Rain in the Pond

I should have known better. I did know better, in fact, and I told myself as I balanced two bowls of cereal and a glass of juice between my fingers that it was a really bad idea. But moms so far haven't grown six extra arms, and as usual I was trying to do five things at once with the two hands I did have.

I felt them slip milliseconds before they fell. Not enough time to do anything but watch it all smash against the floor, spilling milk, juice and broken glass across the kitchen. I remember screaming in frustration as I hammered my fist against the side of the refrigerator.

It was 2001. My four year old daughter and my one year old son sat patiently at the table waiting for breakfast. I remember hot tears running down my face as I wondered how to explain to my children that there was nothing else to eat.

We were dead broke in those days. Paycheck to paycheck didn't even describe our life, it was more like paycheck to three days before the next paycheck. Those two bowls of cereal and that glass of juice represented so much more to me than breakfast. I'd been so proud of the fact that I had rationed our groceries so well that we had just enough food to last us until Steve came home with his check that afternoon.

So when I cried, the tears were for so much more than the mess.

"It's okay, Mommy," my little girl said quietly. I turned to face her, wiping my eyes as I thought of how to explain to her how not okay it was.

"It's all just rain in the pond, Mommy," she continued, her wide eyes shining with understanding.

The power behind those words struck me with physical force. What is one storm to a pond? Nothing. Insignificant. It might seem like a big deal in that moment, but when the clouds part, the great big pond will sit as if unchanged.

In 2001 I had no idea what was coming down the road at us. I didn't know that my sweet baby boy who called me Mama and giggled through peek a boo games was going to lose his voice to a monster called autism. I didn't know that my world was going to seem so dark and overwhelming as I fought for my son that the blackness would threaten to consume me.

But thanks to my four year old daughter, I did know this: No matter how awful those storms felt when I was standing within them, they would pass. I might be different after passing through them, but the core of who I was as a child of God would be unchanged. And I would never have to weather them alone.

(Matthew 8:23-27) "Then He got into the boat and His disciples followed him. Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, 'Lord, save us! We're going to drown!'

He replied, 'You of little faith, why are you so afraid?' Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.

The men were amazed and asked, 'What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey Him!'" (NIV)