My son's prayer

How do I measure how I'm doing as a parent?

Is it how healthy my son eats?  How well-mannered he is?  Is he keeping up with his peers socially and academically?   Does he exhibit empathy for others?   If his clothes don't match on picture day, does that count against me?  If he isn't reading on his grade level, am I failing him?  Do I fall short in spending quality time with him?  Do I hug and kiss him too much?

Mothers have these thoughts.  We do.  We don't like to admit it, because it makes us sound like neurotic over-thinkers.  But that's not really the case (at least, most of the time).  We just love our babies, and we want them to be successful.

I've come a long way in giving myself a break as a mom.  I have realized that I am not perfect, and that's OK (hence the name of my blog).  I live every day in grace, because I have learned something really important.  Something lots of people never really take hold of.   In fact, it's something that skeptics think only the weak can embrace.

But I'm here to tell you, I've never felt stronger.  Wanna know what it is?

First, let me take you back to a day about three years ago when I sat in the kitchen of a female spiritual mentor of mine shortly after my decision to move toward divorce from my then-husband.  I sat with tears streaming down my face, having lost so much weight from stress that a size 2 was too big, utterly devastated with the knowledge that my life as I knew it was over.  My family was broken.  My son would never remember his parents as happy, loving partners.  But there was something I got to learn during that time...FINALLY, completely, down to my core, got to learn.  And this is the gist of what I said to her:

I've been a believer for most of my life, but I never really understood trust in God the way I do now.  I trust Him completely, not because I am brave, or wise.  It is because I have no other choice.  I am at the end of myself.  I realize that the only way I can survive this is to rely on Him one second at a time, because I literally don't know how to get to to the next one without Him carrying me.  I don't have any strength left...none.  And now, when I should feel like I'm about to fall off the edge of a cliff and never find my way out, I feel at peace.  Because I know that the fact that I am still standing is only possible because God is holding me up.  So you know what?  I'm glad.  I'm glad this is happening to me.  Because some people live their whole lives in utter confusion trying to do everything in their own power.  But I get to find this out at 37, and not when I'm gasping for my last breath at 85.  So I'm thankful.

So now, we fast forward to the woman I am today, at this point in my journey.  My life is infinitely happier than it was when I sat on that bar stool in my friend's kitchen.  I literally can't believe how God has blessed my life in so many ways since then.  Because of that, I am a very thankful person. 

And most importantly, I am always mindful of the fact that I am totally and completely screwed without Jesus.  That's the thing I learned.  It doesn't sound like a deep spiritual truth.  It doesn't rhyme.  It's not on one of those e-card things that people post on Facebook.  But oh, my friends, please believe me when I say that there is nothing truer.

Some days I feel like I am missing the mark as a parent.  The only quality time I may get with my son is when I sit with him to his homework.  I may give him a hot dog and gummies for dinner.  He may go a weekend without real time with his friends because I wasn't organized enough to think ahead and plan a play date. 

But in the end, I pray that I am living my life in such a way that my son will know at the center of his being that there is a God in heaven who will carry him through every single thing that happens to Him until his dying day...and as such, He can be trusted.

A little less than a year ago, my son was diagnosed with ADD.  Kindergarten was a struggle that I can't fully convey.  My very agreeable, very respectful child came home with low marks for behavior and sad faces from art and PE teachers.  Homework resembled some sort of slow torture for him as well as his dad and me.  He would cry almost Sunday night in anticipation of the coming school week, saying that he didn't want to learn...that learning made him sad.  After pushing for in-school testing, we were able to have him approved for learning in a small group setting for approximately half his day.  Things got somewhat better after that...but still, it was a difficult time.  Any parent will tell you that there is nothing more heartbreaking than to watch your child struggle so and lose his joy over something you cannot control.

We tried medication.  While it helped somewhat, he began to lose weight from a lack of appetite.  We eventually decided to take him off the medicine when we started to see the hip bones jutting out on our already thin child.

