Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.
Isaiah 43:18-19
I've been a weak-kneed, faint-hearted, scaredy cat of a believer this week. My former fortitude dissolved earlier this week, replaced by a daunting case of doubt. Or so I thought. Turns out, it was something much more insidious.
I've been driving Josiah -- our firstborn and thus our first kindergartener -- to school each morning. The first few days, parents were welcome -- encouraged even -- to come in with their kids, help them put their backpacks away, and accompany their kids to the playground before leaving for the day. But now it's week two, and it's time to get down to business. For a variety of safety and security reasons, drop-off is supposed to be quick and orderly, which I completely understand.
So last Monday, I explained all the way to school that I wasn't getting out of the car today. Just Josiah. The preferred procedure as prescribed by the school is for parents to drop their kids at the main doors where they are met by teaching assistants who walk the students to the playground behind the school.
Josiah agreed with that plan when we joined the line of mini-vans and SUVs snaking its way up to the school's main entrance. However, the closer we got to the front of the line, the more unsure he got. He finally said, "mommy, you'd better take me to the playground today."
No problem, buddy. I pulled out of line and parked across the street. We'd only walked about halfway to the playground when Josiah spotted Mr. Devitt, his teacher, who waved to us in greeting. Josiah took off to join Mr. Devitt and the knot of classmates that was gathered around him. He'd forgotten all about me, and I made my way back to the our vehicle grateful that Josiah was enjoying school so much.
And then came Tuesday. On the way to school, I'd been silently crying out to the Lord over His will for Josiah, asking for the umpteenth time if He was sure about all this. There's a tinge of mourning in my life right now -- it's been a mighty struggle for me to walk faithfully into this new phase of kindergarten, of having Josiah out of my care for so much of the day, of releasing a phase of our life that, while I entered it with kicking and screaming, I emerge from it wishing desperately to make it last. I wish for a different answer -- I don't know just what --, but perhaps one more like those my friends have received for their children. But every time I ask, God assures me -- in no uncertain terms -- that He's sure.
On Tuesday, while I was laying my fears before the Lord on the drive to school, He pointed something out to me. "All you're really after is the easy way out," He'd spoken to my heart.
He was right. I spoke of wisdom. I spoke of glorifying Him. I spoke of trusting Him with all that I have. But what I was really after was ease. Painless, guiltless ease. I don't want to lay my Isaac down. I want God to form us both into His likeness without doing the work. I want a shortcut, not a guide for the journey.
God proved His point moments later. We'd worked our way to the head of the line again and again Josiah asked if I would take him to the playground instead of the teacher's assistant. I agreed and parked the car in the same place as the day before.
Josiah and I ambled down to the playground, and I soon realized that Mr. Devitt wasn't in his usual place. It dawned on me that Josiah was going to have to locate his buddies on his own. In a mass of 625 kids. It reminded myself to keep breathing. "Okay, Josiah, it's time for mom to go," I said evenly.
"Okay," he said, unflapped. I kissed him good-bye and let go of his hand. He gripped the straps of his backpack and walked into the exuberant throng of kids. He never looked back at me as he peered into first one and then another group of kids, looking for his classmates. I, on the other hand, couldn't stop looking back at him as I inched my way back to the car. He looked so small among all of those kids. It took every ounce of restraint in Heaven to keep me from scooping him up and taking him home with me.
But that would have been the easy way. It made me wonder what it must be like for God to watch us, His children, learn to spread our wings. The incredible effort it took for me to leave Josiah there -- where God has said he belongs for now -- left me in awe at the restraint our God demonstrates each day in allowing us to be stretched, knowing He could make it easy for us in a heartbeat. But in His wisdom, He refines us by fire, all the while rooting for us to suceed. Much like I do for Josiah.
I'm no longer praying for the easy way out. It's a foolish waste of time. I trust my God to know better than I ever will, after all, nothing in His kingdom is ever without purpose. Now I'm asking that all of these stretching experiences will amount to a man who loves the Lord with all of his heart, soul, and mind. And a mom who does, too.
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