I'll Be Coming Down the Mountain

Moses and Mothers Press On

I kept him with us that Sunday.  He loves his Sunday School class.   The pastor talked about persevering with our children.  Soon after, I felt his little hand take mine and wrap it around his waist without a word.  The pastor continued to talk about Moses and his failures.  She reminded us that Moses kept on going.  He got frustrated with the Israelites but he kept on going.  There are many days that I want to press stop.  I would even settle for a pause.  Every mother knows you can't run away from home.  You have to come back down that mountain like Moses did to face what they have been up to.

Getting the News

Exactly 4 years ago to that Sunday (June 6, 2006) we found out that we would be parents.  We didn't have to wait for a stick or wait for a doctor's phone call.  Our news came from a social worker.  My husband picked me up from my teaching job that afternoon.  I knew the social worker had already given him the answer.  As I got into the car I eyed my husband anxiously.  His mouth opened with these horrific words, "They went with someone else."  My heart sank and then it lifted a little.  I saw a spark of mischievousness in his eyes.  "I'm just joking.  They picked us."  Just like that we became parents.  Four years ago on 06/06/06 I entered the motherhood.

Life

The number 666 used to worry me.  The day my husband broke the news to me, we were on our way to sign mortgage papers. We couldn't help but share our news with the world.  The lawyer that was helping us was delighted for us.  I told her about my uneasiness about the number 666.  She explained that she is Jewish and that 666 added together was 18.  This number 18 signified life - Chaim.  So many lives were getting a new start.

Like Moses I often come down the mountain to find disappointment and chaos.   However, sometimes I witness moments when my son wraps my arm around him like a soft scarf protecting him from the lifeless cold.

By Our Love

It took 2 hours of cleaning, listening to Newsboys and thinking quietly to myself to come to terms with something I have always found difficult. How do you let "it" go? I am known for white knuckling it. I hold for dear life to every word, relationship and decision. So when I heard that one of my son's soccer coaches didn't like him, the journey to letting go stretched out for miles in front of me.

Peanut, my sister from another mother, told me this would be hard. I remember her telling me how much it bothered her to hear negative remarks about her son from his teacher. I would tell her that her son's success and failures are not tied in to her identity. She remarked, you'll see when your son starts school. He starts school in September and I can already see the light. The bright spotlight on my son which reveals my weaknesses. September will be back to school for the both of us.

After I found out that one of my son's coach didn't like him I became angry. I made comments and created thoughts that came naturally to me. Here is a brief list:
1. The feeling is mutual
2. How unprofessional of him to share this with other parents
3. I knew there was something about him I didn't like
4. I am going to give him a piece of my mind

This is my natural reaction when I feel attacked or criticized. I remind myself that it is not I who is being criticized it is my son. Yet it stings. The fears of nonacceptance and disapproval from adults that I had as a child surfaces as if time hasn't passed at all. The more I think about the words the angrier I get. I make up fake conversations with the coach in my head. I know that is one area I can do more damage than most- my words. I think of all the witty and mean things I could say back. I start to criticize his son and his family. All the while I continue to feel angrier and angrier.

Eight hours later I find myself cleaning my kitchen form top to bottom and mopping my ground level floors. As I try to cling to my "cleanie" life 7 words pop into my mind. "They will know us by our love." I ask myself how can I love someone that I feel no connection to and I actually dislike. Yet I begin to think about tomorrow when my son gives one of his coaches a gift. I feel compelled to give a gift to this coach as well. There is no sentimental thoughts about it. I just know that love is an action and that is a way I can demonstrate love. By the time I have cleaned my kitchen, family room, dinning room, front room and guest bathroom I have figured out that through love I can let "it" go.

Wish me blessings tomorrow!

Galatians 5:22 (The Message)
22-23But what happens when we live God's way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

Player of the Game

He would still be clutching the ribbon in his hand. My husband had to pry it from him. He is so proud of that ribbon. A simple dark blue ribbon with the words "Player of the Game" written on it. He was so excited as he ran up to me at the end of his soccer game last night. "I got it! I got it! I got player of the game." His little 3 1/2 year old voice squealed with excitement. I picked him up and swung him up in the air giving him a million little kisses. I was so proud. All the fighting and arguing, the I will not go to my room, share the toys, play nicely with my friends, get dress, eat nicely vanished. All I saw was pure joy- childhood joy.

Later it dawned on me that I can easily forget that that 3 second lift in the air is all he really wants from me. That feeling of being swept up into the sunny air with secure hands holding him up. Some days it seems like we are far from that moment. He is just like me stubborn, argumentative, secure in his position, and outwardly unashamed of it. Hence our tug of war.

Today I got something too. I was "Cohen's mother" for a brief moment. Not child minder, or scheduler, or maid, or peace keeper. I was just a happy mom swinging her happy child a little closer to the sun.

Thanks Coach Peter!