I had a universal meltdown. I mean literally, a Universal meltdown.
Two weeks ago we spent spring break in Florida, with our first three days of the trip dedicated to visiting the Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios in Orlando. I’ll tell you straight-up, theme parks are not in my wheelhouse. The crowds, the lines, the $29 hamburgers, the fact that despite my vat of hand sanitizer, chances are still good that I will succumb to the 21st-century version of Black Death as a result of the barrage of germs. And to say nothing of the expense! As I mentioned to my husband when we clicked “Purchase” for the three-day park pass: “We could sponsor two and a half more Compassion kids for a year for this!” Not to put a big fat damper on the fun or anything.
That said, I was pretty psyched about the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. My boys LOVE Harry Potter. We’ve read all the books, and watched all the movies ad nauseum, and plus, I’d heard really good things about the theme park (red flag: sky-high expectations).
Which is why, on our first morning there, when Rowan announced, “I don’t think I’m going to ride any of the rides. I think I just want to walk around,” things began to fall apart. Not at first, mind you. Initially I tried, really I did, to be The Rational and Empathetic Parent. We talked about his fears. I suggested we scale back to the tamer amusement ride options and ease into the more dramatic experiences later. We rationalized and hypothesized and psychologized and psychoanalyzed. But no, Rowan would have none of it. In fact, he was quite specific about which rides he would not partake in: “the ones with the conveyor belts.”
In other words, pretty much every single amusement park ride ever known to mankind.
We had basically remortgaged our house and our favorite neighbor’s house in order to purchase tickets to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios, and my youngest child decided he preferred to “walk around” and “look at stuff,” and “maybe have some popcorn.”
People, can I just say, this is like visiting the Swiss Alps in order to drink hot chocolate in the chalet.
This is like flying from the United Emirates to the Mall of America to “window shop.”
This is like holding front-row Adele concert tickets in your hand and then deciding, “Eh, I’ll just watch one of her music videos on YouTube instead.”
Catch my drift?
Commence Universal Meltdown.
I’m making this sound funny, but believe me, it was not funny. Not Funny, in capital letters and boldface type. As Brad later described it, “We ride-shamed our kid.” There was whisper-yelling (mine). Threatening (mine). Bribing (mine). Guilting (mine). Sighing (mine). Eye-rolling (mine). Bitter retorts (mine). Shaming (mine). Pouting (mine). The Ice-Cold Shut-Down (mine). And crying (mine and Rowan’s).
In fact, at one point, as I sat on a stone wall next to Dudley Do-Right’s Ripsaw Falls water ride and cried behind my sunglasses, I actually thought to myself, “There are 15,638 mothers in this park right now, and I am the only one who is crying.”
Ultimately we salvaged the vacation. Life dramatically improved when we left Orlando and headed for the beach. And we did actually have a few good moments at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter (I captured all two of them and posted them to Instagram and Facebook, because, you know, even if we’re not having the time of our lives, it’s important that we at least look like we’re having the time of our lives, right?).
I apologized to Rowan. We made up. And as is always the case with Rowan, he was quick to forgive me and move on.
But here’s the clincher: I couldn’t forgive myself. I couldn’t move on.
A week after we’d returned from Florida, I was still inwardly berrating myself for my atrocious behavior. I prayed the exact same confession five nights in a row. “Please forgive me, Lord, for shaming my child and for being a terrible mother.” By the third night, I’m sure God was thinking, “Have we not sufficiently covered this yet?”
The thing is, God may have forgiven me the first time I confessed, but I didn’t believe it. I simply couldn’t believe my terrible-parent behavior was forgivable. I refused to trust the fact of grace.
I suspect I’m not the only one neck-deep in this struggle. I suspect I’m not the only one who has sinned and repented and yet still struggles to accept the real truth of God’s grace. In moments like these, grace simply seems too good to be true. In moments like these, grace seems possible for everyone else but ourselves.
Friends, let me remind you of what I’ve had to remind myself this past week (and Holy Week is a very good time for this reminder): Jesus Christ died for this very reason.
Think about that for a moment. A real person, a human being who is at the same time God, died a painful, humiliating, lonely death on a cross 2,000 years ago for this very reason: so that we would not have to continue to carry around our failures and our faults forever.
Jesus Christ died so that we could be free from the very weight I have insisted on clutching and carrying ever since we returned from Florida. He died so that we could be free.
Refusing to accept God’s grace, a grace that comes to us at the highest cost, defeats the whole point of Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice. Holding on to our guilt and our shame and our inability to forgive ourselves not only hurts ourselves, it also hurts God. Because Jesus died for this moment – this moment right here, the ugliest moment that feels impossibly broken, the moment that feels definitively unfixable.
