Big moments

Kara Tippetts on December 4, 2014

Before cancer, I waited on the big moments of life while trying to faithfully live through the small. That living feels foreign to me now. I now live in the large, open grace of the small moments and humbly expect the big moments to come. I may be in them, and I may not. My big moments now are not events or milestones, but appointments and treatment. The small moments have become enormous. The fire in the fireplace, the coffee in mugs, the rib-tickles, the learning to apply makeup, the singing out-loud and off-key, those are the huge moments. Those are the milestones.

For years, I have lived my life openly in front of a lot of young women. I have mentored from a place of permitting my life to be seen – the good, the bad, and the often ugly. Behind our closed doors I tell the story of extending myself to parent in kindness, fighting against shaming and mocking my children. I openly share the ways I love Jason, moving past my own desires and meeting him in his. I share my life, my recipes, my routine in front of anyone interested and teachable. And I share the power of wrong, the ability to not win, and the freedom of repentance and receiving the beautiful gift called forgiveness.

I love sharing from my experience, but in my heart I always longed for the moment to live like this with my own grown children. I long to have different ideas about fashion, and debate over how much eyeliner a young lady should wear. I want to feed my kids their fruits and vegetables until the practice is their own. I want to disappoint my kids with my lack of political conviction and passivity. I want to see my kids grow passionate about something, anything, and I want to watch them struggle through the articulation of those passions like I once did, like I still do. I want to be there to pick the wedding dress, and help Lake choose the ring for his love. I want to see them as they walk down the aisle with their tender daddy. And I want to see Lake’s face when his bride is first revealed to him, I want to see her arrival to him through my tears. I want to see Jason more gray, more wrinkled, more gentled by love and time. I want to see the little legs enter our bed night after night. I want to hear their excuses to keep from going to bed on time: thirsty, tummy ache, potty, I’m scared, one more snuggle please—just one more. I want to wrestle through these beautiful irritating moments of life. I want to see what my children become, not just in their career choices but in their character. Who is driven, which is tender, who is stubborn and unmoving, who is quiet and contemplative, how my children grow to protect and love one another. Will they love the mountains as we always have or will they fly away to exotic places and love the least of these in foreign lands? I want to have them call for my recipes and ask me questions about nursing, loving, discipline, and relationship struggles. I want to irritate them with my lack of practical advice and my asking if they have heard from the Holy Spirit. I want to quietly wrestle in my prayers over their every decision and fight to not give my endless opinions. I want these moments big and small. I want them all.

Cancer has slowed me, caused me to look at my activity and the purpose in it. I look at the precious lives in my home and long to pour my heart into each moment. Sure, I can’t share about sex, finances and dealing with sticky relationships, but I can share my heart, and perhaps one day in my absence, they won’t hear my exact words, but they will know the essence of who I am and my heart for their living. Maybe it shouldn’t have taken cancer to begin to live this way. Maybe, just maybe, this gift was given to me to begin to look at the loves in my home and seek their hearts in the way I loved those that passed through my home. I still open my home, share my heart, live before whomever wants to watch, but boundaries on my time have been established. Perhaps it should not have taken cancer to create such a space in my life, but that was what it took to change my pace.

Some days we want to just be normal. I don’t want to be a spiritual giant facing a terrible disease, I want to be a mama, a wife, a friend, a member of a community. I get far too much credit for faith when all I’m really doing is sharing my weakness with honesty. I know, I know, I know I’m not the only one facing these hard moments. I’m just writing about them.