not a rockstar . . .
On our adventure there were times the six of us received some looks, some comments, some stares. Questions from strangers. This one older gent in Cracker Barrel in some state I can’t even pretend to recall was quite determined to learn our life story. He wanted to know where my husband was and how on earth “all those kids” could be mine and was I really traveling alone with them and his wife literally slapped his arm and begged my forgiveness but he kept on asking question after question.
I don’t think five kids is all that many really and I have no idea how we look to passersby, but apparently we look like a circus or something. I don’t know.
But I do know that we just took a pretty mammoth adventure.
Nearly 4,000 miles. 12 states. 60 hours of driving time. 16 nights. 5 children. 1 adult.
And, besides the weird looks and the obvious counting of heads, I sometimes received other comments too. Comments that were kinder, more encouraging, less hard core and demoralizing, but comments that felt, nonetheless, off base.
After hearing of our journey, the salesclerk in the Title Nine store told my kids she was sure I was a rockstar.
I am most definitely not a rockstar. Do rockstars cook their own breakfasts? Do rockstars have to clean up spilled mayonnaise from the kitchen floor? Would a rockstar ever be found folding piles of laundry in a sweat-inducing non-air-conditioned laundry room? Yeah. I didn’t think so.
I am not even half of the things people said out loud to me. I am not the world’s best mom. Not the coolest mom. Not the most adventurous mom. I’m not incredibly brave.
You guys. I don’t even know what I am.
Hear what I’m saying please. I have treasured the compliments. I understand that the sentiments are generous and kind and encouraging, uplifting and helpful. The thoughts are sweet and they have bolstered my spirits and refreshed my energy many times. The comments have made me laugh and made me blush. My emotional tank can run pretty steadily on low so the well wishes and spiffy words are a quick fill and I appreciate them all.
But, you know what?
I have no idea how to respond to these words.
Not only am I tremendously normal, I am a train wreck too.
I don’t think taking my family on a too-good-to-be-true adventure to the west qualifies me as Super Mom. (Probably qualifies me as blessed. Lucky. Whatever word you prefer there.)
The past year and a half have been unbearably difficult. A battlefield. I’ve been sunk under and weighed down too many times to keep track.
And this summer’s Making Our Trail adventure seemed divine and ordained and there was no way staying home and missing out on all that good was what I wanted.
Even though it scared me quite a bit to load up most of my favorite people into one metal box and hurtle us across half of the United States for a spell.
It’s just, what else am I supposed to do?
The caving in. The lying down. The quitting. Those are options I have entertained. By turns embraced, in fact. They are just another form of hard. (There are so many varieties.)
So I don’t think it’s some sort of magic that I possess. I don’t think I harbor any particularly unique skill that all you other mothers (and fathers) don’t also carry in yourselves. I don’t think it’s incredible mothering or rockstar abilities.
I just think I don’t want to do the other. The quitting. The caving in. The sitting down and staying home and feeling sorry for myself. The missing out because it’s a more difficult to travel with only one grown up in the car.
The accumulation of the what ifs can really break a person down if they let it.
What if we get a flat tire? What if the car explodes? What if a tornado crosses our path? What if we run out of gas in New Mexico? What if everyone argues about how many times we can play the same Philip Phillips song and what if there are no restaurants in the entire state of Kansas? What if a rock flies up on the road and puts a crack in your windshield?
What if?
What if I stay home because of all the bad things that could happen and I miss out on the opportunity to build this dynamic memory with my children that binds us together and knits our wavering little hearts into one throbbing family heart?
I don’t want to do that, you know?
So thank you, Title Nine clerk, for calling me a rockstar. (And thank you for suggesting I try on that cute pink plaid shirt.) But trust me, I’m no rockstar. I’m just regular.
Just regular old mom with bangs that need trimming and laundry that needs folding.
13 Comments
Chelsea
Gee thanks.
Based on your list of qualifications, now I think I might want to be a rockstar. (And let’s be honest, that is one of the least likely possibilities for my future.)
????
