At a time when just being a young black man in America is enough to get you killed—you know what I’m talking about, you’ve read the headlines—I wonder what the other mommies tell their sons. All mommies worry about their sons, don’t they? All mommies tell their sons to be careful, to be respectful, to stand up for themselves, walking in the Truth of God in whose image they are made, right? Are other mommies afraid for their sons?
Here is what I know of fear. I am sufficiently realistic to acknowledge that I will never be free from them. However, I declare that they are not the boss of me, and will never paralyze me to the point of immobility.
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Children are a gift from the Lord;
they are a reward from Him.
Psalms 127:3 (NLT)
My Bestie, whom I refer to as “my Gayle” (because every one of us harbors a secret Oprah fantasy, right?), and I were talking about the frustrations of motherhood one morning. It’s something we talk about most mornings, in one fashion or another. It is a popular theme among my friends. We are high achievers. We like to do things well. We have (or had) spectacular mothers, and struggle with doing and being to our own children what they are to us; despite our world being vastly different than theirs…but we try.
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Do you live your life in a constant state of go-go-go?
Hurrying from here, to get to there??
Hurrying from this task, to take on a new task?
I’ll admit it-I’m guilty!
I’m a multitasking person & I love having a variety of things on my plate; keeps things lively & interesting for me!
However, with every blessing comes great responsibility and while I enjoy “lively & interesting”, it’s important for me to realize that I have a little one tagging along, desperately trying to keep up. What kind of example am I setting, if I am constantly living in the fast lane & forcing him to run, just to keep up with my fast paced walk?
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I pulled up to the stop sign not far from my neighborhood. Music floated through the car like fog – not loud enough to be truly heard, but not quite soft enough to equate silence. The sun was shining. I turned right at the stop to meet a friend for walking at the mall in what turned out to be a Friday ritual. In the back seat was my new baby, my first-born son. No other children yet to grace the spots behind me. One year earlier, I was standing at a white board teaching phonics and double-digit subtraction with twenty-four sets of eyes on my every move.
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It wasn’t like I turned my back on God. 
I just couldn’t fit Him in my schedule. The birth of our third child pushed me over the edge – the pages of my carefully crafted day planner fluttering in the breeze. Normally, I spent time in Bible study and prayer in the morning after the kids left for school. But nothing was normal.
I tried getting up earlier for a while, but my sleep deprived body revolted. I tried doing it during naptime, but realized I needed a big dose of Jesus just to get me through the morning.
For two years (Did you read that?
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One of my Facebook friends left the following post the other day:
My daughter’s school records have the wrong date for her birthday. Now my five year old thinks her school is right, and that I don’t really know when when she was born. – Hello! I was there!
Too funny! As a former Kindergarten teacher, I remember how quickly a five year old can get confused, how often a child believed me over their parents. I used to tell all moms and dads, “I will only believe half of what comes to school; will you will only believe half of what comes home.”
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I am glad that it’s October.
Yes, I know that October brings us one month closer to winter, and for those of you who live in the frozen northern lands like me that means snow, but I really am grateful for a new start. Somehow when I flip the calendar over and see the month — the new month — it fills me with hope and opportunity.
You see, September was hard. September didn’t go as planned. Our family was sick most of the month. When you have a family of nine a long lasting cold really becomes a long lasting cold.
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