Ready for New Adventures

This is my son Nathan at age three. (All together now: "Awww!")

A friend was directing a production of The Best Christmas Pageant Ever and asked if Nate could be an extra and sing in the angel choir. I could have turned her down. He was so young! In fact, he was the littlest member of the cast. What if he got stage fright at the last minute? What if he missed his cue to go out on stage? What if he halo fell off? But I didn't want him to miss out on this chance at stardom, and he answered with an enthusiastic, "Yeah!" when I asked if he wanted to be in Miss Kim's play, so I let him do it. I'm so glad I did. He had a wonderful time and did a great job. And at the risk of sounding like a gushing mom, he looked SO CUTE!!!

This is Nathan at age eleven. He has grown quite a bit as you can see, and he is about to step out into some new adventures.

Tomorrow, he is going to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, not with me, not with his grandparents or cousins, but with the junior high group from church. I was tempted to say no when he told me about the activity. He just joined the junior high group, and we barely know the leaders and kids. Once again, the mommy in me was saying, "He is so young!" As a soon-to-be sixth-grader, he could possibly be the youngest kid in the group. What if he gets talked into going on a ride that terrifies him? What if he gets separated from his group? What if he is the only one without a friend? But just like with the play, I don't want him to miss out and he REALLY wants to go, so I'm setting my anxieties aside and encouraging him to have a great time.

I consider it a practice run for mid-August when he goes to camp with a friend from Reno for a week. As excited as I am for him, my mommy fears have been revving up lately. What if he gets homesick? What if he gets sick or hurt? What if something upsetting happens? Once again, I know I need to focus on all that is exciting and wonderful, keep my worries to myself, and send him off knowing he needs to do things like go away to camp for a week without mom hovering. (For those of you who are saying to yourself, "Wait, he is eleven and just now going to the boardwalk with a group that doesn't include you? And is this really his first trip to sleep-over camp? What kind of helicoptor parent are you? Let's just say that after several crazy years, we are catching up on some experiences.)

All of this is reminding me that being a good mom includes letting my sons do things even when I'm not sure if I am . . . I mean they are ready, even if letting them do it means battling a lot of what-ifs. Each adventure provides more practice in trusting God to take care of them when I'm not looking. Each, "Sure, that sounds like fun" gives them a little more confidence. And even if one of my fears does come true, those will hopefully become opportunities to learn and grow.

So, have fun, Nate the Great! I am so thankful that you are the kind of boy who wants to put yourself out there and try things--the kind of boy who isn't afraid of a little adventure. 


 

It Starts Today

When the tall, pretty woman approached me at the writer’s conference and said she wanted to pray with me, I assumed she wanted prayer for herself. She was a first-timer and we had reached that infamous mid-point of the conference when many start to melt down under the burn of crushed dreams. I planned ahead for how I might encourage her, and prayed for the right words. But when we finally connected, she took my hand and said in a voice so gentle that it almost triggered tears, “I want to pray for you.” 

I needed prayer, for a lot of things, but how would she know that?

She knew absolutely nothing about my life other than that I was praying for direction after a difficult year, yet when we found a quiet bench under a shade tree, she spoke and prayed as if she knew my whole life story. She said a lot that I don’t remember until God brings back a quick snipped of our conversation; other gems I hurried back to my cabin to record in my journal so I wouldn’t forget them. She urged me to let go of the darts that had been hurled at me in the past, “Wherever they came from,” so I wouldn’t miss what God had for me. We were about to enter the Auditorium for a service that would include communion, and I was to lay those darts at the foot of the cross and walk in victory.

Darts? How did she know? Did she see their imprints? Were they that obvious, even to a stranger? Or was this one of those moments when God sent an “Is she an angel?” messenger to deliver a truth that might not have sunk in as deeply if I’d heard it from someone who knew the details?   

“It starts today,” she said, smiling. And it did. As we prayed, I ached to open my eyes feeling changed. I didn’t exactly lay the darts at the foot of the cross during communion, but I did picture Jesus taking them out of my hands and hurling them into the sea. After that talk, I no longer wanted to live or even write like the old me, held back by past wounds and my life-long enemy, fear. 

Since then, I have discovered that “It starts today” is only the beginning. It takes time to break old habits, ignore the mean voices, see lies for what they are, uncover the seeds that sprouted the fears and insecurities, and feel at home with freedom. Some days, it feels like life will always resemble a very long drawn-out therapy session between me and God and whoever I feel the need to open up to about what He is teaching me on a given day. But “It” started and is continuing, so I thank my heavenly Father repeatedly for that woman, for her willingness to risk grabbing for my hand in a crowded room to say, “I want to pray with you later,” and for showing me the beautiful things that can happen when we let “It starts today” begin right away while also allowing it to take the time that true, lasting healing requires.

What do you need to “Start today?”

Letting Go . . . Finally

It’s amazing what can happen when we get rid of all that is gunking up the heart and mind. Last time I blogged it was all I could do to find some good in having nothing to blog about. Last week I couldn’t even do that. I had too much in my head, too many emotions stirring, too much uncertainty looming. On top of that, I seemed to be handling things and people all wrong. It was one of those times when the fear of having no control over what happened next had me clutching tightly to what little I could control. At least I thought I could control it. In the end I only managed to drive everyone around me, including myself, crazy. No wonder I couldn’t write anything more than assignments! Even those I seemed to be writing on autopilot and half as well.

So on Thursday I called a friend and we met to talk. I poured out my pitiful heart. I cried, we prayed, I vented and cried some more. Finally this precious friend helped me see my need to let the two things that were burdening me most go—to hand them over for God to handle. As painful and hard as I was, I did it. Finally. I went home drained but free. For the first time in weeks I could write without it feeling forced. Later I called to thank her and share how much better I felt. She pointed out the power of getting rid of the gunk—that it makes room for the Holy Spirit to get in and work. And she was right.

This week, not only could I write assigned work well but I worked on a fiction project for the first time since the beginning of summer. I chose to kick start my creativity with something new and fresh and ended the day with what I think is a new novel.

All of this showed me how often I stifle God’s work through my refusal to let go. I’ve never considered myself a control freak; people tend to see me as a gentle, go-with-the-flow type of person. But when life gets scary, uncertain, or painful I guess I do crave control. I fret, plot trouble in advance, load myself with guilt, and take on more responsibility than I can carry because doing that feels safer than leaving the future and those I love in God’s hands. I’m so thankful for the abrupt change that came after I let go of last week’s burden. I freed me to do it more!

Thank you, God, for being there even in the mucky, ugly chaos. Thank You for patiently waiting to free me from what only You can handle, and for working so beautifully when I am willing to let go.