His feet were unstable. Her heart was unstable.
He wore his helmet. She wore her head covering.
His mouth hung open. Hers was in a hard, concerned line.
(sigh) I sat behind a handicap bus recently, watching all of this unfold. Of course, I was in an uber hurry, disgusted that I had to wait a mere ten minutes (probably less, but felt like an eternity) for this to all unfold. (enter emoticon – eyes rolling)
Then I paused.
I got up that morning, and heard the sound of my daughter’s alarm clock. Within a half an hour both of my healthy, full-functioning girls were in the kitchen, packing their lunches, their backpacks, getting their breakfast ready. 1-2-3…like clockwork.
My heart ached inside, literally, as I imagined what this mother’s morning may have been like…of course, I speculate as I write the following, so bear with me. Obviously, I wasn’t there.
Up much earlier than her son, having to go in and wake him up. How was that? Is he easy to get out of bed? Is he potty-trained? Does he know he’s about to go to school, out of the protective wing of his mother?
Getting dressed – was he able to do this all by himself? Does she struggle to dress this young man, triple the size of a toddler, but probably having the mentality of one.
Breakfast – she probably had to feed him. Does he eat easily? Does he throw his food? Is he even capable of eating by way of his mouth?
If you could have seen her face…the concern, the dread, her self-doubt, “Am I doing the right thing?” I have no way of knowing if this was his very first time on the bus, first time to go school. By the look on her face, I’d venture to say ‘yes.’
I’m brought back to earth with thoughts, again, of my own, smooth morning. No longer miffed at the delay of waiting; rather I was given precious time to pray – over this woman that, other than being dressed differently and perhaps facing more daily challenges than I do, we are no less different - often concerned - am I doing the right thing? Did I show enough love? Are they going to be ok?
I was so moved by God’s intervention that morning; I had no choice but to push pause on my own life and take an inventory. We all face our own doubts, struggles, ups and downs as mom’s, don’t we? Those that have forged ahead <having grown children> give us hope. Those of us in the throws of it all, we lock arms and nod, “YES!! I UNDERSTAND!!”
Most of you know that I’m a self-proclaimed ‘Hugger.’ I wanted to embrace her and offer a word of encouragement (sigh), but I get enough, “Are you crazy?” looks throughout any given day. She was already preoccupied enough without a complete stranger leaping from her car, running towards her.
I’m struck with two things from this divine pause. One – while she and I looked very different (she clearly practiced a different form of faith than I do), we weren’t really all that different. We are both mom’s, we both love our children, we both want what is best for them. Second – interruptions. Her entire life was interrupted when she was given her son, mine was hiccuped for but a few minutes. Who. Am. I?
I leave you with this – the next time you see another mom look differently than you (does she OWN a mirror? Where is the rest of her skirt? I’ve got two of my own, why do I need to look at hers? you KNOW what I'm talkin' about!) Or maybe your day is interrupted by someone else (the nerve, don't they know I have a schedule...a job...a LIFE!), I’ll just bet you’re not all that different from her. Deep down, she loves her child (ok…she’s using gritted teeth…but who hasn’t?). Take pause and reflect on your own list of blessings and in that same moment offer some spiritual hugs.
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT have any of this mastered by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m sure glad God flicks my brain on occasion, tugs my heart and gently reminds me that I am no better / worse than that mom next to me.
MAMA FOX
