Letting Go
God has revealed something very interesting to me. It's not a fact that particularly pleases me. Honestly, I denied it for quite a long time. Of course, I didn't know I was in denial, but I was. Double yuck: denial and that interesting thing. As much as I hate to admit it, and just for the record, I've been working really, really hard to change, (I'm making progress too) I. AM. A. CONTROL. FREAK. There! I said it. Outloud. Well, sort of out loud. Does blogging count as out loud? It does with me.
Guess what finally caused me to see this big, ole ugly fact. My 17-year-old son. Yep. Nothing like a teenage son to expose all of the hidden "yuck" in a Mama. Bored with where you are in life right now? Find a teenage boy and HANG ON. What a ride! It's better, or worse, than a rollercoaster. Up, down, over, under, alley-oop and that's just in the first 15 minutes of the day. Lest it seem as if I am on an "anti-teenage boy" campaign, let me get to the good stuff. 'Cause there is good, a lot of it.
Colonel Redeemed has always been what I have frequently referred to as "my sanity saver". Until a little over two years ago, he was the only male child in a house of five children. When his sisters engaged in the emotional upheaveals that we of the female species sometimes do, Colonel Redeemed's manly steadiness saved the moment for this Blesssed Mama more than once. When the oft predicted turbulent storms of the male teenage years that strike the parents of young men hadn't stirred the family seas at 13, 14, or 15, I was thankful. Ever so thankful. When year 16 passed without those violent storms, this mama heaved a sigh of relief. We've made it I thought. The stormy years have passed, and we've all made it through, gloriously. Uh-huh. How naive can I be? Don't answer that question! I mean it! Don't. PLEASE.
Year 17 began as any other. Notice I said began as any other. Does anyone remember being a teenager? Would you do it again? Me neither. "What happened God? What did I do wrong? Where has my sweet boy gone?" (Did you catch the key word there? boy?) The Lord quietly and calmly (how could He be calm about this?) asked me what was wrong. "What's wrong? Colonel Redeemed is what is wrong. He's angry and moody and when I correct him for obviously unacceptable behavior, he can't figure out what's wrong with the way he spoke to me. He sounded hateful to me. I'm his Mama. He sounded hateful to. his. MAMA!" The words God spoke next stopped my big baby mama fit short. "You didn't treat him right just now. You're the adult. You've been a teenager before. He hasn't. He's never tried living and thinking and behaving responsibly and respectfully while hormones and chemicals race all through his body changing from moment to moment. You don't need a well-behaved son right now. Your son needs a gentle, compassionate, understanding mother."
Yes, I cried but not like a baby. I cried the gut-wrenching, heartfelt cries of a mother who realizes she has wounded her son. My son, my sanity saver, my hilarious goofball, my staunch defender. My little boy is now a young man, not a boy. He has to make his own set of stupid mistakes, just like I did. Oh sure, he'll need loving guidance and suggestions, but ultimately, living his life is completely up to him now. And what about mama? She has to let go. I have to let go. I can't fix it or make it better. If he chooses to do one thing only to find out another was better, that's ok. That's how he will learn. And when he chooses what I wouldn't, the choice won't necessarily be wrong. It will be his. My choice doesn't equal the right one just because it's mine. He doesn't need a bossy nag. He needs a Mama's undying love, a shelter of grace in the middle of the crashing waves of young manhood.
I apologized. This mama who has held on tight for all these years looked in the eyes of her oldest manchild and spoke out love. I released him to God, again. As I told this Mighty Man of God that I was learning to let go, to be a new kind of Mama, the storm in his eyes calmed into peace. The angry snarl melted into a smile at my confession (he was trying not to laugh at my tears), and there he was! my son. He'd been there all along. He was splashing about in the sea of change trying desperately to stay afloat. My dear son had needed his mama to throw him the lifeline of her love. Oh the thanksgiving that flooded my heart, thanksgiving and also great grief. Thanksgiving to God for His mercy and healing grace. Grief for wounding when I should have healed. Grief at learning my son was hurting, and I am the one who did it. Me, his mama. Oh, thank you God for Your magnificent grace.
The seas were calm today between Colonel Redeemed and I. I'm learning. Really I am. It's hard this new season of Mama-ing. Really hard. Most real things are though. Learned that from The Velveteen Rabbit.
Colonel Redeemed got a call from a friend asking him to go to the movies tonight. He asked his friend what the movie he wanted to see was. It wasn't a movie a believer would want to see and hear. Colonel Redeemed told his friend, kindly, like a man would do, and the friend was glad. He hadn't known. Earlier, before that, Colonel Redeemed played with Giggle and Mighty Man of God (age 2) laughing hard and having fun. This big, 6 foot plus 17-year-old plays like he is four and two yet helps his mama like a man. Child or man? Plays big, works hard. New seasons are new to all, mama and son, papa too. Together we learn to let go of old ways and embrace the now of today. Whatever he is now, whatever he becomes, this much I know, Colonel Redeemed is a child of the Most High God and this I believe, through faith in Jesus and His Word, will never change. Thank you God for little boy sons who become mighty men.
