candyland for crying out loud. Look, I’ve been bitten, stepped on, kicked, thrown up on, wee-weed on—what more do you want, blood?”
“I shed mine for you,” came the quiet voice “Your time is not your own; when you came to me, you gave it all to me. Stop taking it back.”
“But it’s asking so little. What’s it to you?”
“It’s mine. And it’s your demanding to have it that is sin. Trust me.”
I did. What other choice did I have, I told myself. After all, here I am – a thirty-nine year old woman and I want to go to the bathroom.
The next time the door closed I can’t tell you that the smoke alarm did not go off. I can’t tell you a stray dog did not come running through our upstairs and I can’t tell you that a bookcase didn’t fall over on Jenny who was climbing up it to escape from the dog. All of that remained the same old routine panic.
But something had changed in me. I didn’t mind the interruption. After, all, it wasn’t MY time anyway. I was doing work ordained and planned by God Himself as I put the dog out as much as Billy Graham is when he preaches to thousands.
And the bonus came when I noticed that instead of feeling pity toward myself while holding my bruised child, I was pitying her. The kisses were more genuine, the comforting words, though the exact ones I used every time, were heart-felt. Growth finally.
The kids must have sensed my peace too. For when I made a second attempt at closing the door – quiet reigned. So much so that I became suspicious. But once out again, I saw two happy and occupied preschoolers and no chaos! I could even go back in and comb my hair. God never takes away a thing that is not repaid with interest.\
He is Lord of my time.