Gravity pulls sweat dripping off the end of my nose into the cardboard box holding a collection of toy cars, airplanes and motorcycles. Hunching over, hands pushed into my thighs, I stare into what represents a decade of my son’s childhood, frozen by a question circling my thoughts. How do you begin to determine the value of a memory?
How will I remember each era of their lives if I discard the items that awaken what time forgot?
The sweat of my brow turns into salty tears and instead of the fortitude of a soldier on mission; I am a mother remembering her children. Standing in the midst of a victorious battlefield of memories I grasp for remnants of His faithfulness.
Trust is painfully beautiful like a mother watching her children journey into adulthood. This is what God is teaching me as I prepare to move to England.
“Hey Mom,” she calls to me from a crack in the door bringing a gust of cool air with her into the concrete cavern. “I was wondering if you might want to go shopping with me. I know you are in the middle of all this, so we can go tomorrow if that works better.”
My brave beautiful girl who rarely asks anything of me throws out a simple request in the midst of my silent questioning, in the middle of my mess, in a moment of longing. I respond in the way any mother might envision while on the cusp of letting go of her only daughter to the sacred passage of maturity.
“Sure honey, I would love to go with you.”
Isn’t shopping the answer to exactly one million things asking for your attention? Because, of course.
And when sweat drips down my collarbone and pools over my heart, collecting in the middle place where her dimpled hands once clutched my chest, I hear these words push their way passed stress and speak truth into my self-doubt.
You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. (Isaiah 26:3)
I am a soldier cleaning up a beautiful battlefield strewn with markers of God’s faithfulness. Of spiritual wars fought on behalf of my children who were entrusted to my leadership for such a time as this. The heavenlies will be my attic; the mind of Christ, the divine holding place for memories. Eternal significance cannot be contained or measured, only discovered in glimpses through the sacrament of presence.
“What time do you want to plan on leaving,” I inquire as I wash my hands over the kitchen sink.
“Whenever it’s good for you Mom,” she answers from her bedroom.
“I’ll be ready in about an hour.”
As we sort, pack, consign, discard and entertain potential buyers for our cars and house, I’ll be posting less frequently here this month. Did I mention a writing deadline for my book? However, I will continue communicating through my weekly epistle to the Sabbath Society community, which has turned into a beautiful conversation, a co-mingling of faith, life and resting in His goodness. Sign up here if you are interested, you are always welcome.
Celeste is the winner of last week’s giveaway of Atlas Girl by Emily Wierenga. Congrats!!