When we insist on holding as tightly as we can to our guilt and shame, when we refuse to relinquish our sin and accept God’s grace, we deny the ultimate sacrifice God made for us. We deny his life. We deny his sacrifice. We deny his resurrection. We deny him.
I’m not going to lie. A big part of our spring break stunk like giant smelly deviled eggs, and it was almost entirely due to my own bad behavior. It hasn’t been easy to let that go, to forgive myself and hand every last bit of my guilt, shame and regret over to God. But that’s exactly what I am doing. I am handing it all over to him. I am allowing God to take it. And I am stepping fully and completely into his grace.
Michelle, when I read $29 hamburgers, and then a line of its own that read, “And to say nothing of the expense,” I thought the $29 WAS the expense. This is a joke, right? Admittedly, I’ve been neither to Disney Land nor Disney World (Six Flags is as far as I’ve gotten, and it’s not my thing), so I’m pretty much staggered by the sky-high prices you’re mentioning. Spring break’s enough to break the bank, sounds like. Wow! But boy can I relate to being the world’s worst mother, because you are reading her words. Sheridan and I (now best pals) had a rocky start, and I recall once at our cabin (likely on a spring break–Mike’s!–she was still little and home with me), that I just decided not to talk to her. I don’t know what she had done, but I, with the short-temper fuse, decided just not to talk to her. It actually got to the point where my husband (and this is amazing) was in tears, thinking I would never talk to my little girl again. Actually, it was I who was the little girl, and a very spoiled and selfish one. Fortunately for me, like you with your loving Rowan, Sheridan was loving and reached out to me and didn’t hold a grudge. I daresay if I were to mention it to her now, she wouldn’t know to what I was referring. Oh, gosh, Michelle, you are such a good writer and a good live-er. You had me in tears with this post–tears of laughter and of sad recognition. There are not many authors that can do that–that can write a pithy, clever, humorous (very!) post and then tie it in with the death and resurrection of Christ! You are just amazing. I can’t say it enough. And I can’t thank you enough for your utter humility and for pointing us all to such a deep and abiding truth–that Christ died for sinners, and He buries our sins in the depths of the ocean. You’ve read my book, so you know what I am talking about. And when I lived (and wallowed and drowned) in the guilt of my sin (though confessed and forgiven), I shut my heart to Christ’s grace, and I died inside. You are so right: If He forgives us, we must forgive ourselves. We simply must. Otherwise, in some ways, Easter has no meaning, and unwittingly, we even denigrate Christ’s sacrifice. Thank you, my dear friend, for being you, and for sharing your vulnerability, your love, and your wisdom with your readers (of whom I am chief!)
I pray God will enrich and enfold you in His love and His forgiveness and His grace this Holy Week.
Love
xxoo
Lynn
Lynn, Thank you for your kind, kind words and for sharing so vulnerably and transparently your own “bad mother” moment and your struggle with self-forgivness, guilt and shame. You are so good to me.
Michelle:
I suggest the word “relinquish” for your weekend post. As in relinquishing control, relinquishing what happens as a result of our actions. It’s funny how things turn around on us – your own ambivalence at spending the money going to Disneyland – then your son’s lack of interest in using the rides.
My oldest son had a major meltdown when we had only 1 hr. at a Wild Water theme park and a bad thunderstorm blew in. I had taken the day off work – another day couldn’t be arranged – I couldn’t get through to him that I was not responsible for the bad weather. My son and nephew years later in the winter greatly encouraged me to take on a scarier ski hill, I immediately fell and banged my head so hard – at least I proved it was worth it for me to spend money on a helmet – no serious injury resulted – and I returned to my comfort zone on the easier hill. In other words – this pressure thing – goes both ways!
You are so right, Christine – it does go both ways! Thanks for sharing your stories here today — they help!
Well, I hate to say it, but I’ve been there and done that. After a monster expensive vacation to the Grand Canyon, where my son was so infatuated with taking pictures of squirrels (1029), I realized that vacations are what we need. They just need time and memories. When Rowan is gone to college, go back and have fun. My guilt level as a parent that God has given me grace for still sits at the back of my heart. I learned guilt at the feet of my mom. And the worst part is just when you get really good at parenting, you basically get fired. My son and I have a better relationship now that he is an adult than when he was a teen and I cried every day. He does not believe in God and my heart is broken over that. I am much older than you(59) and what I see in you is how full of love and grace you are. It takes strength to admit your mistakes, I am super impressed. God uses everything for good, even our mistakes. God bless you and try to forgive yourself.
