Dear Scott
Your first swimming lesson was an unadulterated disaster.
You screamed and sobbed until I wrenched you from the terrors of the pool. In
my head I was frantically going Ctrl-Z Ctrl-Z Ctrl-Z! And when that didn’t work
Ctrl-Alt-Del. So you could shut down the fear and reboot your unbridled love for
water (which was why we took you to swimming lessons in the first place).
I’m also praying Ctrl-Alt-Del over your first two strangely
unsettling weeks back at preschool. I’m keeping you home some days – trying to
get the proverbial roots-and-wings balance just right for you, my little man,
but I doubt my decisions all the time. The irony is that the start of this year
has been harder for you than it has been for Cam, despite the enormity and
significance of his Grade
00 debut.
And then of course my system is still reconfiguring after
the Ctrl-Alt-Del of my career. I’ve been intrigued by the reactions to my shut
down and restart. Some people are excited for me – for Cam and you – for Dad – for
this new season – and they watch expectantly for God in the newness. Some presume
me into a mould I don’t easily own because I suck at the stereotype, artsy-craftsy-mom
stuff. Some are worried – like, when will I start teaching again? Because I’m
wasting my time and my talent and they don’t get what I’m doing. Then there are
the naysayers – who say, ‘Nay! You’ll be bored. You’ll be back. You won’t have
the stamina to finish
with you've started.’ And then there are the dark bits in me that ooze
doubt and steal my fight. The bits that say I won’t be taken seriously – won’t get
to the goals – won’t pay any bills. And worst of all: the bit that says if I fail
you both as a mom I won’t have the convenient excuse of a career.
But here’s where this is all landing for me.
The other night you were thundering away on Uncle Gav’s
drums. Then you ran into the lounge – ‘Hello!’ – all grinning and flirty and
looking, well, pleased as punch. So I said, ‘Hello! Are you pleased as punch?’
And you said, pointing to your gorgeous chubby tum-tum, ‘No Mom. Scott.’ And
that’s just it. You’re you – with your custom-made hardware. Impossible-to-pirate
software. I don’t ever want to damage your courage or program you into something
or someone God doesn’t intend you to be. (We’ll try swimming lessons again in
September.) Beneath the doubt that comes with change, and the failure that
comes from trying new things, there’s always faith. Faith in what Jesus did for
us on the cross – that ultimate reformatting of the human hard drive. Faith
that he has programs for each of us to write. Faith that he will strengthen and
restore and establish us even when things crash or freeze or the anti-virus
stuff expires. Faith that he is powerful to push Ctrl-Alt-Del on preconceived
ideas and hurt and imperfection. I trust this for your journey, as much as I hope
that I, and others, might believe it for mine.
And don’t you ever forget, Scott Gideon, in the swimming pool
and the classroom and everywhere: ‘Mighty
hero, the Lord is with you! … Go with the strength you have.’ (Judges 6)
All my love to you, amazing boy,
Mom
xx
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