Time In A Bottle

Our third child graduated high honors from high school and I am profoundly grateful for an omniscient God who packs not toys in his bag of tricks, but miracles.  When Alyssa was young, she was diagnosed with Tourette's disorder and CAPD(central auditory processing disorder) so she could not always control how she reacted to situations.  It was a taxing time as she was not the only one in the house with neurological troubles.  In fact, she seemed to fight everyday with her older sister that had Asperger's.  Listening to them squabble reminded me of the time I had a patient from China who fired her doctor from India. She said, "I cannot understand a word she is saying. Are you sure she is speaking English?" I realized both of them had heavy accents based on the world regions from where they hailed.  They would become exasperated trying to understand one another. I think my older daughter, Lauren, did not understand the Tourette's dialect just as much as Alyssa did not speak a word of Asperger's. 

Both girls are so friendly with each other now, it is hard to believe there ever was a problem. Last night Alyssa was curling Lauren's hair and I heard them making small talk about current events.  I was resting in my room, but for a moment time stood still and I felt like I was witnessing a miracle. I face-timed  Alyssa from my room just so I could listen in. For one thing, both girls used to have a hard time with "chit-chat". Their brains did not see the reason behind this useless kind of dialogue. I was intrigued as I heard them now discussing "creeper" guys and ways to avoid them. They were also speaking about beauty trends and fashion.  They did not know that my heart was touched by their seemingly nonchalant conversation. I LOVED it!

 (here they are cheesing it up) !!!!

When I experienced this suspension in time, my mind went back to a song I listened to when I was a young child

“Time In A Bottle”
If I could save time in a bottle

The first thing that I’d like to do

Is to save every day till eternity passes away

Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I’d save every day like a treasure and then
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do, once you find them
I’ve looked around enough to know
That you’re the one I want to go through time with

If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty, except for the memory of how
They were answered by you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do, once you find them
I’ve looked around enough to know
That you’re the one I want to go through time with…

If I had to do it over again, I guess I would.  If I had a box just for wishes, like Jim Croce says, I would put my whole life in it…the whole thing. Even the dreams that never came true. Because some of the dreams I thought I wanted might have destroyed me. Some of the wishes I had wanted to come true would have put me in places away from my God.   How can I have regrets when I have a God that cannot meddle with the natural order of things, but  can certainly still work his miracles in love.

This reflective mood has also reminded me of  a post I wrote many years ago about Alyssa.  More miracles and proof that that God guy is a crafty fellow!

“Alyssum”

I walk out my front door and pretend not to look at my flower pots that should be gracing my front stoop in vibrant, dripping colors. To say my thumb is not green, but maybe black is an understatement. I apologize to my former friends for the neglect and utter parchment they have faced with the warmer temperatures. I notice out of the corner of my eye, that a speck of life still remains. “There is a hero in this arid soil! Who could this be?” I exclaim to myself. My eyes fill with tears as I realize it is the Alyssum that has conquered the bright noonday and ravages of the Idaho wind. It’s tiny white blossoms overflow the edge of my pot and take over the empty space the deceased marigolds and moss left behind. I laugh at my emotion. I am sentimental, but not usually over foliage. No, my tears are for another Alyssum that has bloomed in the midst of life’s scorching rays. Her beauty shines transcendent and my heart swells in thanksgiving and relief.Eight years ago I was working in my kitchen in Pocatello. The soft white curls of my eighteen –month old Sydney bounced through the room. For a brief second my world paused and I felt a distinct impression of a personality; A full and energetic force with which I was not yet familiar. The name “Alyssa” whispered through my mind. “How strange,” I thought. “I never really liked or considered that name before, but it is rather pretty.” I would maybe have forgotten that moment and chalked it up to oven-cleaner fumes, but then my seven-year old Lauren walked through the door. “Mom, you know what name I think is really beautiful?” Half listening, I said “What?” She then said, “Alyssa.” Again I paused, but this time I knew that we were to have our third girl and her name was to be Alyssa. It was a miracle. After trying four years for our sweet little Sydney, it was only one month later that we were blessed with the news that our Alyssa would be arriving in 36 weeks.

(Lauren-7,Alyssa 0,Nicole-29, Syd-2 Circa 1998)

I had been correct in assuming and feeling even before she was conceived that this soul was vibrant and vivacious. Never a dull moment since she has arrived, everyone who meets her is captivated by her charm and charisma. Behind the laughing eyes, however, lies a deeper secret. For in this world where from the beginning the elements were rent apart from each other there is always an opposite. As wonderfully happy as she sometimes was, the next moment an anger and rage so profound would surface that at times we felt like the big bad wolf had come to blow our house down. Unfortunately, the hairs of my chinney-chin-chin had already worn thin from other cares and worries. For a long time we just let her blow. Dave began to sense her explosive moods and would aptly state, “Watch out, she’s going to blow!” The immense power of the anger seemed foreign to a soul so little and her small body would often shake as if momentarily possessed of a seizure.

There are many words that a mother hopes to never hear from the mouth of her six year old progeny. Many are actually worse than the four-letter variety. I believe that the inner turmoil, the rages that would not be quieted inevitably left her with a pain that few in this world have felt. So when she told me she did not want to live anymore, I knew she meant it. Experts touted it was the sensationalism of the statement that she desired that sent it flying from her lips. That was part of it, but in my heart I instinctly knew and shed tears for the rest and reprieve she thought death had to offer.

What is it about mental illness that immediately brings turned backs and empty words void of comfort or condolence? Is it our own fear? Fear of being different in a society where normalcy, youth and money stand as brashly as the God of Baal for the children of Israel once stood? Shame on me. Shame on all of us for being ashamed. I have found that there was one from whom our family did not recoil. One who’s love and tender mercies transcend time and space to reach down and pick my empty heart up out of the dirt. One whose depth and understanding smooth healing balm through dense layers of veil and our forgetfulness. Only he knew and loved our family enough to heal us in a very literal way. Only two short weeks ago through his care, through therapy and medication, the big bad wolf has left the building and our house of bricks is still standing!

Last week at work amidst the happy exclamations of newly born babies and families, I leafed through a book. I realized that I knew the meaning of all my childrens names except Alyssa. With our other children we had always looked at the meaning behind the name before finalizing our choice. It was different with Alyssa. Her name had preceded her arrival. Since she had always simply been “Alyssa” I had neglected to unearth the beauty behind the word. My heart leapt in my chest when I read that Alyssa is derived from the word and plant Alyssum that was revered in medieval times for its medicinal properties of “curing madness”.