Tonight I got to take my ten year old son to a performance at his elementary school. It was a night when any student who wants to participate can perform a song or dance. My son was singing with the school's acapella group, a group that he has sung with for the past two years.
While at my son's performance I saw some boys that frankly, left me not only dreading middle school, but fearful of it. These boys had swagger. My son tells me they were fifth graders. I thought they were in eighth grade. Costumed in "private school" attire for their performance, it wasn't so much the way they were dressed but the way they stood against the wall, tossing their bangs to the side, joking around, and quietly making fun of the performing students. I could tell these were the cool guys. I know better than to judge a person by appearances but I just couldn't help it tonight. My sweet ten year old boy, my first born, my baby, will be a fifth grader next year and I'm terrified that in some way he'll have to deal with these boys, or even worse, that he'll be one of these boys.
I kept trying to see these boys as I'm sure their mamas see them. Innocent. Babies. Trying on different costumes, different ways of being in the world, wanting to figure out what fits. But it was difficult. I had a really hard time seeing past the Justin Bieber bangs and frat boy behavior.
It's not that I don't want my baby to grow up. I do. I'm excited to see what life brings my boy. I'm anxious to know where God is leading him, how he will mature, what kind of person he will be. But I never want him to feel like he has to have swagger to be cool, to be liked. This may be "Mama Bragging" but it's true: my baby boy has always been friends with all different kinds of people. I guess that's what bothered me about these boys. They were so homogenous and clique-ish. Heck, I was afraid of being made fun of by them! I don't want my boy to give up his diverse group of friends for pack mentality.
Walking to the car I asked him about these guys. I said, "Are they nice or...are they cocky?" You could argue that I was leading the question but my boy immediately said, "Oh, they are cocky." "Why do you say that?" I asked. "Well, we versed them in basketball. And then I saw one of them in the hall later he asked me if I was on the (insert name of team here) I said, 'Yeah,' and he just laughed out loud." I asked him if the boy's reaction bothered him and he shrugged his shoulders and said, "No. Whatever."
My baby doesn't seem bothered by these boys. For that, I am thankful. I'm also thankful for a ten year old boy who still crawls up on my lap and talks to me about his life. I know these days are waning. The middle school years are coming. Girls, dating, friends, and basketball are all about to trump Mama. So I will hold him close for now, praying he makes good friends, right choices, and most of all that he knows deep in his heart, how much he is loved.
These four kids make me crazy but aren't they cute?
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
I was called to the hospital yesterday to pray with a twenty year old college student who had been admitted earlier this week after collapsing. It turns out she has cancer. Pancreatic cancer. She's twenty. TWENTY!
A couple of weeks ago a vibrant young mom, a pastor, a preacher, a mission worker, lost her life to complications from the flu.
My friend recently lost her 18 year old niece who died in her sleep. They still do not know why she died.
Last year I had a pulmonary embolism and my mom had a liver transplant. We both lived and we are both doing quite well.
I thank God for that. I thank God that I am still around to care for my babies. I thank God that Mom is still around to care for me.
But I also have questions. Big questions. I'm certainly not the first to ever ask these questions. In fact, my questions are simply echoes of the many questions asked throughout scripture.
Why God? Why do you let these things happen? Why must we lose people we love? Where are you? Don't you know it's NOT FAIR for children or mommies or daddies to die?
And then, after the questions come the doubts...
Are you really there? Do you care? What if everything upon which I've staked my life isn't true? What if there isn't eternal life? What if, when we die, we simply die, period?
I know the "right" answers to my questions. I know that I 'm supposed to say that in our suffering, Jesus is out best possible companion because he's been there. He's suffered. He's gone to hell and back. I know I'm supposed to say that God doesn't cause suffering but is always with us in our pain. But remember, those doubts? Well, that's when they creep in.
There was a night a few years ago when someone I loved dearly was sick. I remember feeling desperate for God to fix my loved one. In my grief I began reading through the Psalms and it was then that I realized for the first time, God may not "fix" this. In fact, this may not be fixable. I wondered if God was even listening to me.
Boy did that mess with my theology and my faith. Basically I lost my faith virginity that night. No longer could I hold on to a faith in which God would always swoop in and make everything better. My faith got messy, really messy.
Since then I've had to work out some trust issues with God. I've wrestled with God and I now walk with a limp. But I think I'm thankful for that. It's made me stronger, more compassionate, able to simply sit with someone in their pain, knowing that there are no easy answers when life hurts. I can pray now, pleading and begging God to take away hurt, to heal, to make new but I know that even though I plead with all my might for God to swoop in and make it all better, this world is broken and terrible things happen and sometimes all we can do is hold on to hope for each other.
My doubts will not win. I have to hold on to hope because without hope there is nothing. I know I can't do this life thing on my own. I need God, and I need God in Jesus Christ because I need to believe that death does not have the last word. I need to believe that there is always hope, even in death.
I do believe that there is always hope. I do believe that God is here. I just wish it could be a little easier to know that. But then again, I guess that's what faith is all about.
Friday, June 15, 2012
The Other Side of the Mini-Van
My question for the day: WHY, why, why do my kids INSIST on getting out of the mini-van on the side where I keep the diaper bag and the infant carrier and any other essentials I happen to be hauling along? It's not like it's difficult to get out on the other side of the van. I mean, they would have to press a button to open the door but otherwise it's fairly easy to get out over there. It *might* even be easier than crawling under the infant carrier, over the diaper bag, and through the plethora of stuff on the floor. But no, my kids fore-go the button pushing and easy-exit from the mini-van to climb through the obstacle course, EVERY SINGLE TIME!
Today I finally said something to them about it. It might have come out in an exasperated "Seriously? Seriously??? YOU ARE CLIMBING THROUGH ALL MY STUFF AND KNOCKING IT OUT ONTO THE GROUND WHEN THERE IS A PERFECTLY GOOD DOOR ON THE OTHER SIDE??? SERIOUSLY?" #3 said back to me, "Yeah. I don't want to go out the other door." #2 ignored me and kicked his brother headfirst through the stuff and out of the van door and then mauled his own way through. I stood there flabbergasted, though I'm not sure why. You'd think I'd be used to this idiocy by now but it never fails to amaze me.
Heading back to the car after our appointment the boys followed me to the same side of the car...again. They were hoping to fight with each other in the parking lot while I loaded up the baby and the diaper bag and then hurl themselves under the infant seat and through the diaper bag to get to their places in the car. After fastening the infant car seat I whipped around, losing my temper, and shouted at them "GO TO THE OTHER DOOR!" I even opened the other door for them. To their credit, they went to the other door. To my credit I didn't cuss at them.
On the way home I was thinking about how I can thank my children for my steadfast irritability. Like the title of my blog says, they drive me crazy. CRAZY! But I was also thinking how lucky I am to have this summer with them. I was thinking how even though I am frustrated, angry, and annoyed so much of the time, there are no other people I'd rather spend my days yelling at and chasing. This is who I am: Rylan, Spencer, Kellen, and Eve's Mama. Yes, I have other responsibilities, other jobs, other things to do, and I really enjoy those other things, but underlying all those other "things", I am a mama. And as crazy as my kids make me I thank God for them every day (okay, maybe not every day, but at least 5 out of 7 days a week) and I can't imagine life without them.
As I was finishing this post my nine year old (who tends to sense my irritability) gave me a hug and said, "I love you Mama." Yeah, I'll keep them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)