The jungle

Sometimes Kame finds himself in tall grass. Sometimes he positively seeks it out, climbing his way deep into brush where he can hide from whatever perils a turtle's mind can imagine lurk in the big wild world outdoors.

What is it that drives him to explore? What makes him so intent on traveling, so resistant to being held back by anything at all? What keeps him moving forward?

Kame is a very stubborn soul. He is determined. He is tenacious. I wish I were more like him.

When I started out on this journey called marriage, in my mother's kitchen one evening, as Ken took a knee and offered me a heart-shaped ring, I didn't know what we were signing on for. The lawn looked smooth, the soft grass green and inviting. I never imagined a jungle beyond its borders.

Our future was secure, safe. White picket fences and a neatly manicured flower garden lay in our future. Fat, happy babies playing in the sun. Perhaps a dog. A cat. We would, of course, be happy. Isn't that how life works? You work hard, you enjoy the satisfaction of building a home and family together, and grow old to enjoy the fruits of time well spent and lives well lived?

I never imagined, in those first heady moments, the catering firm going out of business mere months before the wedding. I never guessed at my niece abandoning her family and embarking on a teenage folly, taking her two-year-old son and joining a traveling carnival and leaving us not only heartbroken, but one bridesmaid and one ring bearer short for the service. I never could have imagined scrambling to find a new venue for the reception when the hall we'd chosen closed with only two months to find a replacement.

Nothing could have prepared me for the briers and brambles that sprang up almost immediately, the normal, day to day conflicts that began to grow, to encroach and soon to choke out the first heady infatuation.

We forged ahead, diving headlong into the jungles of parenthood, ready (we thought) for adventure. We'd read our map and this was the way to go. Our path was leading in the expected direction. We were on our way to a house, a dog, 2.5 kids and a minivan. Our course was set and we knew exactly where we were going.

Except we didn't know that the path through the jungle is fraught with danger. We didn't know a two-year-old could throw tantrums that left even Grandma and preschool teachers with twenty years experience baffled. We didn't know a child could be as stubborn, as tenacious and as incredibly fierce as our red-headed tornado.

We didn't know we'd have a second child before our first was out of preschool. We didn't know our eldest would go on to continue throwing violent temper tantrums well into elementary before falling into a depression which took a year of counseling to counteract. We didn't know how hard being parents would be.

As I write this, I am tired... further than tired, I'm exhausted. We've been through two years of counseling with our second child, as he's exhibiting a temper that rivals even his sister's, and a similar lack of control and maturity relative to his age. Tonight, my ten-year-old sat in his chair at the table and sobbed because he had to take his dog out and he didn't like what we had for dinner.

He's often tender and gentle and kind, and I hope he will, one day, understand the value of relationships, but tonight he sat in his chair and asked us to get rid of the dog he begged for two years to own. He claimed we "don't care about" him. He took all our efforts, all our love and care and consideration over the past few years stamped it into the dirt with his complete rejection of our love.

Sometimes I think God gives us children so we can experience His pain.

We've been wandering through this jungle for so long, sometimes I wonder if there is a way out any longer. Still, I've seen glimmers of sun through the brush, rays of hope shining through as our first child develops into the beautiful young woman she's meant to be. We've talked to other parents who assure us that the wilderness has an edge, and that life beyond the borders of adolescence can be peaceful once more. I pray it is so.

Tonight, I am tired. Tomorrow is another day. I will pick up my machete, take my husband's hand, and walk on. The only way out of this is to stick together and keep moving. We'll find our way, in time.

*~*~*

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

The Psalms of David, 121: 1-2 NIV