It started out with so much promise, this fine day. Sure, I had plenty on my plate and prayed, as I often do, that somehow the Lord would enable me to accomplish it all--or at least all that He wanted me to do (a pretty enormous distinction, actually). And things were going along nicely: time with the Lord, dog walked, exercise finished, children's rooms cleaned up, waffles made (homemade! Take that, Martha Stewart!), laundry started, kitchen cleaned, Target run completed, and now, at 11:00 visiting a dear friend and her newish baby. I already had the lengthy to-list firmly implanted in my mind and was off to the races, when my cell phone rang. Maybe I should change my ring-tone to that computer voice from "Lost in Space"-- "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!" Mine might say, "Danger, Old Girl, Answer at your own peril! Danger!"
Sure enough, it was DEFCON 1. One of my children--who shall remain nameless--called and was frantic, a bit accusatory, as if somehow this were partly my fault--and breathlessly semi-shouted that she had locked the keys in her car and class was starting in 5 minutes and she HAD HAD HAD to have the stuff in the car and this was disastrous and terrible and awful and wretched and we needed to call AAA NOW NOW NOW, or preferably 10 minutes ago, and get her car unlocked NOW and I gotta go. Click. That is a fairly accurate translation--minus the hysteria. Motherhood.
Gee whiz, a moment earlier I had been holding a precious little cooing 5 month old baby and now I had been hurled into adolescent hyperspace with my teeth on edge and my hands gripping the steering wheel like a vise. Now that I think of it, I think I may have been clutching that steering wheel the same way I held on for dear life on that horrific roller coaster ride at Williamsburg that my children (and my friend JoAnna) shamed me into riding. The same head pounding, stomach twisting, panicked-hysteria. The things we do for our children.
My lovely day of getting a lot of chores accomplished, cleaning out clutter, catching up on some notes, laundry, reading the Word, and writing... well, instead I raced to Broughton High School to await the AAA guy to come unlock the car of the-child-who-shall-not-be-named and then somehow or other get the keys to him/her (don't want to give away anything here--but if you know my family, well then, you totally know whom I'm talking about). The fellow in the tow truck raced down the strip where all the high schoolers cars are parked, and I hope to heavens no high school kids were watching or my children may have to transfer, but I jumped out of the car and went running down the strip trying to catch him and yelling, "Hey, hey, right here!! Stop! It's me!"
Yes, go ahead and laugh. Dignity is the middle name for all us mothers. We get used to wearing baby spit-up on our tee shirts or eating left-over chicken nuggets from our children's plates or having dark circles under our eyes or wearing the same dirty socks from yesterday or frantically yelling our child's name in Target or concealing that ever so slight pouch in our stomachs. Or running down a strip of cars full of high schoolers.
After managing to stop the very nice but speeding tow truck guy (how about "You go, girl" right here! Yes, again, we mamas can stop speeding tow trucks!), we calmly proceeded to the parking lot to her.... NO CAR!!! O my stars! If there was a DEFCON Negative 1, this would be it! My child was now in class and the tow truck fella looked at me like I was an insane middle-aged out-of-it mom... which I was and am proud of it, too. I frantically texted my child nice calm things like "NO CAR!!! WHERE IS THE CAR!! NEED TO KNOW NOW!!" And a mili-second later, "CAR! WHERE IS THE CAR?!!" hmm, wondering where she gets if from? I'm guessing the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
As the increasingly irritated tow truck guy glared at me, my child called me back and told me that it was parked in front of a fast food place at the nearby shopping center (upper classmen can eat off campus lunch). Somehow I had missed that small detail in the middle of the DEFCON 1 rant. Sigh. So the long-suffering, now probably irate, tow truck guy and I race over to the shopping center--at lunchtime mind you--to find her car. We drive around a bit amidst heavy traffic and, when we finally locate it, there are, of course, no parking spaces within a 10 mile radius. This guy surely despised me by now. But I wasn't thinking very lovely and kind thoughts about my-child-who-shall-not-be-named either. But I'm a mother, so I soldier on, undaunted and determined to get those keys.
You're probably already tired of reading this scintillating tale, so suffice it to say, we finally got the car unlocked--even though I had to double park with my lights flashing for a minute or two and had to do another run for the roses in another crowded parking lot, only this time with adults staring at me. I'm pretty sure they were sending the shopping center security after me--but I raced off in the nick of time, triumphant with car keys in hand! The thrill of victory!
And now, I sit and smile at another memory of what it means to be a mom. All those sappy hallmark cards and tear jerker commercials? Ha! Just once, I wish they would show a real mom--frazzled, exhausted, overwhelmed, discouraged, anxious, but also excited, joyous, proud, blessed, grateful beyond all reason. Thankful--even for the DEFCON 1 phone calls. Thankful even when the laundry piles up or the mail piles up or the tears pile up. Thankful even when the days are long... for the years are short. Thankful even with the mess and the noise and the ingratitude and the daily grind. For each of our children truly are priceless, infinitely treasured gifts from an extravagant Father. They are loaned to us for an all too short time, and, O, how we love them, even when they make us crazy. For they also make us want to be better than we are: to love more unselfishly, to speak with more kindness, to be wiser and stronger and holier. They drive us to our knees... and that is the best place in the world to be, with our gracious, glorious, all powerful Heavenly Father.
He knows what it feels like to have sometimes ungrateful, clueless children--but children forever beloved and precious beyond all reason. And He knows what it is to love unconditionally... He sent His Son, His only perfect Son, to prove it forever and to save us from our sins and from ourselves. What a Father. What a Savior. What a Love. Help me to love like You love, Father. I might be tired and frazzled and frantic, but I am Yours. And my children--they are Yours too. Thank You for the inestimable gift of children. All your gifts are so infinitely good and all are evidence of Your amazing grace. For every single one, we simply say, "Thank You, Lord." To God, our perfect, loving, saving, sovereign Father, be all the glory.
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