I began trying some supplements over the summer.  I felt like he was improving, but it was hard to tell in a summer camp setting, when no real structure or workload was imposed on him.  The real test would come when he started first grade. 

And here we are...almost two months into the school year.  And amazingly, my little trooper is receiving rave reviews.  He receives above-average behavior ratings several times a month.  He does his homework almost completely independently, and he is reading at his grade level now.  He received a behavior reward for "Respect" in a school assembly just two weeks ago.

To which I say...I don't know what happened.  All I can say is that I am both astounded and thankful.  There's no one factor that can definitively explain the change in my son's ability to perform at school.  It's probably a combination of lots of things.  But I can tell you that I pray about this issue with my son.  We lift it up to God's hands to help him through his day.  When we pray, I say, "we can't do it without You, Jesus!"  Because we can't.  I know this from experience. 

Now that I've framed this story properly, I want to share my son's prayer at bedtime tonight...and my measuring stick as a parent became a bit clearer as a result:

Dear Jesus, thank you for a good day.  I trust you to help me sit quietly when it's time.  You help me to listen to my teachers and do what they say when they say it just once.  Thank you.

I walked out of his room completely humbled.  My baby trusts Jesus completely...with something that may just represent the biggest struggle in his six-year-old existence.

Maybe I'm doing OK after all.

5 adorable things my kid said this week

Well, there are only so many posts you can make on Facebook about cute little things your kids say without someone somewhere starting to roll their eyes.  So, I'm putting them on my blog instead for the people that really care to know these things.  And I am going to list them countdown-style like Letterman...just for kicks.

5.  I was annoyed because someone left a small flyer on my windshield and I didn't notice it until I had already pulled out onto the road.  He asked me why I didn't pull it off, and I said I would have to wait until we stopped the car.  As we passed Zaxby's, he suggested, "You could pull over into this Zax-ophone's parking lot and do it." 

4.  After getting out of the car the other day, we stopped to pet our cat, Georgie.  "She needs a friend.  Don't coyotes really like cats?" he asked.  "Um, not in that way.  They like to eat cats,"  I replied.  He thought about that for a minute, then said.  "Not the coyotes around here, Mom.  They speak a different language.  Like Spanish or something."  Six-year-old logic is staggering in its complexity.

3.  He has been asking for a dog for a while now.  As this is not something that is financially feasible for us at the moment, we brainstormed this morning about some other options.  "How about a cockroach?" he suggested.  "I like how they have those wiggly things that come out of their nose." (antennae)  Um, no.

2.  A couple of days ago, I spotted him walking out of his room with a button-down shirt, a ball cap and a fanny pack on.  He said, "Well, I've got some dilligrams (telegrams) here that I need to deliver to our neighbors.  Wanna come?"  He opened the fanny pack and showed me some slips of paper with his name on them.  "So this is the message you are sending to everyone?  Your name?"  I asked to clarify.  "Of course," he replied, "because they are going to want to know who I am."

1. His teacher stopped me yesterday to tell me this one.  He and his classmates went to the pool, and were standing in a particularly long line on the concession stand.  When it was finally his turn to order, he stepped up and said to the woman at the window, "I just want to say thank you for your service today."  His teacher said that the woman almost started crying and asked where in the world this sweet little boy came from. 

I know just what she means.

It is...He didn't...we are...and I am

So, as most of you know from my extensive anticipatory Facebook posts over the previous two weeks, I am at the beach.  BY MYSELF.  There's a first for everything, and this is one of those things that has been on my personal to-do list for quite some time.

There is a rather large number of women out there that would never attempt a vacation by themselves.  This is because we are...well, women.  Women are generally very social creatures that love to talk.  A lot.  To men, to each other, and if you're a wierdo like me, to ourselves.  So vacationing alone means you've got to be able relax into the silence, which can be a challenge.  Also, there tends to be a bit of trepidation for us when considering traveling alone because of the everyday dangers for women in the world because of bush-lurkers.  You know, the bad people who lurk behind bushes and prey on women who have the nerve to be out in the world alone at any given time.

