“Grab. Move here, go.”
“This foot’s gonna kick.”
“Step through, bring it down here.”
Thump, thump, slam. “HAH!”
Yeah, I have no idea what any of it means, either. Sorry.
Usually I write from my desk – more on that in a second – but lately I get a lot of writing done during my kids’ martial arts class. At first, the random, sudden shouts of “HAH!” startled me, but now I’m good. If you’ve been reading here throughout the last year, many of the posts and newsletters were drafted from this ugly chair I’m sitting in now while listening to the instructions, thumps, and yells of the class.
The instructor was delayed last week, so the highest-ranking student took charge and challenged one of my kids to lead the class in warmups. No big deal, just tell everyone to do jumping jacks or whatever.
But it required a shift in stance: standing in front of peers instead of next to them. And there was immediate resistance and balking. I tried to repress a smile, and failed.
I know this kid. I know both sides of the challenge and resistance. And after class, I went up to that brown belt student and thanked him for pushing my kid to do hard things.
I resist these things all the time though, too. Dumb things. For example: Because of how the light falls from all the windows in the room, I have wanted to rearrange my office for ages. But I hate rearranging furniture and won’t do it unless it’s absolutely necessary (like when you add a woodstove). Once I have things the way I like them, I like them to stay that way. Don’t we all?
Only, I didn’t really like the way it was. I was settling for what it was out of fear of hating a different arrangement worse.
But we finally switched things around and I love it. Love, love, love it. Should’ve done it years ago. The space fits better, the light falls easier, and I love being in there.
So when Kav’s cast came off a couple weeks ago…well, I have a confession to make. I know this sounds terrible, but I was kind of hoping it would stay on for a while longer.
Isn’t that awful? Because of course I want him well. Of course I want his arm healed enough to convince the doctor he no longer needs it. I want Kav to run and play without its cumbersome weight, and to wear long sleeved shirts again, and to take baths without having to cover it with a plastic bag. I want him to be cast-free.
But I also want him to be safe.
I want him to be protected from reinjury.
I don’t want any of us to go through the trauma again.
Moms get this sudden rush of adrenaline whenever our kids hurt themselves. If they fall, we also often feel pain; if I see one of our kids trip on the stairs and hit their knees, I feel a twinge in my knees, too.
Ever since Kav’s accident, that flood comes to me over the smallest stumble (and he’s three, so he’s constantly running, crashing into things, tumbling, doing all the things that little guys do). I have to remind myself that he’s okay. He’s not broken. We don’t have to go back to the hospital. We don’t have to endure that all over again.
When I noticed this anxiety shortly after the accident and confessed it to a friend, she said I may need to come to grips with surrendering ourselves to the Lord in a whole new way, to trust Him with our safety. We’ve had 21 years of parenting kids without breaking anything, and in one afternoon that changed. Suddenly, I saw us differently: Breakable. Vulnerable. Fragile. Exposed. Costly.
So I had sorta hoped his cast would stay on for another couple of weeks to allay some of that. I found myself trusting the cast to protect him from reinjuring himself; I was so grateful it was there to absorb the brunt of his activity.
But do I trust God to protect him? Yes. I think so.
Mostly.
I want to, at least.
It is better to take refuge in the Lord
than to trust in man.
It is better to take refuge in the Lord
than to trust in princes.– Psalm 118:8-9
This all comes at the same time our oldest daughter is getting her license and driving in the snow and looking at new jobs and graduating and talking (so much talking) about moving out to live on her own.
I used to be fine with it. Kids have moved out of their parents’ homes since the beginning of time, and this isn’t the first kid of ours who will have done so. But, hey – most of the time when kids grow up and move out on their own, it’s not when the globe is on the brink of the Apocalypse. (Although she is one of the kids in that martial arts class, so there’s that.)
In so many ways it has been a stretching season of the Lord calling us to see differently: Stand here, in front. Turn around, look over here. Don’t see what your feelings are telling you, see what I’m telling you.
“Look for the valleys, the green places, and fly through them. There will always be a way through.”
– C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew
I’ve been going back again and again to this verse:
He is not afraid of bad news;
his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.
His heart is steady; he will not be afraid,
until he looks in triumph on his adversaries.
– Psalm 112:7-8
But I have been afraid of bad news. Trauma has a way of doing that: This shoe dropping, and the next, and the next. We have to identify the fear and stop listening to it.
This is serious. Do not fear is a command, not a suggestion, for good reason. Fear doesn’t care for permission; it just wants access. The counterfeit picture of what we’re afraid of may be the key that permits that access.
But agreeing with God, picturing the victory and trusting Him for what He has promised, strips the enemy of power he will wrest from us otherwise. Trusting God is the fatal, final blow that puts fear out of our misery.
We see exposure and vulnerability in new endeavors and stretching seasons, but God sees strength and fearlessness. We’d rather not deal with more changes, but God is bringing alignment for healing and victory. I’m tired of having my safe places peered into, and exercising muscles that have been resting and healing. But God sees that I’m ready to do hard things again.
“When things go wrong, you’ll find they usually go on getting worse for some time; but when things once start going right they often go on getting better and better.”
– C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew
Kav is running and playing. He has full movement and extension of his arm and fingers. He falls sometimes, but he gets up every time and keeps going. I’m noticing the rush of adrenaline diminish.
I still don’t usually like standing in front, feeling vulnerable while people look at me. But we often resist change when it’s exactly what we need, and we will love the results if we surrender to them.
He’s saying, Hey Love, I’m peeling back layers of shelter because you’re ready to expand and advance.
Your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.– Matthew 6:10
It requires a shift in stance so we can see what He does. Because He’s the Instructor, saying, Go. Step through. Bring it down here.