Life is Beautiful

Have you ever noticed that it takes an adult to explain to a child that dandelions are not pretty flowers?  A child looks at dandelions and sees these magnificent beauties that would look perfect in a jar on mommy’s kitchen table. Apparently, a grown-up’s duty is to inform these little people that dandelions are ugly.  That they are unwelcome, bothersome weeds that should be destroyed—poisoned, cut down, dug up, and permanently disposed of—so we can be free to enjoy our yards the way they are meant to be: plain and green, with no trace of those hideous yellow intruders.  A child would never come to this conclusion alone.  A child must be taught the strange ways of the adult world. 

A few years ago, I was faced with the task of explaining to my 11-year-old daughter what abortion is. I knew the burden I was about to place on my innocent girl, and I knew I was chipping away a little more of that protective covering she had enjoyed all these years. As I began to speak, I struggled to find my voice as though it were the first time I had ever formed a sentence.  Inside, I fumbled and choked on my words but on the outside, I managed to appear composed and articulate. Each utterance was carefully considered before it left my mouth and entered my daughter’s ears, mind, and heart, where it would permanently settle for the rest of her life. I was looking at my first born child and telling her that sometimes, for reasons I cannot understand, a mother thinks of that tiny life growing inside her as nothing more than a dandelion.

Alison’s reaction should come as no surprise to anyone - she was utterly speechless. I watched the confusion and disbelief appear in her eyes, and we sat in deafening silence. Not once did she nod slowly, absorbing the information, and then thoughtfully say, “Well, I suppose a lady has a right to do what she wants to her own body.”  There was never a moment where Alison assumed that unborn babies aren’t really babies at all but simply unviable masses of tissue.  My daughter, at only 11 years old, understood exactly what abortion is.  And she was properly horrified.

As I taught my own baby girl about abortion, we discussed the beauty of life and the precious gift that it is. We considered the unbearable pain for both the mother and unborn child. As we talked about the more than 50 million babies that have been cut down and destroyed as though they were common weeds, we imagined them as beautiful babies made whole, and we grieved for all of them.

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart…” Jeremiah 1:5

Your Mom Goes To College

In 1998, in the midst of morning sickness and exhaustion, I received my Associates of Arts degree from North Seattle Community College.  Soon after, I tucked away that degree, quit my part-time job at a software company, had my first baby, and became a stay-at-home mom for 15 years. Though I often dreamed of returning to school one day, I have never once regretted my choice. I dedicated my life to shaping little lives, cleaning giant spills, and being a teacher of all things.

Not long ago, I began to notice my children needing me less and less, and it hit me that in a few short years they will be gone.  I then understood that it might be wise to have a plan for myself so that when they do go, I don’t find myself in the loony bin, rocking back and forth, weeping in a corner. The idea of returning to school came to my mind, and then it never left. And it was a scary thing to think about.

You know the feeling of swimming in the ocean, right along the shore where the waves are crashing, and as you try to paddle out beyond the surf to where the waters are calm, the waves keep heaving you back onto the shore, and you can’t seem to get past them? That’s how I felt for the past two years as I struggled with the decision to go back to college. I would think it’s just a passing phase, the kids aren’t ready for me to be gone, I’ll miss out on their lives, we can’t afford it… each thought spitting me back onto the shore of indecision where I had stood long enough. I’d paddle through the waves of second-guessing, self-doubt, and worry, just in time to be bombarded by a larger and stronger wave of guilt for wanting to do something for myself. I should just stay home because I know I’m needed here. And I’m good at what I do. Also, I’m 36. That is twice the age of the average college freshman for those of you who struggle with math (which I do.)

Finally, a wave (in the form of my husband) came along that not only forced me away from the shore, but guided me into those calm waters where I was to begin a new part of my journey.

“You need to be in school. It’s where you belong. Stop making excuses,” he said.

“Your mom makes excuses,” I replied, resorting to our inside-joke slash defense-mechanism that always makes the other one laugh. (I said I was 36, I didn’t say I was mature.)

But this time, Chad didn’t laugh. “Either go back to school or don’t, but you need to make a decision.” I assumed he said this because he was just tired of hearing me talk about it. But that sentence changed my life.

I had been researching which college I would apply to IF I were to apply, which I wouldn’t do because I probably wouldn’t get accepted, and then who would take care of my family after I’ve abandoned them, and then what if I’m in over my head because I’m really not that smart, I don’t remember how to do homework, and, and, and… [You have just been introduced to the professional second-guesser that resides in my mind. She is in the process of being evicted, but she’s a fighter. I can’t even drag her out by force because she has permanently embedded herself into my mind. I affectionately call her “Mother.”]

Chad and I prayed a lot during this time. God has always put me right where He wants me to be in life, so there should be no need to worry about doing the right thing. If He wants me to go to college, I’ll go to college. He wanted me to be a stay-at-home mom, and that was a huge success; our children have grown into incredibly smart and lovely human beings. It was impossible to know what I should do. I wavered for months between that strong faith in God, and the feeling that if I went back to college I was securing my eternal place in hell for making the wrong choice.

I decided to apply for Evergreen State College as my first step, although I had read Saint Martin’s program for their English Major (with a writing minor), and my knees went weak and I nearly cried the way you do when God gives you the exact answer you need and confirms immediately that THIS is what He wants for you. But I pushed that feeling aside because Evergreen was cheap! Evergreen was easy! I knew I could get into that school! Not only could I get accepted to Evergreen, but I could make up my own degree in fairy dust-manufacturing and wear a giant diaper to graduation and be applauded for my creativity and stance against the “Man.”

“I’ll go to Evergreen. That way we can just pay cash because it costs like, a dollar,” I told Chad.

“You’ll hate it,” he said as if he were warning me not to eat the cat poop that I was about to put in my mouth. “Where do you want to go?”

“Well, Saint Martin’s has this amazing—“ that’s all I was able to say before he interrupted me.

“Then go to Saint Martin’s,” he said.

“But it’s $30,000 a year, and I’m not smart enough, and—“

“I’m telling you to go to Saint Martins, you’ll be the smartest one there,” he said patiently, being very familiar with the unwelcome tenant in my head.

So I applied. And not only was I accepted, but they offered me a Presidential Scholarship for the grades I had received 15 years ago. And before I knew it, I was sitting in a classroom at Saint Martin’s University, surrounded by young adults who were just as content ignoring the overly-excited old lady in class as I was to be ignored.

It’s been 6 weeks and I now know that the timing was perfect for me to return to college. How do I know I’m ready for college? Because I feel as though there is no possible way that I can do this. And my feelings lie to me all the time. So I feel ill-prepared. Good. It’s time to be uncomfortable. It’s time to finally evict that cynic from my head, and know that if this mom can raise three brilliant children, chances are, this mom can go to college.