Then, there is a smaller percentage of women that aspire to take a vacation alone, but either never get around to it or chicken out.   This aspiration usually exists in 1) women under 25 with limited responsibility and more disposable income, or 2) in mothers who are overworked, overtired, under-appreciated and generally needed by someone, somewhere, at any given moment of the day.  To the former group the prospect of a vacation alone sounds adventurous, empowering, and presents opportunities to meet interesting men outside of your social circle.  To the latter, it holds appeal because it involves hours and hours of complete silence, eating warm food while sitting down, and actually choosing to watch a movie that was not made by Pixar.  Oh, and peeing without a miniature person walking in to have a conversation with you.  That's a plus.

Then there is the small number of women in whose company I now reside...the ones that make it happen.  Even if it means eating peanut butter and jelly the whole time you're actually on that vacation because just the fuel to get there is so dadgum expensive.  Even if you only get ten paid days off per year, which you really feel like you should save to use for quality time with your family or emergencies.  Even if you miss your kid like crazy.  Even if you know the nights may feel a little lonelier than they do in your own house.  I'm not complaining, mind you...because I am downright ecstatic that I am here right now.  I'm just saying that it's not an easy thing to pull off, and tempting to talk yourself out of.

But sometimes you just really, really need to put yourself in a quiet place to see what you might hear.

First, I just have to say that I love driving long distances by myself.  I enjoy listening to loud music in the car and sing along just as loudly.  I drink coffee and snack way more than I do at home.  I take the long rural routes instead of the Interstates.  I stop by the side of the road to take pictures.  I mosey.  It's downright heavenly.  I did all this, and more, today on my leisurely drive to the Alabama coastline.

I arrived at the beach house at around 6:15 PM and was on the beach by 6:35 PM.   Just in time for sunset hour.  I would usually have a novel on hand to immediately dive into for the weekend -- another rare indulgence for a single mom with very limited free time.   And while I do have the obligatory novel in my suitcase, my foremost goal for this trip is a little different.  I need some focused time with God.

My life has been completely rehashed in the last two years.  And frankly, the only way that I am still in one piece is God.  I know this is true more than I know anything.  But even though I was raised saturated in the teachings of Christ, and my faith permeates all that I am and hope to be as a woman and as a mother, I waiver in my walk...usually without even realizing it.  I struggle with my need to feel some control over my life.  I sometimes have trouble letting God hold all the cards.  Even when I know what my life looks like when I insist on holding onto them myself.

I guess it is just really hard to live by faith all the time.  But that is what we are called to do as believers...so it's something I've got to keep working on.  Or rather, NOT working on.  Because the only way we can really be in His will is to let go.  I have to do my part to make smart decisions that line up with God's Word of course, but then...let go.

As I sat on the beach watching the birds dive for fish this evening, I recalled a day on this same beach about three years ago.  I brought Chatterbox with me on a trip down here shortly after his father and I separated.  At the time, we were still living in the same house due to the fact that I could not find work to support myself...and it was an incredibly stressful experience as I was forced to process what next steps may be coming without the benefit of a real step back from the situation.

I remembered watching my three-year-old son run back and forth from water to the sand, making little piles in some sort of pattern that made sense to him.  Suddenly, I was filled with grief as I considered the very real possibility that I would never again share a moment like that with my son's father.  I would never sit with him on a vacation and laugh about our son's silly little antics, holding hands...making plans...being a family.  I was going to have to learn how to be alone...in my finances, in life decisions, and in how to be there for my son as a single parent for the million important things that would happen in his young life.  But in that moment of grief and fear, God spoke to my heart very clearly.

This is going to be hard.  But I won't let you break.  You are both going to be OK.  You will experience many more beautiful moments like this with your son -- and be happy.

Fast forward to today.

It is really hard.  But He didn't let me break.  We are both OK...and I AM happy.

