strength when i am weak

A couple of weeks ago, Amm and I accompanied my mom and grandmother down to Sarasota - to help my cousin and her family, as she recovered from emergency surgery. The Calvary was needed - this is what my family does. It is one of the many things that, I believe, makes my family special. And one of the many reasons I’m thankful to be attached to this bunch.

The timing couldn’t have been worse, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to go. More specifically - I wanted to go. And not just to help my dear cousin, though that was my heart’s priority. I rearranged my schedule, and packed to leave. So many things fell into place - and so many things were already prepared - allowing me to go. And I was grateful. I knew that I was being blessed for following my Heavenly Father’s prompting to go south. He was preparing the way. We left that Monday afternoon, despite the pounding rain.

Immediately, I knew in my gut that something was off.

And thus began my most trying week as a parent.

The details aren’t necessary. I guess that’s a testament to how bad it was: I’m not taking the opportunity to run my mouth and write a novel. Let’s just say it was awful. In every way you could imagine. I felt useless; I felt helpless. Because of what I was dealing with with my child - I believed that I wasn’t pulling my weight everywhere else. And that just made me angry. I wondered why I had come. I wondered why my Father in Heaven had pushed me to go. He knows all - had He not also foreseen this outcome?

I ran out of patience early in the week. My usual high reserves, long ago tapped. At one point, I uttered, “I don’t want this.” And I don’t do that. I don’t make comments of that nature - ever. Not to my child. Not after I fought for him. And yet I did it this week. More disheartening - I meant it. And that’s when I began to shut down. For surely, I could not trudge another step. Nothing I was doing was working - and my prayers seemed futile. And if those didn’t work ... well. What else was there.

Despite the nightmare and the heartache, the week passed. Too quickly, I’d say, even then. I love my family - and I loved my time with them. I was thankful that I could go - and be of just a little help, if nothing more. I loved the little bits that I was able to do. The kisses I got from those sweet twins, I treasured. But that last morning, I girded up my loins in preparation for our long drive home.

It got off to a rocky start. And I expected nothing less.

I was through. With it all. I had all but turned my face skyward and shrieked to the heavens, “What more do you want from me?” 

Several hours down the road - and unfortunately not as many miles - I felt my blood pressure going up yet again. I could do nothing, except shut my eyes, cover my ears, and bury my head into the seat in front of me - afraid of what would happen if I didn’t. After I had calmed down, and Ammon had found something else to entertain himself with besides challenging, arguing, fighting, and abusing - I pulled out my iPod. Music. An escape. Solitude. That’s what I needed.

I placed it on shuffle, and instantly mused that I should have just selected my Alfie playlist. Alfie. Alfie Boe. It’s no secret that I love him. A lot.

In the end, that musing was unnecessary. The very first song that shuffled through, was an Alfie rendering. And precisely the one I needed to hear. One that has quieted my heart before. With my own (long ago added) additions:

In my Ammon's eyes, 

I am a hero.

I am strong and wise, 

and I know no fear.

But the truth is plain to see,

he was sent to rescue me -

I see who I want to be,

in my Ammon's eyes.

In my Ammon's eyes,

everyone is equal.

Darkness turns to light,

and the world’s at peace.

This miracle God gave to me,

gives me strength when I am weak -

I find reason to believe,

in my Ammon's eyes.

And when he wraps his hand around my finger,

how it puts a smile in my heart.

Everything becomes a little clearer,

I realize what life is all about:

It's hanging on when your heart has had enough.

It's giving more when you feel like giving up.

I've seen the light,

it's in my Ammon's eyes.

In my Ammon's eyes,

I can see the future -

a reflection of who I am and what will be.

And though he'll grow and someday leave,

maybe raise a family,

when I'm gone I hope you see

how happy he made me.

For I'll be there -

in my Ammon's eyes.

My. How my tears flowed. After this week, I had felt sure I had no more to shed.

That’s when I felt it. His hand on my arm. And that voice - that only Ammon can manage - said, “I love you, Momma.”

I was reminded of another time. Not as extreme as this week had been - but another time, when I was at the end of my rope. Oh ... I guess my rope has stretched since then. I’m sure it will continue to do so. We’ll call it growing pains.

I was reminded of how my Heavenly Father teaches. Sometimes we find the lesson in the trial. I needed to learn something - and the what will be my little secret. I think that He knew what He was doing when He sent me to Sarasota. Just like I think His finger was controlling that shuffle.

Sometimes the lesson is in the trial. Sometimes, all we need to do is persevere. And we’re all the better for it.

And ... well. Like the time I realized that my Father in Heaven works through Chinese food, thanks to some rather inspiring fortune cookies -  it goes without saying that I’m pretty jazzed to know that He also works through Alfie. The man sings like an angel. So I guess it’s pretty fitting ... and makes the job easy. Silver linings and all that.

Lyrics: Adapted from In My Daughter’s Eyes; Alfie Boe (video)