He’s too sick to run around too much….

But not too sick to dismantle the kitchen when I’m not looking…

Or to grab a decorative gourd and suck on it.

The other night, for the first time in many months, we took the boys out to eat. (Perhaps I will elaborate at some future date on the sheer amount of planning, preparation, and manipulation it takes to get 1-year-old L. through dinner at a “real” restaurant without a complete meltdown, but since that’s not the point of this post, I’ll spare you…for now.) We went to one of those restaurants that has “stuff” attached to the walls and “big stuff” hanging from the ceiling. To a 9-year-old boy full of curiosity, this type of restaurant is a treasure-trove of discovery.

A canoe was suspended directly above our table, but it was a canoe that looked very odd to C.. It had something attached to and extending from one side, something he hadn’t seen before. Chad explained to him that the attachment was called an outrigger and that it was there to provide stabilization to a boat that would otherwise be very susceptible to capsizing.

C., I’m sure, filed that piece of information away in his brain, while I didn’t think twice about it. Until last night, that is, when it struck me: Sometimes I’m the canoe; sometimes I’m the outrigger. Oh I know, it sounds corny, or maybe a little trite. But bear with me.

Last year, in second grade, C. was horrified by an invention called The Math Speed Drill: a page full of addition and/or subtraction problems that had to be completed in a very short period of time. Now, to be clear, he didn’t have a problem with the actual material, but he had a big problem with the pressure. His brain would go into panic mode, and he couldn’t think past, “How am I going to get all these done? How am I going to get all these done?” in order to actually focus on the problems.

We tried extra practice sheets, additional speed exercises…no good. In the end, we discovered together that C. needed an outrigger. He needed someone to come alongside him, help stabilize his panicky thoughts, and offer a calming influence amidst the craziness that is a Speed Drill.

For several weekends, we did “speed drills” with two changes: 1) No stopwatch; 2) Me verbally walking him through the problems. I didn’t ever have to tell him an answer, I just helped him transition from one problem to the next without giving his brain time to worry about how much or how little time it was taking. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Okay, take a look at the first problem.
C.: 9+8…um…17
Me: Very good. Next one?
C.: But–
Me [very calmly]: Not right now. Next one?
C.: 14-8….6?
Me: Good. Next one?

The first time we did this, there was a whole lot of fidgeting, lip-biting, furtive glances at a nearby clock. But after a couple rounds, C. was calmer, more focused. Just by being there and offering support, by guiding his thought process and encouraging steady progress, I was able to keep him from capsizing in panic. Before long, he had mastered the Speed Drill — not just at home, but at school as well. Just call me Outrigger Mom.

As moms, we’ve all had opportunities to be outriggers. You’re an outrigger when your toddler takes a tumble and you respond calmly with, “Oops! You went boom, but I think you’re okay” rather than with a high-volume, “OH NO!! Are you okay?!?!? Oh my sweet precious baby, you poor thing, oh here let mommy hold you and don’tyoueverleavemyarmsagain, do you hear me?” Obviously, the first approach contributes to stabilization, while the second is more likely to feed panic. You’re an outrigger when the pediatrician gives your daughter a diagnosis that you weren’t prepared to hear, but you are able to calmly comfort your child and take one step at a time through the treatment process, right by her side. You’re an outrigger every time you convey to your kids a hope for a bright future, no matter what the dramas of today seem to imply.

As wives, we have countless opportunities to be outriggers for our husbands as well. Just last weekend, I helped Chad cross one task off his overwhelming to-do list — an act of support which, he’s told me, meant a lot to him, and helped him stay afloat. When we make sure there are clean clothes to wear, when we regularly get dinner on the table, when we offer a listening ear or a fun date-night, we provide a sense of stability for our husbands that makes everything seem a little more calm.

I was thinking last night, though, about all the times I’ve been the canoe (and trust me, there are many). Though I’m a fairly even-keeled individual, there are plenty of times when I’ve felt overwhelmed and threatened by my circumstances. When everything feels completely out of control, I can convince myself (usually within 2.4 seconds) that: There is no hope. I’m going to fail — probably spectacularly — I’m going to drown, I’m going to completely lose it. I just can’t handle it.

In those times, I’ve been so blessed to have faithful “human outriggers” in my life. It’s often my husband, Chad, who stands beside me and tells me that everything is going to be all right. Much like I did with C. and the Speed Drills, Chad helps me take one step at a time, staying focused on what I can do next and not panicking about all the other stuff that I can’t control at all. Sometimes a friend offers sweet words of encouragement at just the right time. Sometimes the kids provide a delightful distraction: C. tells me a funny joke or L. giggles hysterically at the cat. All of those things are stabilizing influences. Each one can make me a little (or a lot!) less susceptible to capsizing in the chaos.

Thank you, God, for my outriggers, my stabilizers. Help me to be an outrigger to someone today. Help me bring a little bit of peace and rest to someone who might be feeling overwhelmed.

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.

- 1 Thessalonians 5:11