God keeps His promises.  He knows what He is doing.  So maybe letting go is not such a bad thing after all.

What love requires

Most of you are aware that I recently decided to pursue a second college degree in the area of Child Life (under the umbrella of Human Development and Family Studies).  It was a surprisingly easy decision to make once I felt sure that I had found the field that I could be passionate about for the rest of my (working) life.  

One of my lofty goals for this weekend was to complete my "personal statement," or essay, to include with my application to the programs I am interested in.  It was no surprise that the sermon at church today provided me with just the right inspiration to frame the subject matter.  Keep in mind this is not a final draft, but I thought I'd post it as a blog entry for your enjoyment.

As a candidate for this program, I feel inclined to share my answer to a question I have heard more than once since making my decision to pursue a second college degree.  The answer to the question is better understood in the context of its preceding and following statements, as typically heard in response to my description of what may be expected of me as a Child Life Specialist.

“That is SO perfect for you!  But are you SURE this is really what you want to do?  Because there is no way I could do it. ”

It is a fair question, and one that deserves an answer from not only me, but every candidate who chooses to enter the field of Child Life.   After all, not every person has the desire, wherewithal, and emotional stamina to stand alongside children ensconced in a battle that brings every parent’s worst nightmare to life.

Thousands of families are faced with unspeakable journeys of pain every day as children are diagnosed with chronic or terminal illness.   I have gained some life experience in this area, some direct and some indirect.   As a child, my best friend’s sister died of leukemia at the age of seven.  Our families were very close…even our mothers were best friends.  In fact, not a day went by when we were not all together in some capacity.   Abbie’s long battle with cancer reverberated throughout my childhood as a lesson in bravery, loss, and how life, however inconceivably, goes on.

I have also experienced this journey through the eyes of the elderly and their adult children while working for a home care company.   The experience of standing shoulder to shoulder with families facing the end of their loved ones’ journeys has been one of the most rewarding of my life.   With so many factors out of their control, I was able to use my knowledge and objectivity to assist them in taking control of the decisions within their power while accepting the truths that were not.

Finally, my answer can be summed up by answering a different question altogether, as heard today from a man that I greatly admire and respect.  The question was, “What does love require of you?”   While each person’s answer will be different, here is mine.

Love requires that I model the life choices that I hope my son will someday make.  As such, I must choose a career that utilizes my true passions, increases my financial stability and, above all, enables me to affect others in a positive, life-changing way.  Love requires that I use my life experiences to help someone survive theirs.  Love requires that I choose to walk through the valley of the shadow of death with someone who didn’t get to choose to be there.

So, in a word…yes.  I am sure this is what I want to do.

Sanctuary

You may recall a post I did some months ago in which I invited you to join me in one of my twilight runs on a closed road not far from my home.  I have visited this stretch of road countless times in the last 20 months as not only a place to get some exercise, but a sanctuary to escape the chaos of my life.

You see, I live in a densely populated suburb of Atlanta, and a road to run on without the smell of exhaust or the sound of cars whizzing by is difficult, if not impossible, to find.  When I first moved to this area, it was not unusual to go on my walk there and never see another person or car.  But as time has passed and more people began to discover its level pavement, great view and gift of peace and quiet, it was not unusual to see 3 or 4 folks in varied stages of their walks along this route.  But it is still downright blissful.

It is appropriate to add at this point that I am now a preschool teacher, and most of you already know I have a very active, very talkative five-year-old.  So moments of real quiet are a gift that I do not take for granted.

A few months back, I started hearing murmurings of a new developer coming to pick up where the last one left off on the huge plot of acreage that adjoins this road.  That could only mean one thing.  My sanctuary's days were numbered.  Construction would soon begin, and inevitably, the city officials would have no other option than to finish off this road and open it to traffic.   Of course, that only makes sense.  It will likely make a significant impact on lessening congestion on the two heavily-traveled roads it intersects.  But from a purely selfish perspective, I felt sad knowing that I would only have so many more runs on this stretch of road -- at least in its current state.

