More Mother.

I think I’ve experienced some kind of motherly right of passage, something akin to the first day of kindergarten, the first ER visit or taking your oldest to college.

Last night was Joshua’s last jr. high football game.

Jim had always said, “My son will play football.” The first toy he bought when we first ever found out I was pregnant was a stuffed football rattle. Of course, when the first child turned out to be Rebecca, he saved it for the next kid. And when that beautiful little boy emerged, I said, “My son will not play football; it’s too dangerous. People get hurt. It’s not worth it.” And we put off the discussion until he was older. But when he was in third grade, he played flag football. No biggie. And the next year, he got pads and played tackle. And the kids were little, and the team was cute. And how hurt could they really get? And Joshua loved it. He worked hard, and he excelled. He became a valuable player. Over the years, he and his dad have shared father/son moments over the game, talking through plays, recapping each event. And I watched this son and his passion, and I supported it.  I didn’t give much more thought to getting hurt. I gave it to God. This boy, this first-born son, is ALL boy. He plays football. And I’m proud of him.

So there we were at his last football game of the season. His last 8^th grade game. They’ve had a great season – only lost one game. Joshua’s played well. He loves to hit; loves to tackle; loves to take the other team down.

And then I saw the other team. They were huge. I mean gigantic. At least four of them were bigger than my husband. They looked like they’d been held back a year. Or two. And then I took a look at our wiry jr. high team. It was David and Goliath, right there on the field. They started playing, and our players went down, one by one – Joshua’s best friend – our star running back – got a concussion. Another kid got a concussion. Someone else went out. Still, we kept playing. Joshua played well! Recovered the ball, had two amazing sacks, an awesome run, and his big moment – a touchdown!! The scores grew. We hung in. They had 50. We were at 18.

In the final quarter, Joshua got the ball and disappeared under a pile of big, red-and-white Goliaths. And when they all got up, Joshua was still down. The teams took a knee, and the coaches went out. And the trainer went out. And time stopped. There was my baby, lying out there on the field. He rolled in pain. They checked him out. They worked on him. For at least five minutes, the teams knelt.  For at least five minutes I prayed. The stands were quiet, and my eyes were glued on the boy in the middle of the field. What a helpless moment.  And finally one leg moved. And then the other. And at the end of eternity, he was up. But they CARRIED him off the field, legs dangling. I stood to go meet him. My friend and my husband kept me in the stands. Apparently it’s not acceptable to go rushing to your son if he’s not been wheeled off the field.

The game continued I suppose, not that I paid too much attention. (Final score 50-24, I hear.) The other team showed no mercy – with a huge score differential, they kept their gigantic starters in, still played all the way 'til the end - until the clock ran out, risking even more injury. And the trainer kept working with Joshua, stretching, turning, checking range of motion. In the end, he was ok – what he thought was his hip popping, breaking? Was more likely movement of the sacrum. He is sore today. He moves slowly. If he still struggles in a couple of days, we will get an x-ray. But he is ok.

I, on the other hand, am somehow more mother, for motherhood seems to be a series of “letting go’s.” Of relinquishing control. Of realizing that you are helpless to control their lives, heal their hurts and keep them in the nest. Of trusting the child of your heart to his Creator and His plan. Of releasing them - and watching them grow.

Stopping to Smell the Roses

I know...it's cliche. But it's still important. We go through life day after day, month after month, falling into patterns - sometimes good, sometimes not so good. And we forget. We forget to look at what God has given us. We forget to appreciate the gifts. To take time to deviate from what's normal and what's expected. And then something happens.

For us, it was simple. We woke up one morning and my precious little one had a swollen face. It was hugely swollen. She was unrecognizable. I thought - she has strep! Because that's how this little one presents with strep - she gets scarlet fever on her face. And I took her in to the doctor's office where they ran a strep test, and it came back negative. What?!? I KNOW she has strep. So they sent us to the lab to double check. But in the meantime, she looked so pathetic. It's true, she felt fine! But she looked pathetic. And in that day of nothing is normal, I was reminded of the treasure that I have. The precious child. Precious children. And so we threw the rest of the day to the wind. We played family games. We snuggled. We read books. I dropped her brother off at dance. And then, on this gorgeous, unexpected spring day, we went to pick him up - on foot. Bethany ran ahead, jumping from tree to tree. We met her brother, who was surprised when he couldn't find the car. And delighted to walk on such a beautiful day, with the dog, and the sister with the swollen face, and the mother who was smiling and said yes to going out for ice cream.

I'm not a fan of illness. I'm not a fan of swollen faces. But I recognize that sometimes, God uses the situations around us to remind us of the gifts He's given. The treasures we sometimes take for granted. He reminds us that we need to stop. And smell the roses.