Words of Wisdom

The Ultimate Act of Bravery

/ Kayleen Terrell / 2 Comments

We didn’t even know she was on the swing. It wasn’t until she made the walk from the tree swing up the stairs to the top of the deck and burst into tears, that we learned she had fallen off of it. She held in the pain and emotion the  whole walk up to us. It was only when she saw us that she quickly sputtered out the words, “Mom, Dad, I fell off the swing. I hurt my back and my wrist!” Hadley’s face reddened, lips quivered, and huge crocodile tears filled her sweet eyes as soon as she knew she had reached the safe place with us where we could help. 

Jordan scooped her up and held her on the outdoor couch. I immediately wanted to see her wrist and get some ice. Her little brother John, along the same lines as me, wanted to “take action,” and brought her blankets for her to hold. 

It made me grateful for my daughter. Her bravery, her vulnerability, and how she was surrounded by people who love her more than anything. 

I was five months pregnant with Hadley and teaching second grade, when an excited student ran up to the front of the classroom to tell me something at the end of the day. “Mrs. Terrell, Mrs. Terrell!” Right before she reached me, she tripped and fell right into my stomach. Hard.  

Panic rushed over me and my eyes widened but I quickly assured her, “it’s okay!” Although I wasn’t sure that it was. How hard of a hit is too hard on a pregnant belly? Had the baby felt anything? Should I go to the doctor?  I didn’t have much time to think about it because dismissal had come. I hurried kids to their buses and the parent pick-up area. 

I felt the tears stinging my eyes as I quickly rushed back to the safety and solitude of my after-school classroom. “Not at work, not at work. I will not cry at work.” I repeated to myself. Weakly, I forced myself to smile as I walked by parents, coworkers, other teachers hoping they wouldn’t notice. I was scared something was wrong and that the baby got hurt. I was also fearful that this may seem irrational or silly to some people, so I wanted to just be alone. 

Once I made it back to my room, I allowed the tears to come. One coworker had followed me back and came after me. “Kayleen, are you okay? I saw you walking back to your room. You looked upset.”

I had tried to walk bravely, to save face, but she knew. She noticed the facade. I was only trying to be brave to save face but I did not truly feel courageous.  Not only had my coworker noticed, but she then turned around, followed me back and spoke words of comfort and gave an encouraging hug. I hadn’t walked as bravely back to my classroom as I had wanted, although I tried. But my coworker did. She bravely turned around knowing all was not well, and came to check on me. 

After a call to my doctor and an explanation of the situation, all was okay. I didn’t need to come into the office. Hadley was born four months later, healthy as could be. Then almost seven years after that, she made that brave walk up to our deck and into our arms. 

Walking brave can look different for each person. Hadley walked to get to a safe place where she knew she’d be taken care of and loved. My coworker walked bravely following a hunch that I wasn’t okay and came to see me. Even though I couldn’t keep the tears away or keep a poker face down the school hall, I had walked bravely too or at least tried to. Walking brave doesn’t mean you don’t show emotion, but maybe it’s more about finding that place you can be vulnerable and let it out. Even if that place is simply inside you.

My Dad recently wrote regarding a writing prompt on bravery no less, about his battle with depression. He said, “Perhaps the most courageous thing I’ve ever done was come to face to face with my depression.” Although he had equated bravery with heroism, noting his ideal image of bravery was his father, my grandfather, who fought in WWII. However, he then came to the realization that bravery can take many forms and is experienced or traveled through varying ways in a person’s life. And while my grandfather had exuded bravery at what seems like it’s finest, and the men and women who daily put themselves on the line to protect our country are indeed courageous, what makes someone else’s battle or overcoming fear less so? 

I started reading The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis, to Hadley. I had found the book rummaging through a box of books in the garage and remembered how much I loved the story. I got excited to reread it and thought Hadley might like the story too. 

I remember the part where Aslan, the mighty lion walks bravely knowing he must die and sacrifice himself to save Edmund and ultimately everyone else. Parallels have been drawn between Aslan and Jesus. Jesus walked bravely to his death. He absolutely showed emotion. He showed vulnerability. Arguable, his walk to the cross was the ultimate example of “walking brave.”

I’ve thought a lot about how we’ve had to walk bravely these past several months. How brave Hadley has been embracing distance learning, not seeing her friends as often, not experiencing the typical back to school excitement. How I’ve tried to walk bravely for my kids and family, even though I face fears and anxiety planted by the uncertainty of the times we are in. 

I find a deep sense of relief and praise in knowing that Jesus was and is brave, and that is one less thing that I have to strive for or yearn to be. Because He is, I am.  

John will be the first to admit, more admittedly so at bedtime, “I am not brave.” 

He says this because he wants to sleep in our bed with us. Even after he is surrounded by stuffed animals, his blankie, and hallway light, he tells us,” I am not brave,” because we try to tell him he is. The other night, Jordan was having the same conversation with him that we tend to have most nights convincing him of his bravery. “Captain America is right here, Iron Man is right here…” Jordan lifts up each super hero stuffie and places them next to John. “Mom and Dad are right here, just in our room. Hadley is right here.”

“Jesus is right here.” John says pointing up to the ceiling. 

I think about the other times in our kids’ lives that they’ll need to be brave. C.S. Lewis said that, “Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point.” Hadley and John will have many testing points and many opportunities to walk bravely. I hope they will come to learn they can lean on Jesus in uncertainty. What was the testing point of God’s love? When Jesus died on the cross for us, the ultimate act of bravery. 