Then we heard the news...the road will reopen this Monday.

With the dreaded event looming, Chatterbox joined in the pouting.  He rides his bike up and down this road often after school with me walking alongside him, talking about our day and pretending to be on a treasure hunt.  As a mom, not having to worry about a car whipping out of nowhere has allowed me to enjoy this time together without being hyper-vigilant.  Friday we ventured out on what would undoubtedly be our last bike ride together on that road.  This is how our conversation went:

"Mom, we don't want the road to be open, right?"

"No, we don't."

"Well, let's talk to these workers right here (points to two men putting up a road sign) and tell them not to open it.  They will understand.  Let's go..."

"Ummm...it doesn't really work like that, buddy."

"Why?"

"Well it's not their decision.  They are just doing their job."

"Then who makes the decision?"

"You know how Whoville had a mayor in that movie?  Well, our city has a mayor too and I imagine that is the person who makes the final decision."

"Ok, well is the mayor still in his office?  Let's go now..."

If life were only that simple.

Then, I said my goodbyes yesterday on my final solo run.  As I listened to the rhythm of my feet on the pavement, I thought of the many conversations I had with God here.  How I spent time working through my own garbage before I tossed it out.  How I spent every pace of some runs just...listening.  Listening to hear what He might have to say.  About everything.  My fears, my job, my goals, my desperation for healing...absorbing His goodness, wisdom, and peace.

Understanding more than ever His greatness...and my smallness.  And how despite that disparity, He loves and cherishes me...even more than I cherish my own son.

Stick with me for a sec, because I don't want to lose you if you're not really a religious kind of person.  If you ever REALLY get that...if you let that into your being and process it, at least as much as we can process that kind of information...it will change your reality.  God will no longer be a concept, or something for other people...something for later when you have kids, or a subject to debate about over a glass of wine.  It is a knowledge that, once known, will forever alter who you are.  As a parent, I don't understand a love that can supersede what I feel and experience every day for my own child.  But I'll tell you what -- if there is a love like that to be found...and I believe with my whole heart that there is...I want it.  I need it.  Because that is a game-changer.  No matter what I do, no matter how much I fail or how much I succeed...no matter how far I run away from it, and even if I cease to accept it...He will love me.

Love changes everything.

This is why I know that if my sanctuary is taken away, God will make sure I find a new one.  You might have heard this little ditty: when God closes a door, He opens a window.  Many of us have experienced this in our lives...how we go through a season of darkness and we cannot see a way around it, over it or even through it, but somehow God makes a way.  Or how people seem to drift in and out of our lives for no good reason...other than they are exactly what we needed in that one specific season of our lives.

You know how when a certain subject comes up multiple times in a few days, and you get the feeling that somebody's trying to tell you something?  Well, the subject of manna is the headline of late for me.  Do you know what manna is?  Exodus tells the story of how God once fed the nation of Israel by causing manna, or a kind of edible substance that could be made into bread, to fall from the sky as they wandered in the wilderness.

Anyway, some of the folks got smart and tried to gather up enough to store, because they were living in fear of tomorrow.  Despite the fact that they had exactly what they needed to survive today.  I can just hear their inner dialogue:  "What if manna doesn't fall tomorrow?  Then I'll be hungry.  My kids will be hungry.  This Moses guy is nothing but trouble..."

But you know what happened?  The stored food went bad.  Fast.  And God got a little peeved with His people.  Because their actions were a reflection of their lack of faith.  Faith that He knew what they needed, and would provide it when they needed it.  Never early.  Never late.  Just in time.

He's got it under control.  And if I still need a physical version of a sanctuary to receive certain revelations from God, I'm fairly certain I will find one.  Because He loves me.  No big theological points to make here.

He just...loves me.


So, I will not say goodbye to my sanctuary.  See you 'round seems more appropriate.

The bird's-eye view of my sanctuary yesterday evening

Beautiful Death

Something I loved died today.

