About one hundred years ago, when I was only 2 kids deep into motherhood, I signed my toddler son up for a “Little Gym” class.  If you don’t know about Little Gym’s, they are magical places where sleep-deprived mothers pay big money to sit behind a glass window and watch people in spandex play with their kids.  At the time, I had a 4-year-old, a 2-year-old, and was 9 weeks away from delivering number 3….and I needed the spandex people.

When we showed up to the first class, I was pumped.  I had a diaper bag with the usual stuff, but I also had 2 snickers bars, a bag of cheez-it’s, and a grocery store magazine filled with questionable celeb facts.  I planned on making absolutely zero mom-friends during the entire course of the session, and had my eye on a metal fold-out chair in the back corner where I intended to binge eat and read my trash in peace.  I couldn’t wait. 

But when the time came for spandex lady to take all of the kids to the other side of the window, my kid lost his shit. He lost it in a way I had never seen him lose it before.  Whole sheets of water coming out of his eyes.  And a wail that I can only describe as maybe….a farm animal getting mutilated? He attached himself to my leg and looked up at me like he couldn’t believe I expected him to do this thing alone.  And in true form to most of my experiences as a mom, everyone stood there staring at me.

And so, I went with him.  I sat with him during circle time, and I sang the songs that he wouldn’t sing, and suddenly it was 3 weeks later and I was still on the wrong side of the glass window with a kid who wouldn’t get off my lap.

After class one day, spandex came up to me and said, “You know what mommy?? I don’t think Calen will ever reach his full potential as a little gymnast as long as he’s sitting on your lap.” And then she smiled, softly, the way psychos sometimes do.   

I stared back at her for a hot minute without saying a word.  My child had literally eaten his own boogers for breakfast that morning. Also, he was doing this thing where he used his penis as a sword to fight invisible robots.  I was dealing with way bigger issues than his potential as a little gymnast. 

I told her off, obviously.  In the car.  On the way home.  But over the next few days, I kept replaying the words “full potential” over and over in my mind.  And at some point, I decided that maybe this situation was like those other 9000 times, where I thought I was doing this parenting thing right, but actually was doing it mind-blowingly wrong. 

So, the next week, when it was time for all the little gymnasts to parade out of the lobby, I got down on one knee (which should impress all of you because my unborn child was basically crowning at this point), and I looked Calen in the eyes and said, “Today we’re doing something different.  Today I’m going to be smart, and you are going to be brave.  Today, you’re going into the gym all by yourself.  But I want you to know that I’m still here.  I will never leave you.  You might not be able to see me, but I promise you, I will always be in the building.”

And then he lost his shit. 

Ten minutes later he was still losing his shit…making mutilated animal sounds, while I stood on the other side of the window pondering what his future therapy bills might amount to.  At the 20-minute mark, he was still sobbing, and I honestly didn’t know if my heart could take another minute.  I ached for him.  I knew he didn’t understand this.  And I was sure he felt I’d abandoned him. 

But then, with only 3 minutes left to spare, he suddenly stood up, and he stopped crying.  My hand and nose were pressed against the windowed glass as I watched him pick up a ball and throw it over to one of the other kids.  She picked it up, and threw it back to him.  He laughed.  And I cried tears of relief.   

It’s been years since that day, and I’ve learned that parenting is a delicate balance between going in, and staying hidden behind the window.  I will help you with homework, but I will not feed you the answers.  I will give you ideas, but you will make the decision.  I will train you for the task, but you, my child, will do the actual task.  Sometimes, we take our hands all the way off so that they can become what they need to become. 

Full potential. 

Which leads me to this morning. I woke up early and went to the little corner of my closet where I like to pray.  The carpet in this corner of my closet is stained with tears, over a grievous situation that has been going on in my life for over a decade.  Ten years, you guys.  I have begged God to fix this situation for me.  He hasn’t.  I have asked him to carry me out of it, so I don’t have to deal with it anymore.  He hasn’t.  I’ve prayed for him to lessen the pain….but it remains the same.

I’ve been on the brink of leaving my faith over this, and I wonder how many others have jumped ship over a God that appears to have abandoned them.  Less than 2 months ago, I sat in a counselor’s office with my hands up in the air going, “Seriously….where is He?! I can’t feel Him. I can’t see Him.  He doesn’t seem to be answering my prayers.  If He is real, and He is good, and He loves me, why has He not shown up?!”

But this morning, in the corner of my closet, I randomly remembered the Little Gym. Hadn’t thought about it in years, and suddenly there it was.  Fresh.  And this picture formed in my mind of me throwing a tantrum while God, the ultimate parent, stood behind the window of my life…aching.  Hurting every time I hurt.  Knowing that I couldn’t understand this, and that I felt abandoned.  But also knowing that to interfere would interrupt the process of full potential. 

After some serious thought, I decided that maybe not being rescued is sometimes the ultimate rescue.

Because there is purpose in pain….if we are allowed the opportunity to discover it. 

And unbreakable strength can be baked right into our souls when we endure and overcome our sufferings and struggles.

And so today I’m not sorrowfully crying out to God.  Instead I am here, typing this letter to every person that God will divinely direct to read it…. 

Do you know that God has not left you? And he’s not sitting in the corner reading up on Lady GaGa and eating a snickers.  He’s been standing up against the window this entire time, anxiously watching your every move.  Cheering you on.  Nose pressed against the glass.  Confident in what you can do. He longs to draw near to you, but has chosen in his infinite wisdom to step back during this time.  You might not be able to see him, but you guys……he’s in the building.  He has always been, and will always be in the building. 

“So be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid and do not panic before them.  For the Lord your God will personally go ahead of you.  He will neither fail you nor abandon you.”  ~Deuteronomy 31:6

Let’s be people who endure trials like we know our father is in the building.  Let’s persevere under the confidence that our dad will not hesitate to swoop in and deliver us from ANYTHING should he decide that’s the best course of action.  And if it’s not? We should totally stop crying after a while and stand up.  We should take steps.  Throw the ball.  Attempt to do the thing. 

Later, we’ll walk through the doors of our situation and he’ll be waiting there for us.  He’ll have a huge dorky dad-smile on his face, and his arms will be outstretched.  He’ll scoop us up and squeeze tight, reminding us how much he loves us.  “I’ve been watching you this entire time, “ he’ll say, eyes full of tears and pride and excitement.  “I knew you could do it.  I just KNEW IT!! Now…show me the muscles you built from this! Tell me everything you learned.”

And we will. 

Breathe deep and do not despair.  Your Dad is in the building. He told me to tell you.

Love you guys,

Laurie