Easter is a time when Christians both mourn Christ’s death on the cross and celebrate his triumphant resurrection. It is a time when we recognize that the mystery of Christ continues to unfold in our lives every day, giving us hope that whatever current mess threatens to end our life, resurrection is yet to come.
This Easter, I am drawn to the image of God as a mother. The steadfast parent who restores us, despite the unbelievable mess we may have made of our life. The one who removes our stains so that we can be made clean again.
Normally I am a planner. I love binders with tab dividers, preferably color coded and in alphabetical order. Yes, I am an elder millennial if you are wondering. I still love to print out paper, use a three-hole punch and put it in a binder – it is just so satisfying. It creates order and helps me feel in control of whatever project I happen to be managing.
So, when I tell you that I didn’t have a plan for my daughter’s seventh birthday you might not believe me. My friend Mary texted me a month before and asked me, “So where is the Pinterest board for the party?” Yes, I am usually THAT mom. This year was different, however, because after Vivian’s 6th Barbie birthday extravaganza, I managed to talk her into taking a trip for her birthday instead. So, it’s not exactly true that I hadn’t planned anything. I did. I planned a weekend at Great Wolf Lodge (my version of parent hell), but after she broke her arm shortly before we were scheduled to check-in, things began to unravel.
My daughter’s birthday is in February. Two things to note about her birthday. First, I absolutely planned for her not to have a summer birthday. I was one hundred percent certain that I did not want to be in my third trimester in the Texas heat. While I believe this was an excellent plan for my pregnant self, I forgot about something. Which brings me to my second point. Vivian’s birthday is barely more than one month after Christmas. Why does this matter you ask? Well, because it makes it challenging to buy gifts after all the Christmas hoopla and I’m also usually exhausted after a season of hosting and decorating. Still, her birthday is not something I can change. So, usually, I rally and in an act of self-preservation I begin planning her celebration in September so that I can wrap up before the rush of Thanksgiving and Christmas.
But this year I didn’t plan months in advance, and if I am honest, her birthday snuck up on me. About two days before I realized, we didn’t have any presents or even a birthday cake ordered. So in my great wisdom, I decided we would give her a “shopping spree” at the mall, followed by her favorite meal (Bourbon Chicken and noodles from the Chinese place at the food court) and, instead of cake, the blue cotton candy ice cream from Marble Slab. (This is an important detail, don’t forget the color of the ice cream).
When I first told her about this plan, her reaction was well, not that excited. Which was a surprise to me, because Vivian quite enjoys shopping – almost as much as I do. I recognize that her affection for shopping is most likely a direct result of my genetic material. However, I do suspect that an unusual number of trips to Target during the COVID pandemic contributed significantly. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, I managed to convince her that this birthday plan would be great fun. So on the evening of her birthday, we went to the mall after school.
All things considered, it was a successful trip. She was too hungry to wait for her dad to join us, so we ended up eating noodles and having ice cream before the shopping spree began.
Now, before you judge me too harshly there was a monetary limit on this experience. It was not a carte blanche sort of deal. But for a newly turned seven-year-old it did effectively combine her independence with semi-reasonable parent enforced limits. I was honestly quite proud of her as she stayed within her budget and displayed a healthy sense of logical reasoning for her selections. We left the mall with one item that was of significant cost and a few small items that rounded out her birthday shopping spree allowance.
When we came home, she was happy and I thought to myself – success! We didn’t have any fights. She did a good job and exhibited a surprising amount of maturity during experience. The time between arriving home and going to bed was uneventful and pleasant. Bedtime was easy, without the usual amount of negotiating for the reading of extra book chapters and she fell asleep quickly.
What happened next, well that is really where the crux of this story happens. Around 2 a.m. I heard our bedroom door open, and I sat up knowing that something was probably wrong. Normally Vivian sleeps like the dead and only comes to get me when she has a problem or her body needs extra snuggles. When I asked her, “Vivi, what’s wrong? Are you ok?” Her little voice whispered in the pitch-black room, “Mom I threw up.”
I read somewhere that mothers don’t ever sleep the same after they become a mother. It is so true. My body and soul somehow know when my kid needs me, every time. I quickly moved into crisis mode, got out of bed and moved closer to her to reassure her it would be ok. I can say with one hundred percent certainty what I encountered next was next-level, middle of the night parenting horror.
I ushered her out of our bedroom so as not to wake up my husband, following her to assess what needed to happen next. I got her out of her clothes that were covered in vomit and was very surprised that nothing was in her hair. Because if you are a mom or a parent, you know that vomit in the hair necessitates a middle of the night shower, which honestly, who has the energy for that? I thought to myself, oh this might not be too bad.
I was wrong.
As we neared the top of the stairs, the most awful smell I have encountered as a parent permeated the air. This was not my first time cleaning up a middle of the night sickness episode. But when I rounded the corner and turned on her bedroom light, I audibly gasped and almost puked myself. The reason she didn’t get any vomit in her hair was because it was EVERYWHERE else. It was on her sheets, the comforter, the carpet, the rainbow rug from Pottery Barn, the wall – everywhere. And remember that color – yes, it was BLUE. Disgusting, smelly, blue vomit was all over my sweet child’s rainbow room.
I managed to grab some new pajamas, take her into the tv room and get her cleaned up. I spread blankets over our Z Gallerie couch, ran downstairs for the big, red bowl in case she had to throw up again and told her to lie down and rest. While downstairs, I also grabbed two hospital grade masks and promptly layered them over my mouth and nose before entering her bedroom.
For the next hour, I cleaned. I stripped the bed and threw everything away – sheets, comforter, mattress pad – all of it. There was no resurrecting them, they were dead and beyond the power of my washing machine. I threw the rainbow rug outside to be dealt with later. I washed the walls, her makeup table chair, her bookcase and then the real work began. I got the carpet cleaner, lowered myself onto my hands and knees and began scrubbing, desperately trying to remove the blue cotton candy stains from her white carpet.
As I was on the floor, barely able to breathe and trying to remove those horrible blue stains, I thought to myself… “Is this what God does in our life? Is God like the mother who diligently scrubs the floor regardless of how disgusting our mess is?”
Two years before I became a mother, the Holy Spirit whispered to me, “Having a child will be the greatest experience of the cross you will ever have in your life.” As a mother, I continually experience God’s love and presence in ways I never imagined. This Easter, I invite you to remember the next time you are scrubbing a floor, cleaning a highchair or vacuuming the backseat of your car that God is right there with you, redeeming your life, one mess at a time.
Oh, the joys of parenthood!