I woke up and got ready as I would do any other day, keeping in mind that I had an important appointment to attend.  I showered and drank my coffee in silence -- no TV or music to accompany my routine on this day.  I dressed appropriately for the occasion, although I made my wardrobe choices unconsciously.  Donning dark gray pants and a gray on gray striped sweater, I walked outside to find that the world was covered in the thickest fog I have ever seen in daylight.  As a result, I prepared myself for a possibly tense drive over the next hour or so to my destination during the always excruciating Atlanta rush hour.

I began my drive with a local radio station, and found that it was a bit too chipper for my mood.  I instead hit the button to switch to the CD in the player, a collection of piano concertos.  Better.  I tried to keep my mind blank as I drove through the blanket of mist.  But after about 20 minutes of that, I knew I needed to let myself be in the moment of what would happen today, and what it would finally mean.

I was on my way to a courthouse where a total stranger would sign a piece of paper that says what I have known for longer than I care to admit...my marriage is over.  Legally...officially...over.

I have had to fight a battle I never could have anticipated in a million years to get to this day...sacrificed security, sanity, immeasurable emotional energy and thousands of dollars (some earned, but most borrowed) to make this day a reality.  What a strange irony it has been to fight so hard and invest so much in something that I never, ever wanted.

Have you ever noticed that death is sort of beautiful?  You may understand what I mean if you have ever  lingered at the bedside of someone who is actively dying, especially if it is an elderly person or someone who has had ample time to prepare themselves and their loved ones for their passing.   I have experienced this very thing, and I felt so blessed, so....AWED that I was able to witness and participate in such a sacred journey.

It is a very different experience, however, when you are with someone who has not accepted their time to pass, or someone who is being taken before their time because of a terrible event or accident.  In this circumstance, death is a violent thing to watch...so many people fighting to save a body that has already declared that it has finished its work and has nothing left to give.  Sometimes death is cheated; but, more often, it is only delayed.  The body knows when it's time to go -- you can talk to any hospice nurse and they can tell you this is true.  The appetite disappears, because digestion becomes impossible.  Vitals slow and organs shut down.   The person will often claim to have conversations with loved ones who have already passed, or even talk about leaving for a trip, sleeping with their legs swinging over the side of the bed, as if ready to jump up at a moment's notice.  Natural death, when left to its own progression, can be quite peaceful.  Everything inside the body finally just goes to sleep.

It is when we seek to force something that is dying to soldier on in the land of the living that things get ugly.

As I drove, I thought about my marriage, and the dream it represented.   I mentally flipped through snapshots of the day this dream was born -- my wedding day.  Me standing on a soft green lawn in my wedding dress with my father's arm linked through mine, looking down at my grandma's handkerchief in my hand -- it was my "something blue."  Dancing with my new husband, with all the people I loved in the world looking on.

As I watched that young brunette in her beautiful white gown celebrate the birth of her dream, I found myself wondering what I would say to her if I had the chance.  If I could go back in time and tell her anything...anything at all to spare her from the coming pain...what would I say?

The answer came as a surprise.  I would not tell her to stop.  I would not tell her to run away and never look back.  

I would tell her to take off her blinders and see the truth for what it is.  I would tell her that she needs to explore who she is without a man standing next to her.   I would tell her that control is an illusion.  I would say that wanting to be loved and adored are reasonable expectations, and having those expectations do not make her a bad person.  I would tell  her that even when she thinks she doesn't have an ounce of strength left to fight for what she knows is right and true and good, she will find it.

I would tell her that, sometimes, love isn't enough.

Then I would kiss her cheek and send her down the aisle.  Because if I stopped that girl, she wouldn't be the person she is today.  The terrible, wonderful, beautiful mess that she is.  She wouldn't have a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes who makes the sun and stars and planets dim in comparison.  And that would be a far greater tragedy than having to survive every ounce of pain that waits for her.

