My baby turns twenty this week. How can it be? I remember decades ago, someone in the church we were then attending inviting me to a junior high parents' gathering. Why, I asked myself quite sincerely, would they be asking me to join a group called Parents of Teens? It actually took a few minutes to realize that I resembled that remark. I would soon be the mother of, not one but, two teens! Now, here I am, twenty-eight years later, having survived. Is there a medal? A badge of courage? A notation in the Guinness Book of Records for most consecutive years mothering teens?
Not that it was a negative. I have never believed in labels like the "terrible twos" nor the bad press often clumped on teens as a group. Nonetheless, there are commonalities, predictable frays and hormones to fit every season. I recall one of my biggest fears being that we would have toddlers and teens in the house at the same time as menopause. It happened. We made it. But....
....SWOOSH!
Those twenty-eight consecutive years of parenting teens seem like a blur. I have not even begun to do the math on the number of teen-agers we had dwelling in the same household at any given time.
I recently paged through a journal from thirty-some years ago when our oldest sons were toddlers. The entry: "No matter what happens later in life, should you disappoint us, (as we all do with one another), you have made us very happy today." I smiled, remembering my naïveté as a young mom. Even though I knew our sons were a gift from God, a sacred trust, and that they were not my own but only loaned for a little while, did I really think they were here to make me "happy"? While our stated goal in parenting was that each child would grow "to love The Lord with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind", is that the take-away with which they left home?
Recently, one of our adult children disappointed me. Hugely. I mean, my heart ached and I dab at tears even now, just thinking about it. The issue was not illegal, immoral or financially devastating. Their decision, not mine to make, was so counter, though, to what had been taught, what had been modeled, what we embrace. I was not happy. I am not happy still. So am I just as immature as I was all those years ago as a fledgling mama? No, I will not throw myself under the bus, but instead thank The Lord for loving me even when I make choices that certainly do not make Him happy. I will thank Him for moment-by-moment grace to get out of the way so that my adult kids can hear from Him.
Even though we consciously gave our kids back to The Lord at birth, at their dedication, at their first overnight camp, at graduation, in marriage, I sometimes feel a need to pop up when it seems like God is not coming through loud and clear. That's why no one calls me the "still, small voice", by the way. They already know what I think. I can trust you, God, to use consequences for their indiscretions or excesses or poor judgement to draw them to you, to your Word, to your wisdom that is ageless, timeless, not old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy like me. Help me, in my attitudes, to convey the love and acceptance that woos them through the Holy Spirit to You.
So I am thinking at this juncture in time when the basketball is no longer swishing through the hoop (I could hear that ball bouncing and those dribble drills in my sleep for many years) that swoosh sounds a bit like the rush of wings. Swoosh also sounds a bit like hush. As teenager-hood has swooshed through our home, a hush a fallen. No longer need I parrot reminders to make beds or complete homework, to reduce speed when driving in the rain, to remember who you are and Whose you are, to wake up, to look others in the eye when you shake their hands, to remember grandparents, to choose the best over the good, to wear a sweater when I am cold. I am hushed. My daily pray is that they have learned to hear from You.
Nike, that winged goddess of victory, according to Greek mythology, sat beside Zeus, the ruler of the Olympic pantheon. Her mystical presence, symbolizing victorious encounters, presided over history's earliest battlefields. The symbol has come to represent new levels of mastery and achievement. The swoosh embodies the spirit of the most courageous and chivalrous warriors. In a much more spiritual sense, Lord, I am asking You to call our kids higher, to raise them up as victorious warriors for your Kindgom purposes.
Those who wait for The Lord will gain new strength;
They will mount up with wings like eagles,
And hush me so they can hear from You.
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