I hope I'm not talking to you.
This morning I found a letter Zach wrote. Such a sweet, kind, loving boy who I can't ever hug again. Reading it opened the steel door I struggle to keep locked against a pain that almost murders me. Missing Zach sucks the breath out of me and panic hits as I gasp and can't fill my lungs - over and over this keeps happening. How can this be real? How did I miss so much of his life by doing what I thought was right for his tomorrows, pulling out a measuring stick and trying to keep up with all those subjects and activities and classes that all those other mothers were doing. Trust me. The stick never stacked up in my favor, and moms, it won't ever stack up in yours. Hell.
When my kids were small, we spent hours on the couch reading. Just reading. Bible stories, funny stories, learning stories. Just reading. Something went terribly wrong when I fell into the world of measuring sticks.
You can say I'm not right. You can try to believe that what you're doing would fill your broken heart if your child died. Those books, workbooks, math problems, novels you think are so important mean nothing if your kid is dead. Do you think you would relish the memories of forcing one more page of reading, one more vocabulary word, one more chess match, one more volleyball game, one more rush to on your mark, get set, go, frantic here and there to get your kids to a place you think they should be? Measure. Measure. Measure.
I hope I'm not talking to you.
Where's God in the mix? Do you spend as much time in the Bible as you speed around in your car spending "quality time" with those kids? Are you being still enough to even KNOW God's plan or show your kids that to know God He says BE STILL, or are you writing your own book of Proverbs? I was writing mine, racing to fill hours to bring about "smart" in my kid. The measuring stick beats me bloody now. Being still seemed like wasted opportunity to get my kids to smart. I'd take illiterate, mathless, mispellings, and ignorance in my child to have him back. I'll wager you would too.
I hope I'm not talking to you.
Pay attention. I am right. Those roads to smart wouldn't fill your broken heart.
Do it now.
Hug your kids.
Stop worrying about their tomorrows. God is bigger than you and knows the plans He has for them. Pull out His measuring stick and USE IT. Have some fun. Rejoice in God's book instead of school books that aren't getting anybody to heaven. Smile. Laugh. Play. Bake some cookies. Slip and slide. Have a hot dog eating contest. Get some Silly String. Blow bubbles. Buy yourself an air-soft gun and get pinged and feel life. Dig in the sand. Have a water gun fight. Go outside and play chase. Sweat with them. Stink with them. Live in the moments with your kids. You only get one chance, and you'll never know how long God has blessed you with them. Or don't. Or don't and relish all those roads to smart you race down and all the moments for smiles you leave behind. Do you want your kids to do to their kids what you are doing to yours? So hard to stop that push push push to "smart." I'm so darn guilty. Don't be me. Smart doesn't fill my broken heart.
I hope I'm not talking to you.
Do you deceive yourself into believing that all you rush around trying to fill your kid up with would comfort you as you lower that kid into a hole in the ground. Curl up with all that racing and count all those times "HURRY UP" was said more often than "I love you" in a day.
I hope I'm not talking to you.
You can't walk in my shoes. These are golden nuggets from a broken heart that can't be filled with all that smart I worked so hard to impart to my boy. Those memories don't comfort. Put down your measuring sticks and pick up your kids. Or don't...
I hope I'm not talking to you.