Death is so painful.  But it is as much a part of life as birth is.  It is also the gateway through which new life emerges.   This theme of death as a means to new life is written into our very existence...in each animal playing its part in the food chain...in the change of the seasons every year...even in the story of our faith.  Doesn't God say that the only way to truly know Him is to "die" to ourselves?  And isn't the pivotal event of the Christian faith - Christ's death on the cross and resurrection - our only means to live eternal life in heaven someday?

I arrived at the courthouse, waited my turn, and with very little fanfare, I was granted a divorce today.  As I sat in my car holding that piece of paper that signified the death of my beautiful dream, I took a mental snapshot of the moment...the texture of the walls in the parking garage, what piece of music was playing on the CD, the dull ache in my chest...and the tears that I expected, but never came.

As I pulled onto the highway toward home, the fog had only lifted to far enough to obscure the tops of the skyscrapers, leaving the last of the fall foliage visible.  In only days, this quilt of amber and sienna covering the city will turn brown and fall to the ground, only to be whisked away by the winter wind.

It is a beautiful death.

Hakuna Matata - not a wonderful phrase

"Oh yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or... learn from it."  Rafiki, The Lion King

I took Chatterbox with me to the movie theater to see the re-release of The Lion King this past Saturday.  It has always been one of my favorite Disney movies, and I couldn't wait to share the experience of watching it with him.  He elected a Starbucks marble pound cake as his treat rather than popcorn, and we smuggled in sodas to attempt to keep me from going into bankruptcy to buy food in the theater.

It was as magical as I had hoped.   He was transfixed the whole time, just as I always was as a child when I went to the movies...soaking in the immensity of the screen, the smell of the popcorn, and the boom-boom of the bass in the soundtrack. 

What I didn't expect was the rush of a forgotten memory....seeing The Lion King live on stage with my mother-in-law some years ago when she was still alive.  We took her and her life partner of 25 years, who I also love dearly, to see it as a thank you for gifting her used SUV to me when she was ready to buy a new one.  It was a good truck, a tank really.  She was always saying how she didn't like the idea of me driving around in my little Ford Escort with all the crazies on 285.  She used to joke that driving in Atlanta was like risking your life on a daily basis.

We lost her to a rare form of Parkinson's around this time two years ago.  And I miss her every single day.

We had a rare relationship that daughters-in-law can only dream of.  We enjoyed an easy rapport with each other, and she was incredibly good to me.  She was quirky and soulful, and loved her two sons like crazy. 

The thing that I respected most about her was that she owned up to her mistakes.  She was very vocal about her shortcomings as a mother in her children's early life...and although she would often frame these comments in a funny story from their childhood, she was adamant that she made innumerable mistakes during those years and always regretted her inability to be there for them in the way she should have been.  I always somehow felt that she said these things within hearing distance of her sons as a way to seek their forgiveness.  As I watched Simba go through his journey of pain and ultimate victory during the film, I was reminded why I loved and respected her so much -- for her willingness to tell the truth...and how facing her demons helped to transform her into the loving, nurturing person I knew her to be. 

I marinated with my memories of her and other weightier issues as the movie concluded, its central themes taking on a more profound message than when I first watched it years ago.  I recognized in Scar the most heinous of enemies, and maybe the greatest Disney villain ever...the way he orchestrated an "accident" to kill his own brother then lied convincingly to a young, impressionable Simba...hissing and whispering a web of shame into Simba's mind...and does it so well that he almost changes the poor cub's destiny to become King.  All for the sake of his own selfish ambition and jealously.  Simba runs...Scar wins...and the entire kingdom suffers for it.

Here's the interesting twist that didn't really hit me until this viewing.  Simba perceived his greatest sin as ultimate responsibility for his father's death.  Of course, it wasn't his fault...the audience is in on the truth.  But what if Mufasa's death had been Simba's fault?  What if he really was responsible in some indirect way?  Was this Simba's greatest sin?  I don't think so.