There’s a lot of comments here, none of which I have read. I’ve got a pretty good guess what they say, though. So I apologize if this is repetitive. First of all, I do think you are brave and courageous, not because that is necessarily who you are by nature, but because it is a choice that you have made. And that is worth applauding because it is easier to be safe (and perhaps even cowardly?). Secondly, I think that you love well. You just do. And the truth behind this isn’t rainbows and sunshine either. I think you love so well because you know exactly how it feels to not be loved well. And maybe even more powerfully, you know how it is to watch your kids not be loved well.
So I love that already the fruits of this bitter year and a half are choosing courage, selflessness, family togetherness, and memory making. These will have long lasting rewards, and are eternally valuable. What a wonderful opportunity God provided in this trip!
laceykeigley
I had you at the “not making your own bed” right?
laceykeigley
thank you.
the trip was an incredible opportunity. on some many levels.
and – perhaps you’ve hit the nail on the head – knowing how it feels toot be loved well is powerfully motivating.
karen
what you are (and what your response can be) – is a child of God. an ordinary human. with human flaws and needs and loves and hates and hard. but God. you are chosen. you are loved. you are blessed. you are holy. you are blameless. adopted. God’s kid. forgiven.
despite the hard, you are still all of these things. despite when we choose the failing and the caving and the human-ness. our identity is him.
this post echoes the message i heard sunday at church. my injury is not my identity. God leaves cracks so his light can shine through. my suffering nevery puts me outside of God’s ability to redeem. His grace is sufficient. painful memories are opportunities for drawing near and for a deeper dependence on Jesus.
thanks for preaching more Truth to me (and yourself) today. i love you.
laceykeigley
“my injury is not my identity”
that’s a good word right there.
Theresa
Inspiring and encouraging!
Inspired by your journey’s journal posts.
Encouraged by your transparency and honesty about overcoming the fears that could have immobilized you. For not caving to the endless “What if?” questions that seem to come out of nowhere.
I’m truly amazed by your brave spirit, that I know comes from your faith and trust in God.
Yep, Inspiring and Encouraging!
Thank you Lacey, for allowing us to ‘travel with you’ on your journey. What a joy it’s been!
laceykeigley
Thank you so much Theresa.
I’m so thankful you guys have faithfully followed along as I keep talking and talking about it!
Rhonda Fonicello
Let’s hear it for the World’s Okayest Mom! Three Cheers!
laceykeigley
Ha!
Amy Loria
Listen, you know I get it – maybe not the volume of kids but everything else 😉 – and I want you to know that, in a world that can come with violence and heartache…a world where stories of children being neglected by a parent who is too busy with _____ (fill in the blank with relationships, drugs, their own stuff, etc.) have become the norm in the media…where we’re all just pummeled with the horrific tragedy-du-jour – in that world, it is WONDERFUL to see a courageous mom like you embracing life, family and adventure. It is UPLIFTING to see so many smiling faces enjoying the experiences you’re giving them. It is SOUL-REJUVENATING to hear the laughter and some of the stories from those adventures. So I suggest to you to expand your notion on what a “Rock Star” truly is – b/c, in my book, I like when my rock stars do just that: Make me feel like life is good. And, whether you like it or not, my darling friend, you are in fact a ROCK STAR.
Thank-you so much for embarking on that journey – I personally couldn’t believe my luck that on a ranch with such a limited number of guests for the week that another guest would be a single mom with her kids, and one I could adore so quickly and easily. 🙂 Love you, Sweet Pea!!! XOXO
laceykeigley
I’ve shared my good fortune at meeting you every time I share the week’s adventures.
YOU are a highlight and a bonus of that week as well!
And thank you for your kind words — maybe we are both rock stars.
Amanda
And a precious daughter of The King.
Sara
One word here: Grace.
Grace that gives strength from
Creator God when we have none of
our own.
Grace that gives blessings-large and
small-even in the middle of
unspeakable Hard.
Grace that gives courage to normal
mom’s like you.
You are blessed.
You are amazing….
Because Jesus!
I love you.
I hate this rotten aloneness you are
living, but I love seeing how God
carries you even through this!