When Things Get Hard

/ Kayleen Terrell / Leave a comment

“It looks great!”  I tried to reassure you. “Your, “a,” is touching the belt line and the foot line and it’s a complete circle! I’m going to draw a star next to this one because it’s my favorite.”

I swear I saw your eyes roll as I drew a star next to a little “a” in your handwriting book.  

“I don’t like it. I’m done with this stinky book!” you snapped. 

I sighed. So much for my “summer school” attempt. 

My sweet Hadley, I have had many conversations with you about what to do when things get hard. I always tell you, “when things get hard, that’s when our brain grows and that’s when we learn. If we aren’t ever challenged, we won’t ever learn. Things would just be easy and boring.”

I tried to explain to you that day that your ability to persevere is the important thing, even more so than a perfect, “a.” I’m not sure you wanted to hear it at the time or any of the other times we’ve talked about, “trying your best,” but my hope is that it will eventually stick. 

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“I want Mama to do it,”  your two-and-half-year old brother irrecoverably yelled. His face was flushed and his red curls matted. A tired tear fell down one chubby cheek while both his hands clutched the hem of my shirt. 

“Okay. I’ll brush your teeth buddy, but you have to listen and do exactly as I say or Daddy will do it.” I wiped the tear off his cheek with my thumb. 

Brushing you and your brother’s teeth has always been one of my least favorite things to do, I fully admit to this. It has been a task your daddy sort of unknowingly assigned to himself, along with filing your fingernails, and washing your hair. He has a sort of tenderness and care for these necessary jobs that I just don’t seem to possess. 

Yet lately, John has only wanted me to brush his teeth. Why?!?!?  I brush too vigorously, I’m impatient, and I’m not as thorough. Yet, “I want Mama to do it!” has been a nightly chorus line chimed repeatedly at bedtime for the past several weeks. 

Brushing your teeth is hard! I don’t like it. But I do it (at least I do it when your dad can’t or he argues it’s my night to do so), otherwise you might end up with “green pirate teeth.” 

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“I don’t ever want to be a mom!” you declared.

Your cheeks were pink and stained with tears as you lay on your bed, clutching your blankets, curled up in a fetal position. 

“It’s not fun!” you continued. “You never have any fun.” The sobbing persisted and I sat there on the edge of your bed. 

“Of course it’s fun!” I reassured you. “But being a mom can also can be hard. Sometimes that doesn’t look like fun, but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.” 

I wanted to tell you so many things that night, but sleep was definitely high on the priority list for you. You are also starting kindergarten next week and I have some additional thoughts on that I’d like to share.

Being a mother is the hardest thing I have ever done. It doesn’t stop being hard, I am beginning to gather. But I think the rewards and benefits of parenting begin to reveal themselves little by little. It’s as if life doesn’t want to give you too much sweetness at one time, so it rations it for you, making it last, helping you avoid a stomach ache. 

I must confess something to you. I don’t like when things are hard. I’ve never thought of myself as much of a “go getter.” I like to be comfortable. But motherhood is the singular thing that continues to be hard and it is the one thing I feel I have shown the most grit and perseverance for in my entire life.

I continue to get up each and every day and be a mother. Some days are hard, but it is a commitment I made and I am never giving up. I can never give up. This seems to me to be the very definition of having grit, perseverance, or “to keep going when the going gets tough.” So you see Hadley, if someone like me, can do one of the hardest tasks I’ve blessed with undertaking. I know, you can do hard things as well. 

Being a mom might not seem like its fun to you. That’s because I’m putting in a lot of hard work right now developing your character and helping build your sense of “what’s right,” in the world. I lay boundaries. I say no. I am not here so you can just have fun. I am here to raise you. I am here to help shape and mold who you are, this doesn’t always come out as fun, but believe me, it is rewarding. Being a mom is not easy, but it can be fun, despite what it may look like.

You are about to start kindergarten next week and so you’ll embark upon a long journey in school and education. I wanted to share some additional thoughts with you that I hope you’ll someday find helpful. 

It’s going to get hard. There are going to be some things you don’t know. There will be some people who aren’t entirely kind. 

You have some extraordinary gifts. You’re an encourager, you are empathetic. You tell your friends, “believe in yourself.”  You must tell yourself this as well. 

When your brother recently fell out of bed one night, you were quick to comfort and remind him, “It’s okay John. One time I rolled out of bed and my sheets came with me!” You chuckled and turned to your side, falling quickly asleep. 

My hope for you as you start your kindergarten year and things get hard (and I hope they do) is to remember this: Be the best you. There is no one else like you, Hadley. You’re it. You are the only you. God made you with care, paying attention to every detail. You are wonderfully made. 

Persevere,  just keep trying. You might not have the hang of something yet, but you will. Dory had it so right when she kept saying, “just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”

Be kind. Be patient. Continue to be the encouraging classmate who looks for someone who needs a friend. 

Most of all, try the hard thing. It might be saying “hi” to someone new, or taking the time to add details to your work. It might be to practice writing your lowercase letter “a.” But I promise you, the reward is worth the risk. Even if you fail. Because succeeding was never the reward in the first place, it was the effort put forth and that fact that you gave your all.

I hope you see when you are older, even though I wasn’t a big fan of brushing you and your brother’s teeth, that I did my best to raise you and I love you. I have grit when it comes to being your mom. I will keep coming back. I will wake up day after day, I will fight, I will not give up on you. Being a mom is my hard thing. You are the sweetest gift life has rationed to me.

Take the risk kid, write the lowercase “a.” Write it a million times, because soon it will become easy, it will become rote, and it will be shaped the way you’d always hoped it would be.