I think it was the running away part.  That was the true turning point.  The one that could have changed not only his story, but his future children's stories, his mother's story, and the entire kingdom's story.  Running was the easier choice, the faster way to a happy ending.  His life with Pumbaa and Timon in the jungle turned out to be kind of awesome.  Not a care in the world - Hakuna Matata!  Just put your past mistakes out of your mind.  Facing them just makes you feel bad.  It hurts too much -- so Hakuna Matata instead!

Aren't you glad that's not where the story ended?
 

My favorite character in the story is Rafiki.  He comes across as a little nuts, but it turns out he the most sane one in the bunch.  He's the seer, the truth-teller.  He sought Simba out and hit him on the head with the truth of the matter -- literally.  It is a beautiful moment of epiphany as Simba faces the choice of his life.  He can continue his carefree existence, never thinking of the consequences of his past actions...or more importantly, his inaction... and allow those dearest to his heart to continue to reap the disaster he has himself created; or, he can put aside his shame, return home to face his family, tell the truth (whatever the consequences!) and fight for his rightful place on the throne.

Whew.  I don't know about you, but the first one sounds a bit easier.  But that's an illusion -- and Simba recognized it as such.

I'm going to go out on a limb here with a statement.  It applies to men AND women, obviously.  But I feel that I should say something specifically to the men that may run across this blog.  All two of you, anyway.  Because this is really, really important that we get this right for the next generation. 

The world needs more men that will face their mistakes, and do what needs to be done by heading the charge to fix them.  The women and children in your home need that from you.  Your employees need that from you.  Pastors, your church needs that from you.

This means more than putting on your swagger and showing us all how strong you are.   It even means more than saying you're sorry when you mess up. 

That's not good enough.  It takes a bigger man to take it a step further.  It means looking at your family and friends in the eye and telling the truth about where you failed and why, taking responsibility for your actions, facing the consequences head-on and doing the hard work to go about repairing the damage.

I'll go a step further.  It also means busting the news of your mistakes wide open before you are found out by someone else.  That's right...before someone else has to shine the light on the stuff you don't want anyone else to know about.  

This goes against the grain.  I get it.  I really do.  It's a pride thing all mixed together with a shame thing, and the thought of just airing out your business when no one really knows your mistakes to begin with sounds like opening a can of worms for no good reason.  You rationalize, betting on the possibility that no one else may ever find out, then lucky lucky you gets to have his cake and eat it too.

There's one little flaw in that plan.  You know, and God knows...and it's the knowing when you put your head on the pillow at night that will eat away at you, and ultimately make you less of a man...even if no one else ever knows. 

This is not a news flash, friends.  All you have to do is watch CNN covering the good folks in Congress.  Actually, you don't even have to turn on the TV...look at your best friend, your brother, your boss.  This is an epidemic that is running rampant in our world.  The consequences are clear...if you do not take hold of your pride and wrestle it to the ground when it threatens to rule your choices, you will ultimately lose something.  You will lose a friend, or your wife, or your children's respect, or your financial security. 


You may even lose the destiny that had your name written on it before the beginning of time.  I'd say that's a pretty big price to pay for saving face.

Here's the beauty part.  When you step up to the plate and do this, a miraculous thing happens.  The people around you that truly love you will rally and support you through the cleanup of the mess you have made.  You may have to go backward before you go forward.  In fact, I guarantee it.  It will set you back and make you feel as small as an insignificant ant for a while.  But at least you'll be on the right path again instead of going further down a road to nowhere good.

We all make mistakes and we all know how deep down that we'd rather run.  Maybe that is why we are so affected when we see a man who seems to have everything going for him put it all on the line for the sake of his integrity and the people he loves - consequences be damned.  You must believe this...the man who is strong enough to put aside his pride to save his marriage, or his children, or his business, or his church inspires awe and respect when the dust settles and the story is told.  You will become the man that other men look up to, women aspire to love, and children respect.

You may not have all the animals in Africa bow down to you as you stand gazing from a tall precipice or anything.  But living out your true destiny is pretty cool too.