Guess what finally caused me to see this big, ole ugly fact. My 17-year-old son. Yep. Nothing like a teenage son to expose all of the hidden "yuck" in a Mama. Bored with where you are in life right now? Find a teenage boy and HANG ON. What a ride! It's better, or worse, than a rollercoaster. Up, down, over, under, alley-oop and that's just in the first 15 minutes of the day. Lest it seem as if I am on an "anti-teenage boy" campaign, let me get to the good stuff. 'Cause there is good, a lot of it.
Colonel Redeemed has always been what I have frequently referred to as "my sanity saver". Until a little over two years ago, he was the only male child in a house of five children. When his sisters engaged in the emotional upheaveals that we of the female species sometimes do, Colonel Redeemed's manly steadiness saved the moment for this Blesssed Mama more than once. When the oft predicted turbulent storms of the male teenage years that strike the parents of young men hadn't stirred the family seas at 13, 14, or 15, I was thankful. Ever so thankful. When year 16 passed without those violent storms, this mama heaved a sigh of relief. We've made it I thought. The stormy years have passed, and we've all made it through, gloriously. Uh-huh. How naive can I be? Don't answer that question! I mean it! Don't. PLEASE.
Year 17 began as any other. Notice I said began as any other. Does anyone remember being a teenager? Would you do it again? Me neither. "What happened God? What did I do wrong? Where has my sweet boy gone?" (Did you catch the key word there? boy?) The Lord quietly and calmly (how could He be calm about this?) asked me what was wrong. "What's wrong? Colonel Redeemed is what is wrong. He's angry and moody and when I correct him for obviously unacceptable behavior, he can't figure out what's wrong with the way he spoke to me. He sounded hateful to me. I'm his Mama. He sounded hateful to. his. MAMA!" The words God spoke next stopped my big baby mama fit short. "You didn't treat him right just now. You're the adult. You've been a teenager before. He hasn't. He's never tried living and thinking and behaving responsibly and respectfully while hormones and chemicals race all through his body changing from moment to moment. You don't need a well-behaved son right now. Your son needs a gentle, compassionate, understanding mother."
Yes, I cried but not like a baby. I cried the gut-wrenching, heartfelt cries of a mother who realizes she has wounded her son. My son, my sanity saver, my hilarious goofball, my staunch defender. My little boy is now a young man, not a boy. He has to make his own set of stupid mistakes, just like I did. Oh sure, he'll need loving guidance and suggestions, but ultimately, living his life is completely up to him now. And what about mama? She has to let go. I have to let go. I can't fix it or make it better. If he chooses to do one thing only to find out another was better, that's ok. That's how he will learn. And when he chooses what I wouldn't, the choice won't necessarily be wrong. It will be his. My choice doesn't equal the right one just because it's mine. He doesn't need a bossy nag. He needs a Mama's undying love, a shelter of grace in the middle of the crashing waves of young manhood.
I apologized. This mama who has held on tight for all these years looked in the eyes of her oldest manchild and spoke out love. I released him to God, again. As I told this Mighty Man of God that I was learning to let go, to be a new kind of Mama, the storm in his eyes calmed into peace. The angry snarl melted into a smile at my confession (he was trying not to laugh at my tears), and there he was! my son. He'd been there all along. He was splashing about in the sea of change trying desperately to stay afloat. My dear son had needed his mama to throw him the lifeline of her love. Oh the thanksgiving that flooded my heart, thanksgiving and also great grief. Thanksgiving to God for His mercy and healing grace. Grief for wounding when I should have healed. Grief at learning my son was hurting, and I am the one who did it. Me, his mama. Oh, thank you God for Your magnificent grace.
The seas were calm today between Colonel Redeemed and I. I'm learning. Really I am. It's hard this new season of Mama-ing. Really hard. Most real things are though. Learned that from The Velveteen Rabbit.
Colonel Redeemed got a call from a friend asking him to go to the movies tonight. He asked his friend what the movie he wanted to see was. It wasn't a movie a believer would want to see and hear. Colonel Redeemed told his friend, kindly, like a man would do, and the friend was glad. He hadn't known. Earlier, before that, Colonel Redeemed played with Giggle and Mighty Man of God (age 2) laughing hard and having fun. This big, 6 foot plus 17-year-old plays like he is four and two yet helps his mama like a man. Child or man? Plays big, works hard. New seasons are new to all, mama and son, papa too. Together we learn to let go of old ways and embrace the now of today. Whatever he is now, whatever he becomes, this much I know, Colonel Redeemed is a child of the Most High God and this I believe, through faith in Jesus and His Word, will never change. Thank you God for little boy sons who become mighty men.