Remember

I know it's almost Friday again, but I'm just now getting around to last week's "Five-Minute Friday."   The thought for the week was "remember."

"It hit me as we were driving home.  I look over at him.  He has always been so brave at doctor visits.  I remember the two-hour drives to the Children’s Hospital in our VW Bug when he was not even 2 years old.  He was such a good rider.  He was fine with his sippy cup and his snacks, and me holding his hand while I drove.  Sometimes he would fall asleep.  Sometimes we would “talk.”  Today though, he talks on his phone, text messages his friends, controls the radio.  He doesn’t nap any more.  And when we talk, our conversations revolve around his truck and high school happenings.  He still paces the waiting room, can’t be still.  Has it really been that long?  Have things really changed that much?  “Hey Mama, why don’t you pull through a drive-thru and get us a milkshake and some fries.”  Of course I will...just like old times...just how I remember it."

He's Still Working On Me

     Well, hello again. It’s me. Trying my hand at this writing thing...again. I am trying something new. A new routine, and a new process, to get my words flowing...again. I hope you will bear with me as I work through this journey, one day, one word at a time.
     It has not been easy getting to this point. This willingness to do what I’ve been told. For those of you who have ever tried to get your child to clean his room, you know how this process has gone...

First, you try logic:
Parent - "Hey, why don’t you clean up your room right quick."
Child - "But I’m watching Power Rangers right now."
Parent - "Well I need you to do it now so my plans for the rest of the day will run smoother."
Child - "But I can’t do it good. You can do it better."
Parent - "Yeah, but I’ve got the rest of the house to clean. And besides, the more you do it, the better you’ll get at it."My conversation sounded like this:
God - "Why don’t you do some writing."
Me - "I don’t have time, I’m doing all this other stuff you told me I should be doing. And besides, Sis. Suzie can do a better job than me. Why don’t you ask her to do it?"
God - "Practice makes perfect."Then you move to bargaining and guilt:
Parent - "If you will do this, it will really help me out and I won’t be so tired later. Who knows, maybe we could go [do something fun the child will enjoy]."
Child - "Yeah that would be fun. Can we do that first?! Then when we get back, if I have time, I will do it."My conversation:
God - "You know you will feel better when you write something. Spend some quality time with me. And oh the blessings I have waiting for you when you do!"
Me - "Yeah that would be great! Can we do that first?! Then if I feel like it and have time later, I will write something."And finally, it’s time to end this game:
Parent - "I told you to go clean your room."
Child - "But..."
Parent - "No buts. You do it because I am your mother and I said so. I don’t care if you don’t do it perfect. I’m not asking you to shampoo the carpet or paint the walls, just do your best. That’s all I ask."
Child - (huffs and pouts and mumbles under his breath as he does what he is told).My version:
God - "Write."
Me - "But..."
God - "NO. No excuses. Just do it. I’m not asking you to write a New York Times best seller. Just a few paragraphs on a little blog site for a few friends to read. I don’t care if it’s not perfect. I don’t care if you just ramble on about arguing with your kids. Just try! That’s all I ask."
Me - (bowed and crying) "ok."     So, here I sit with my coffee in one hand, thinking it’s way too early to have a pen in the other. Just like the child, I grumble and whine.
"See Lord, I told you I wouldn’t be able to get up early enough. Now I’m gonna be late for work."
"Why is this taking so long? It’s taken me two days to write this."
"Lord, do you see this handwriting?"     Even though he probably wants to tell me that if I’d spend as much time and energy on getting the job done as I do on complaining, it wouldn’t be nearly as hard. But like the good parent, He simply smiles and pats me on my back. And I write some more.
     Finally there’s the moment when the child comes to the mother and excitedly begs her to come see what he’s done. ("but close your eyes cuz it’s a surprise")....TA DA! She opens her eyes to see a room, the covers sideways on the bed, clothes peeking out of dresser drawers, toys thrown haphazardly in the toy box and under the bed...and the child smiling from ear to ear, eyes still red from all his crying. How can she point out his flaws? He sees his room as spic and span, and she lets him have his moment. There’s still time to teach him. It’s a work in progress.
     I known when you read this you will probably hear me rambling, see all my run-on sentences, too many adjectives and not enough complete thoughts, and a dozen other writing errors. But that’s ok with me. It's a work in progress. I am a work in progress.  And this time with God, this feeling of accomplishment early in the morning before I’ve really begun my day. I’m only wishing I’d done it sooner.