Your comment about the squirrel-picture vacation made me laugh out loud, Deb. Thanks for your kind words here today – I so appreciate them. I’m so glad you and your son have a close relationship now (there is hope!), but I am so sorry that you carry angst and fear over his unbelief. As you know, there is always hope when God is still in the game…and he’s always still in the game.
Chuckled at your description of your anger, been there, done that, over it, everytime (still sometimes) I remember a bad mom incident I remind myself that God remembers my sin no more why should I. My kids still love me ( I think) And whatever we are experiencing others have experienced too.
Yeah, I think you are right – as this post is proving here in the comments, I’m not the only one whose had the bad mother vacation meltdown. I think we have to have the courage to admit our mistakes, so that others will know they aren’t alone – it makes it easier to let go of the same when we know we aren’t the only ones who have erred.
Michelle, I can say with a fair amount of certainty and authority that you were NOT the only mother crying at Universal Studios (or any other theme park) that day. A few years back, my then 8-year-old son and I had a similar negotiation (with a similar outcome) at Disney’s Hollywood Studios, outside of the Rock-n-Roller coaster. (I know several adults who won’t go on that coaster, but, but, he had ridden on it before, I didn’t see what the problem was!!!) Kids. Vacations. Theme Parks. Grace, thank heavens!
Seriously done with theme parks around here – back to national parks…we do better with those! 🙂 Thanks for your encouraging and kind words and for sharing your story, Kris – I really appreciate that.
Hah! It has happened to every parent at one time or another, I think. And, as you mentioned, it has much to do with our own high expectations. The more time, money and effort we expend in planning something great for our kids, the more upset we are when they seem ungrateful or somehow fail to hold up their end of the bargain.
Thank for such a transparent and poignant description of how these scenarios play out in real life…as well as the importnace of having grace for both ourselves and our loved ones!
Thanks for giving me grace and encouragement, Joe!
Wonderful read. From a mother who has not been forgiven by my daughter I weep. Knowing I am forgiven by The King of Kings in my heart is reality. Living without a daughter who will not forgive me or include me in any part of her life for my horible choices is another. Thank you
At least you got to have your meltdown in a sunny, warm, location of delight. The furthest away I’ve ever had a meltdown was in the driveway.
Seriously, love the lesson here. We have to believe that He forgives us wholly and completely unto full restoration! Discovered you today through Lisa-Jo Baker… so grateful!
Oh Michelle, there’s nothing quite like *mother guilt* is there?! I was chuckling a bit at your story, but mostly I felt the cringe in your soul later on when you looked back on it. Goodness knows I did a bunch of “bad-Mom” stuff, too. And one thing in particular, I could NOT let go of. Finally, the Holy Spirit brought me to my senses and made me realize that when I held on to guilt, I was really not accepting God’s forgiveness and grace. And THAT was pride! Yeah, that.
Jesus did indeed die for the big stuff and the little stuff. And His grace covers it all. Even Universal meltdowns…
GOD BLESS!
Thoughts:
1) Thank you for giving me a reason, on this day, to recall that my parents did one thing right: they took us to Disney World when we were pretty much grown. I think I was (or was about to be) a freshman in college.
2) Thank you for reminding me of that story my family has told, laughing, ever since: the one about the dad screaming at his kid at Disney World: “You WILL ride every ride, and you WILL like it!!!” I laughed, today, remembering; thank you for that laugh.
3) Thank you for giving me a reason to feel better about the fact that we recently depleted our Disney account, and not for Disney.
4) I tricked Cade into riding the Comet at Hershey Park when he was, like, six. Let’s call it like it was: I flat-out lied to him about the nature of the ride, thinking he’d end up loving it. He didn’t. He was furious with me, and he didn’t trust me as fully for a very long time. Funny enough, I brought this up with him the other day. I asked if he thought I was a bad mom for lying to him. (I have felt guilty about it for a decade.) He shrugged and said: “Nah. I know you did it because you thought I’d have fun.” Grace. They love us so much, even when we’re turds.
5) You’re a delight. xo
Michelle, this is a wonderful post! Oh, I can so relate! You had me cracking up at the whisper yelling… I definitely have had those moments when my expectations and reality are two worlds apart. It’s tough to accept life as it is ESPECIALLY when it’s OUR own children with minds of their own! I have to accept God’s forgiveness and grace and keep going. His grace is sufficient for us! Sending you a big hug, Michelle! I miss you!
Michelle:
On further thought, your sons as they grow will definitely turn the tables on you – and push you onto rides your body in middle age just is no longer prepared to deal with. My son took great delight in my grimaced expression on the ride the “Italian Job” with a photo to keep the memory and my husband’s ruptured appendix I believe was a result of him going on the “Drop Zone” the week before (he recovered.)
– Christine