Raising

I have a beautiful life. My heart is overfull with these four precious children whom I was given the honor of raising. That's a word isn't it? Raising. You can plant a seed and watch it grow with little help from you. You can have a dog and let him go. But who can have a child? I don't mean the process of birth or possession, I mean, can you have a child and let him be? Can you look at him every day and not do anything? That brings me to the term, "Raise".


Almost seventeen years ago, I was under my mother's roof, with her rules and disciplines, pulling at the bit to hit the 'real' world and start living. I was as wild as she would let me be and when I took off for college, man, you couldn't tell me "no"! I always thought I'd be living fast and hard and doing every single thing (and there was a lot of them) that my mother said I couldn't...and for my first semester of college, I did....

After winter break, my doctor gave me some news...

Almost fifteen years ago, my brother handed me a small pale thing with pink birthmarks over her eyes who looked at me like I was a suspicious character.

In that moment, my "life" was done. Instantaneously, it hit me. "I am responsible for this thing that smells like baby powder and doesn't like me. What do I do now?" Of course, I was terrified. The only thing I'd ever been responsible for up until then was the rose bush I planted in memory of my father. But there it was, undeniable proof that even an idiot like my nineteen year old self could produce a child.

Well, what could I do? My mother was done raising kids. My brother was in the Army. My sister told me she'd contacted an adoption lawyer already. So it was up to me. The next three days in the hospital, I started on a course that has never stopped. I was a mommy.

A mommy who wasn't going to give up what was hers. A mommy who wouldn't let her mistakes cloud her child's life. All go, no quit. Right or wrong, I was mommy. A mommy who would actively, protectively and lovingly raise her children. In other words, I grew up right then and there.

That's right, I raise them.

I am not their friend.

I am not their buddy or their pal.

I am not afraid of them.

I am not afraid to get down and dirty and call a spade a spade.

I am Mommy.

I am a very protective/selective mommy, deciding in those early days that my child(ren) would have the absolute best that I could provide. I gave them games and imagination, as my family grew, what I gave them grew. Freedom, communication, respect, laughter.We are known to dance in the rain, sing loudly and off key when we walk or wait for the bus and explore our environment with glee.

We are a team. My life revolves around them and their worlds. There is hardly an event that I miss in their lives, I have never broken a promise to them, I enjoy spending time with them. I wear them on my sleeves proudly. Even in their discipline, they know I am a fair and creative dictator. The older ones spend as much time being mad at me as loving me...maybe more. Most days I am not their favorite person. That just means I am doing my job well.

I have spent their lives building them an exciting and varied world with clearly defined rules of right and wrong. I praise when it's called for, tame when I need too, but never break, never humiliate them. They are rambunctious and wonderful, well rounded, charming and sweet children.

They will one day be productive, creative, well spoken and interesting adults.

Right now, they are children. They are being raised. They are mine. They are being loved.

I look around the neighborhood, at all these children ripping and running through the streets, fighting at the drop of a hat, cursing, disrespecting, all that wildness...I look at all that potential...and see waste. I look at their parents, sitting around too tired, too weak, too pal-sy, to frightened, too busy, too high to do anything productive or fun or normal...and I want to weep for them.

There's only so much I can do. So I hold my little loves a little tighter as I train them up in the right ways. I thank God for them, and I thank God for his guidebook. And then I go to sleep content that all is right with the world.

Yeah, Raising. That is a strong and powerful word.