Sunday, October 5, 2014

Inspiration for the Days It's Difficult to Mother A Son...

 She leans back in her chair and
I catch her eyes as they start to overflow.


And so they should.

 Because standing there is a man, 
a man who sprouted and grew inside of her,
 spilling words of blessing from his heart. 

And I squeeze her arm and whisper real slow, 
“That is YOUR son.
 His conviction is a reflection of your heart. 
Thank you for doing such an incredible job raising him.”
And she’s strong, so she keeps her wet eyes from spilling over.  But as she watches him, she smiles wide.

And I know her well, because I know him well.  

I know the truth that every good, mighty man is the labor of a devoted mother. 

That boys are designed by a warrior God
to be wild at heart. 

That a committed husband does not grow by chance,
he is the fruit of a selfless woman who poured unconditional love into him from the day
he first breathed life.
That a boys spirit should never be tamed.
Each son should be celebrated. 
Celebrated fully.

For in every young boy,
 lies the very essence of the heart of God. 

That mothering can be tough,
and we are fallen and ill-equipped to raise men, but our calling suddenly become easier when we do it from our knees.
I've learned from my husband's mother that she could not raise men on her own. 

Nor can I.

That raising a good, faithful man is impossible without the help of Jesus and the support of a band of family who loves the Heavenly Father passionately. 
He’s still toasting, telling boyhood stories about a cousin and best friend and raising a glass inviting us to join in.

I glance at her again.

See how deeply her heart swells as watches him.
Even now, as he navigates his third decade of life, she continues to be at his side for every big moment. 

Because a mother, a true mother,
 is her son's number one eternal witness.

 And now it’s my turn. 
My chance to raise a boy into a man.
I bite my lip and my eyes tear,
silently praying one day our boy will grow
to be a strong man, just like his father.

And his father's father.

For all three wild hearts bear the same name.

The name David. 

Have you read his story?
His saga has plot twists that put
 every primetime television drama to shame.

He was ruddy and courageous, strong and seductive.
He fought deeply and chased hard.
His heart was tender and torn.
He messed up big, but was forgiven much.

But despite all of the dips of his story,
all of the dark sin and wrong turns,
David goes down in history for one reason...

He was a warrior King.
A King who had the very heart of God.
I look up at my husband, and I see our son in him.
And I close my eyes and feel us there. 

My only boy and me a few days ago in the backyard. 
 Alone, in the quiet of the afternoon, we start up the lawn mower and he asks if he can climb up on my lap. 
 It’s warm. 
And he’s close. 

And we laugh as we see a dragonfly scurry by. 
I answer questions and give him wet kisses and hold him tight. We take our time as we plow around. 

And these beautiful moments seem to still the clock.

 I take him in, all of him. 

I breathe him in; 
knowing this time is fleeting and it will just be a blink until he is too big to melt inside my lap. His calics, his smell, his sweet voice. The way he puts his cheek on mine and hangs on every word I say.  All treasures. All gifts from God.
Surely, holding him in this moment,
surely THIS must be a glimpse of what it will be like to finally rest in the Father's heavenly lap.

This temporary joy must be what it's like to sit
in God's eternal presence.
He wears his Dad’s watch, places his tiny hands in mine. 
 “I’ll drive soon,” he tells me.  
 “When I’m big, Mama….One day I’ll be just like Dada. 
And then you can sit on my lap.
Then Mama, I'll drive YOU around.” 
And I look at this wild heart, the one who grew and kicked inside me, his legs still too small to reach the pedals,
and my voice catches in my throat.

Because I am reminded that although some of these Mama-days can seem so long and exhausting and sometimes I just want to throw
my hands up and surrender...
the years will go by oh-so quickly. 
 And I open my eyes and we are still in this wedding room. My husband continues to share about this beautiful new couple as they vow to begin this journey of love together.

He's still clutching the microphone.
I smile wide at him.
 This best friend, who I feel in love with
so many years ago, at the age of 15.
 The one who's unconditional vow has changed me forever.
His love has made me a mother.

And I reach and squeeze her shoulder again. 

Because it's my husband's mother,
who taught him how to love me.
How to selflessly and wholeheartedly
give himself away.

 So I lean in close and whisper to her, 
“I just can’t imagine…can’t imagine what it will be like, 
what HE will be like, 
when Tripp's hands are bigger than mine. 
My prayer is that one day your grandson, your husband's namesake, will have a heart like his father. ” 

And again she nods. 
Because she knows.

 Even though her sons now tower well over six feet tall, 
and are brood-shouldered, and strong;
 she remembers what it was like to watch them
break through her body and into this life.

She heard their first cry and gave them their first nourishment from her breast. 

It was in her arms where these boys found comfort.
 Even though she carried, bore, and labored two sons;
she has adopted and mothered so many more.

Because good mothers are like that. 
They see life, they see a child's need, and they give. 
Because they understand just how much
Jesus Christ has given to them.

 She knows what it’s like to rock baby boys to sleep and kiss dirty, scraped knees. She remembers packing their first lunch boxes and pulling all-nighters to finish “due tomorrow” science fair projects.  She knows how much a Mama’s heart stretches as she watches her boy's slumped shoulders after he fouls out of the his final high school basketball game.
She was there when he got hurt on the football field.

She's celebrated every fish caught.
She witnessed the way two brothers and 
their cousin-brother grew up to become best friends.
 She has wept on end for the sons who
said good-bye far too early to their own Dads. 

She tells stories to her boys,
keeping alive their Fathers' memories.

Telling them they do good by the Dauses family name.

  She's prayed every day for the women who would one day vow to serve and love her own flesh,
 as passionately as she does.
And she's encouraged me to keep my mission of motherhood at the forefront when I've confided that on some days this vocation seems just too darn hard.

Her mothering inspires me on the days I find it difficult to mother a son...

That yes, Lord willing, 
the day will come when my son's hands 
will be bigger than mine.

When he will tower over me
and maybe even over his Father.
But until then,
 I have the daily privilege of helping
mold a boy into a man.

A man who has a heart like David.

Lord willing, the very heart of the Heavenly King. 
1 Samuel 16:7
"The LORD does not look at the things people look at.
People look at the outward appearance,
but the LORD looks at the heart."

Psalm 23:6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.