Our little family moved this weekend. We moved from a
one-bedroom apartment to a two-bedroom. Sounds like a lot of extra room, right?
Hubby and I each had some form of panic attack as our many
(MANY. WHERE DID THEY ALL COME FROM???) boxes got crammed into the new space by
our sweet friends. There was barely room to walk through the place. And
separately, we each felt the same thing: shame. We felt suddenly ashamed that
our friends were there to see how small the place looked…how pitifully we were
providing for our growing family. We felt ashamed that our move was not to our
own house or even a nice, spacious apartment, but to a tiny basement apartment
under someone else’s home. It felt, in that moment, pathetic. It felt like we
had failed. Or, at least, like we had definitely not won. Or were maybe not
even playing the game right.
Some form of this moment occurs now and again for each of
us. More frequently now that we are parents. I am feeling the need to pick both
of us up.
Our son will grow up with *love.* Love from his parents,
from his extended family and our friends. He will *see* love. He does not need
thousands of feet of real estate in which to feel the love, and witness it.
Our son will grow up with joy. He will feel it, he will
witness it. He does not need thousands of feet of real estate in which to
laugh, and hear our laughter, and see our smiles.
Our son will grow up with art.
Our son will know that he is important.
Our son will know that his mom and dad, too, are important.
They are important because they love.
We are not failures. You got that, Matt & Tia? People
who love, who laugh, who foster beauty in whatever tiny way at all, those
people can never be pathetic, or pitiful, or failures. There is nothing to pity
in people like this. Quite the opposite.
