As the mother of an extroverted daughter I do not have to put a lot of effort into deciphering her thoughts and moods. She once asked when she started talking. I laughed and answered, "You always talked, even before you had words." Something has shifted over the past several weeks. She has gone into herself; into a dreamy, far away place. I know where she is and respect the privilege of her solitude foggy with dreams.
In our conversation over breakfast this morning I shared with her something I have never shared before. I've never had reason and honestly did not have this event in my back pocket waiting on the right time to pull it out. It simply came to me as I walked into the kitchen and saw her sitting on the couch in contemplation. She tolerated, and maybe heard, my story over her bowl of oatmeal.
There is a point in a girl's life when she realizes her mother is not a god. We've been there a while, and I am perfectly fine with it because the other voices she allows are healthy, strong and some days more solid than my own. That dethroning phase gives way to the understanding that our mother is not omniscient and this is a time when honesty and openness is most important.
One day after school mother and I were driving to the chiropractor who I saw for migraine headaches. She was chattering about how much it would cost and how I should appreciate that she worked all day and made just enough to pay for the visit. Her voice was fading in and out as I escaped to that dreamy, far away place. "Are you listening to me?" "Joan, do you hear me?" The only correct answer was "Yes, mam," but I had no idea what her last few sentences had been. That is when it hit me! Mother is not omniscient. She does not know I wasn't listening or what I was thinking. So I tried it out for size and began to intentionally think phrases or comments that she would disapprove of to see if she had a response.
I started with something that I could wiggle out of easily. "I don't like your shoes." She had no response. "I wish you would drive faster." She didn't even a blink. "I really like boys." I winced waiting on a rebuttal. So far, so good. Then I turned to look out the window and thought more serious things and after each one slowly turned to peek and see if she "heard" them. She didn't! She honestly couldn't read my mind!
That was the day I found a safe place within myself where thoughts were all mine. No one could shame or punish me for them or tell me how I should feel. As long as I kept my mouth shut I had a place to be alone. I now could shut the noise of our loud family out and have solitude far, far away. It was independence day!
The following Sunday I was in that dreamy state, staring at the flowers on the communion table, appearing as if I was listening intently to my father's sermon. And then something he said drew me out and back into the room filled with wooden pews and red hymnals. "God knows your every thought," he said. What? Oh, no! Panic set in. Was my father the omniscient one? I began to closely pay attention to what he had to say and understood.
God heard the phrases I tested Mother with in the car. He knows my secrets, my anger and hurts. He knows my dreams and desires. He knows it all! I spent the following days wrestling with guilt and conviction, confession and forgiveness even though I didn't have the maturity to assign those words to the process at the time. Eventually I found comfort and serenity in the fact that God knows my every thought. I understood that I am never alone;
never alone; never alone.
I have a choice of solitude, as does my daughter, and each of us. One choice is running into myself with my face turned away from God's presence staring out the window, pretending he is not there. The other choice is running into his serenity with my face turned toward him, dwelling on thoughts that are pure and advantageous to my growth. I make this choice day by day, minute by minute. It is never decided once and forever, it is a continuous choice of where to go when I need to withdraw. But whichever I decide today, right this minute, the fact remains, I am never alone.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
In our conversation over breakfast this morning I shared with her something I have never shared before. I've never had reason and honestly did not have this event in my back pocket waiting on the right time to pull it out. It simply came to me as I walked into the kitchen and saw her sitting on the couch in contemplation. She tolerated, and maybe heard, my story over her bowl of oatmeal.
There is a point in a girl's life when she realizes her mother is not a god. We've been there a while, and I am perfectly fine with it because the other voices she allows are healthy, strong and some days more solid than my own. That dethroning phase gives way to the understanding that our mother is not omniscient and this is a time when honesty and openness is most important.
One day after school mother and I were driving to the chiropractor who I saw for migraine headaches. She was chattering about how much it would cost and how I should appreciate that she worked all day and made just enough to pay for the visit. Her voice was fading in and out as I escaped to that dreamy, far away place. "Are you listening to me?" "Joan, do you hear me?" The only correct answer was "Yes, mam," but I had no idea what her last few sentences had been. That is when it hit me! Mother is not omniscient. She does not know I wasn't listening or what I was thinking. So I tried it out for size and began to intentionally think phrases or comments that she would disapprove of to see if she had a response.
I started with something that I could wiggle out of easily. "I don't like your shoes." She had no response. "I wish you would drive faster." She didn't even a blink. "I really like boys." I winced waiting on a rebuttal. So far, so good. Then I turned to look out the window and thought more serious things and after each one slowly turned to peek and see if she "heard" them. She didn't! She honestly couldn't read my mind!
That was the day I found a safe place within myself where thoughts were all mine. No one could shame or punish me for them or tell me how I should feel. As long as I kept my mouth shut I had a place to be alone. I now could shut the noise of our loud family out and have solitude far, far away. It was independence day!
The following Sunday I was in that dreamy state, staring at the flowers on the communion table, appearing as if I was listening intently to my father's sermon. And then something he said drew me out and back into the room filled with wooden pews and red hymnals. "God knows your every thought," he said. What? Oh, no! Panic set in. Was my father the omniscient one? I began to closely pay attention to what he had to say and understood.
God heard the phrases I tested Mother with in the car. He knows my secrets, my anger and hurts. He knows my dreams and desires. He knows it all! I spent the following days wrestling with guilt and conviction, confession and forgiveness even though I didn't have the maturity to assign those words to the process at the time. Eventually I found comfort and serenity in the fact that God knows my every thought. I understood that I am never alone;
never alone; never alone.
I have a choice of solitude, as does my daughter, and each of us. One choice is running into myself with my face turned away from God's presence staring out the window, pretending he is not there. The other choice is running into his serenity with my face turned toward him, dwelling on thoughts that are pure and advantageous to my growth. I make this choice day by day, minute by minute. It is never decided once and forever, it is a continuous choice of where to go when I need to withdraw. But whichever I decide today, right this minute, the fact remains, I am never alone.
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| Photo by Joan Uptain Watkins |
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
Psalm 139:7-12
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