It was a couple of days ago, when my oldest daughter was struggling with a stomach bug, that the veil was removed. Her body was telling her to throw up, but she refused. My husband and I sat ready to catch whatever came out, bucket in hand, towel ready. Her small, fevered body was so fatigued that she fell asleep in between the urges to vomit.
“Ceci, I know you don’t want to throw up. No one likes to. But you will feel so much better if you do,” I told her gently, “just let go…”
“No, I don’t want to!” she cried in agony, her frame completely tense.
We felt helpless and prayed for it to pass.
In between those sessions, I observed her and felt equally defeated and amazed. It was my first time seeing someone will away the urge to throw up. Everything was physically telling her to regurgitate, but she had made up her mind she was not going to. The mind is a powerful thing.
Cecily is lovely and incredibly spirited. There have been times when people have asked, “Is she your strong-willed child?” I gently correct them and say, “She is spirited,” with a smile.
Perhaps the terms are synonymous, but strong-willed has received a bad rap over the years. It implies that there is something inherently wrong with a tyke when they are referred to in such a way. On the contrary, I admire my daughter’s spirit. Do I pray that we can successfully guide it over the years? Absolutely. But to try to take it away, or “tame” it, would be to remove a key part of her: her passion.
As a Mexican-American child growing up on the border, I saw the resplendent, hard and displeasing parts of our culture. I was blessed to see many examples of family members and friends offering the shirt off their backs to help someone out, deeply ingrained lessons that will never leave me. I also observed, however, that when those same people who were eager to help experienced tumultuous times themselves, they seldom, if ever, asked for assistance.
Thus, both illustrations became significant patches woven into the fabric of my soul. Unbeknownst to some, I am an unbelievably proud person. By proud, I do not mean arrogant or boastful. The Thesaurus lists one description as, “preservation of one’s dignity.” Bingo. Guilty.
Every couple of years, I find myself lying face-down in the dirt, in absolute need of someone to come to my rescue. And I hate it. Each time, I cry out to the Lord with a sincere heart, saying, “I have really learned my lesson this time. I do not want to be humbled in this way again.”
And I’m “fine”—until it happens again.
Ceci never did throw-up that evening, or after that. Not once. As I sat there watching her, my lesson was clear. This is exactly how I deal with things on occasion, making them more difficult than they need to be. All the while, the Lord gently leads me, as if to say, “Giana! Just let go…”
“But I can’t!” I scream, fists and jaw clenched, unwilling to surrender all things to Him.
I made up my mind that night that I’m going to be better. I am an example for my children in how they should handle life, and not only when things are going their way. Here’s to asking for help when I need it, and gladly accepting when it’s offered!
(By the way, I completely blame my husband for the strong resemblance between my oldest daughter and me. When I was pregnant with her, he continually prayed for a little girl, “just like Giana”).
“God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” – James 4:6
😥 How it must break God’s heart when we stubbornly keep doing things our way even though He offers us something/Someone that will take away the pain. Thank you. Keep up the writing, Giana
Amen. Your encouragement means more than you know. Love you, Grandma Kat!
Giana, love the way you write and express yourself .
Once again enjoyed throughly what you wrote.
Thanks for keeping it real….love ya !!!
I’m nothing if not real. 😉 Thank you, always, for reading. Love ya, too!