HEALTHY NEGLECT
26/02/08 11:38 Filed in: slice
Hearing the door close roughly and footsteps in the foyer, I looked up from my desk to see my 20-year-old son. He had the look of defeat written all over him – shoulders slouched, head drooped, arms slack. Every mother knows that look from years of sitting in hockey arenas or on soccer bleachers at the end of a big blowout. Your first thought is always, “How can I cheer him up? How can I explain that sometimes we win and sometimes we lose and losing makes us stronger…?” You know the drill.
Well, those days of sideline sports cheering are over for us. Those days of hands-on mothering are over too. Our son is a man now. We’re in a new season: the season of “healthy neglect.” This is the time every mom dreams about and dreads, simultaneously. This is when you have to sit on your hands and zip your lip and pray that whatever you’ve taught this young man will be enough…because classes are over! The “teacher” is retired. School’s out.
And so you pray. And pray. And pray. No wonder women in their 50s have such gnarly knees! What do moms pray for? Lots of things but the main thing is that our sons, and daughters, would learn to walk with Christ on their own. That they would find their own faith. That they would test God and find Him faithful. That they would learn to trust Him because He has proven trustworthy to us. Everything else – education, life partner, career, and more – will work itself out according to God’s good plan if our son or daughter chooses to walk with God and do His will.
All of those thoughts raced through my mind in the fraction of a second it took me to assess my son’s emotional state as he slid out of his shoes and draped his jacket over the rail. “How’s it going?” I asked.
“My truck died!” he declared, frustration and disbelief all over his face. He had spent the weekend shining and “styling” the 10-year-old truck his boss had sold him two days earlier. After all the wrecks he’d limped around in since getting his driver’s license at 16, this truck was the first vehicle he was proud of. “Why is it everything I touch breaks?”
My heart squeezed as I heard his lament and self-condemnation. I was already praying, eyes wide open, as I offered words of encouragement.
Too raw for much talk, my son headed downstairs to brood in front of the TV. Everything in me wanted to go after him. To probe. To suggest. To solve. To fix. But God’s hand held me in my chair. You’ve felt that Hand too haven’t you? That Hand that says, “Stay put. Let me be God.” And so I surrendered and prayed: “Do something God! Show him you care. Make sure he knows it’s You and not me.”
I was at my desk again midway through the next morning when my son unexpectedly arrived home. Wondering if it was too cold for roofing that day I looked up questioningly. The look of wonder on his face made my heart skip a beat. “What’s up?
“My boss is giving me the truck…for free…after he figures out why it won’t run and pays to have it fixed,” he said, wide-eyed. “We just towed it to Canadian Tire to have it looked at.” And the tears began to flow down my face. Now my son was really confused! Why was I crying at such good news? I told him about my struggle the day before, how I had wanted to rush in and try to fix things but instead had listened to that still, small Voice that held that back. I told him what I had prayed and how God had answered in a far bigger way than either of us could hope.
And he told me that just before the truck had died God had whispered in his ear to give the last of his available cash to a worthy cause and he had obeyed on faith. Then his faith was rocked when his “new” truck died moments later and he had no money to repair it. He questioned whether he’d heard God correctly or whether God even cared. But now this!
I mopped my wet face and grinned. He smiled back. After he had gone I realized yet again that if I want to make room for God I’ve got to stay out of the way!
And so you pray. And pray. And pray. No wonder women in their 50s have such gnarly knees! What do moms pray for? Lots of things but the main thing is that our sons, and daughters, would learn to walk with Christ on their own. That they would find their own faith. That they would test God and find Him faithful. That they would learn to trust Him because He has proven trustworthy to us. Everything else – education, life partner, career, and more – will work itself out according to God’s good plan if our son or daughter chooses to walk with God and do His will.
All of those thoughts raced through my mind in the fraction of a second it took me to assess my son’s emotional state as he slid out of his shoes and draped his jacket over the rail. “How’s it going?” I asked.
“My truck died!” he declared, frustration and disbelief all over his face. He had spent the weekend shining and “styling” the 10-year-old truck his boss had sold him two days earlier. After all the wrecks he’d limped around in since getting his driver’s license at 16, this truck was the first vehicle he was proud of. “Why is it everything I touch breaks?”
My heart squeezed as I heard his lament and self-condemnation. I was already praying, eyes wide open, as I offered words of encouragement.
Too raw for much talk, my son headed downstairs to brood in front of the TV. Everything in me wanted to go after him. To probe. To suggest. To solve. To fix. But God’s hand held me in my chair. You’ve felt that Hand too haven’t you? That Hand that says, “Stay put. Let me be God.” And so I surrendered and prayed: “Do something God! Show him you care. Make sure he knows it’s You and not me.”
I was at my desk again midway through the next morning when my son unexpectedly arrived home. Wondering if it was too cold for roofing that day I looked up questioningly. The look of wonder on his face made my heart skip a beat. “What’s up?
“My boss is giving me the truck…for free…after he figures out why it won’t run and pays to have it fixed,” he said, wide-eyed. “We just towed it to Canadian Tire to have it looked at.” And the tears began to flow down my face. Now my son was really confused! Why was I crying at such good news? I told him about my struggle the day before, how I had wanted to rush in and try to fix things but instead had listened to that still, small Voice that held that back. I told him what I had prayed and how God had answered in a far bigger way than either of us could hope.
And he told me that just before the truck had died God had whispered in his ear to give the last of his available cash to a worthy cause and he had obeyed on faith. Then his faith was rocked when his “new” truck died moments later and he had no money to repair it. He questioned whether he’d heard God correctly or whether God even cared. But now this!
I mopped my wet face and grinned. He smiled back. After he had gone I realized yet again that if I want to make room for God I’ve got to stay out of the way!