Lessons from Mrs. Fidget

This month our book club has been reading The Four Loves, by C.S. Lewis, and although it's been on my to-read list for some time now, I'm kind of still a ways from finishing it (um, book club is tomorrow!) Anyhow, I've LOVED it so far and highlighted practically every other sentence. But one little example made a gigantic impact on me, and that was Mrs. Fidget. Here she is:

I am thinking of Mrs. Fidget, who died a few months ago. It is really astonishing how her family have brightened up. The drawn look has gone from her husband's face; he begins to be able to laugh. The younger boy whom I had always thought an embittered, peevish little creature, turns out to be quite human. The older, which was hardly ever at home except when he was in bed, is nearly always there now and has begun to reorganise the garden. The girl, who was always supposed to be "delicate" (though I never found out what exactly the trouble was), now has the riding lessons which were once out of the question, dances all night, and plays any amount of tennis. Even the dog who was never allowed out except on a lead is now a well-known member of the Lamp-post Club in their road.

Mrs. Fidget very often said that she lived for her family. And it was not untrue. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew it. "She lives for her family," they said; "what a wife and mother!" She did all the washing; true, she did it badly, and they could have afforded to send it out to laundry, and they frequently begged her not to do it. But she did. There was always a hot lunch for anyone who was at home and always a hot meal at night (even in mid-summer). They implored her not to provide this. They protested almost with tears in their eyes (and with truth) that they liked cold meals. It made no difference. She was living for her family. She always sat up to "welcome” you if you were out late at night; two or three in the morning, it made no odds; you would always find the frail, pale, weary face awaiting you, like a silent accusation. Which means of course that you couldn't with any decency go out very often. She was always making things too; being in her own estimation (I'm no judge myself) an excellent amateur dressmaker and a great knitter. And of course, unless you were a heartless brute, you had to wear the things... And then her care for their health! She bore the whole burden of that daughter's "delicacy" alone. The Doctor - an old friend, and it was not being done on National Health – was never allowed to discuss matters with his patient. After the briefest examination of her, he was taken into another room by the mother. The girl was to have no worries, no responsibility for her own health. Only loving care; caresses, special foods, horrible tonic wines and breakfast in bed. For Mrs. Fidget, as she so often said, would "work her fingers to the bone" for her family. They couldn't stop her. Nor could they - being decent people - quite sit still and watch her do it. They had to help. Indeed they were always having to help. That is, they did things for her to help her to do things for them which they didn't want done. As for the dear dog, it was to her, she said, "just like one of the children". It was in fact as like one of them as she could make it. But since it had no scruples it got on rather better than they, and though vetted, dieted and guarded within an inch of its life, contrived sometimes to reach the dustbin or the dog next door.

And then I had an epiphany and stopped cooking those dinners every night that I would then force-feed my entire family. No not really, but SERIOUSLY! The other epiphany I had in that instant was, "OH NO. I AM MRS. FIDGET!" I was honestly struck speechless and felt mortified and enlightened all at once. I am constantly doing needless things to make a martyr of myself, so that other people can see how hard I work and how busy I am and how much my family needs me. Who cares if I am actually doing things for them that they truly need, or focusing on what is really most important? I'm so wrapped up in helping them help me help them to need me that I don't have time for any of that other stuff.

In the home or out, in any situation, how often do we behave like Mrs. Fidget? Doing things for others because we need them to need us, not because they actually need whatever it is we think we are doing for them. My friend C.S. goes on to explain what kind of love this is (he has been discussing what he calls "need-love" vs. "gift-love," of which the latter is obviously the more selfless of the two):

"This, as we saw, is a Gift-love, but one that needs to give; therefore needs to be needed. But the proper aim of giving is to put the recipient in a state where he no longer needs our gift. We feed children in order that they may soon be able to feed themselves; we teach them in order that they may soon not need our teaching. Thus a heavy task is laid upon this Gift-love. It must work towards its own abdication."

[Um, watch out or I'll just end up quoting the whole book. You should just go read it!]
One that "needs to be needed" - how hard it is to let go of that! Especially as parents, well, especially as mothers, I feel like we work so hard for our families, "to the bone," as it were, in order to feel validated or accomplished or successful, because it means we are needed.

But the important point here is just what he said - that "the proper aim of giving is to put the recipient in a state where he no longer needs our gift." We have accomplished what we have set forth to do - raising responsible, independent, functional, upright individuals - when and ONLY when they no longer need us at all. And what a thankless task it must seem, if our reward is to become obsolete!

The difference here lies in the degree of selflessness. If we are living our lives and conducting ourselves in a way that we are constantly needed and we work to perpetuate the need, really in a grander perspective we are being completely selfish - working so that all our labor reflects back on ourselves. But if we can work until the objects of our labor are self-sufficient and render ourselves unnecessary, we are working entirely for the good of someone else with no claim of recognition or importance for ourselves. How hard it must be to reach that point completely - to genuinely feel committed to another person and give up yourself entirely. Has it even ever been done?

I think this may be the key to the "entitlement" syndrome our kids face today - and that is a whole separate topic that deserves a discussion of our own, but let me just say that despite whatever good intentions parents may have (and they may indeed have them!) no child was ever truly helped by enabling them. It's difficult - especially when it's so much easier and faster and less completely exhausting to just do something yourself rather than teaching a child to do it - but the payoff is exponential.

So, after that lengthy speech, that is my commitment. I am going to work to render myself obsolete. Maybe I even WILL stop making those dinners that I insist on slaving over even though no one eats them. (That is sounding like a good bonus for me!) Win-win. And I'm sure I can list a number of other martyrdoms I can give up! Okay, not so much give up as exchange for far more important things. Like listening, patience, time. It sounds so easy. So why instead do we make it all so hard? I will NOT be that person who works so hard in all the wrong ways, leaving a sigh of relief in her wake when she dies!

And that is my lesson and my resolution. Thank you, Mrs. Fidget.