Celebrating Life...: Stones from the Jordan: A day of triumph

Dear Cam

This is the altar I’m setting up to remember yesterday. Like what Joshua did when the Israelites crossed the Jordan to the plains of Jericho. Because yesterday you crossed a Jordan River that some told us you never would and I saw God’s hand on you – the same hand that stopped the water and dried the ground and is bigger than blindness.

I was meant to stay at school with you this week, to get you properly comfortable. Yesterday morning in your new stripy green t-shirt from PEP, you said, ‘Mom, I think you just need to come for one day. Just for today. And you can just stay ‘til mid-morning. Then you must go.’

I stayed for an hour. By which time it was abundantly clear that I, profoundly relieved, was utterly redundant. You played-raced-built-chattered-climbed-lined-up – brimming and smiling and quietly independent. (Super keen, you asked, ‘When can we start working?’)

You were still painting when I fetched you. The others had finished – water-colour stick-men with definite limbs and heads and stuff. You were painting the playground. One completely-green painted-wet sheet of your imaginings. You go, boy! The limbs and heads will come. I’m thrilled that you made a playground. You didn’t see me so I watched you for a bit in your big plastic apron. Intent on the green and the brush and the just-so of your enormous piece of grass – you looked so, so happy. You were glad to see me and said what a great day you’d had. ‘I did everything Teacher Karen asked me to do!’

Then last-minute we joined some other moms and kids at Zita Park. I was busy with Scott’s sun cream and you were gone. Up the hill. Down the water slide – splash – back up – down – splash – back up. Over and over. On your own. With only two tantrums: once when you couldn’t find me and needed a t-shirt. And once for a thorn you thought was a bee. I try and imagine what it’s really like for you. Your contact lenses are useless through those little misty goggles. You’re in a strange rowdy blurry splashing place. Tons of shrieking kids. Dozens of moms who could be me with dark hair or ponytails or bouncing blonde toddlers. My instinctive habitual I’m-here-Cam mantra isn’t always loud enough or close enough. Yet you were all calm courage and fun while Ben played shark-shark with me and Scott blinking ecstatic through the chlorine.

This morning while you negotiated Pronutro for the first time (because you’re building up your big-school strength and it’s Probably The Most Nutritious Cereal in the World) I asked if you were excited for Day 2. You said yes you were, then added, ‘On Day 1 I didn’t really get a chance to help anyone.’ Well, I said, maybe today’s your day. Talk about the blind leading the… Well, it’s just that you’re a miracle-paradox of the God-life. Your weakness shows his strength in you.

Fifteen years ago Aunty Coral and I crossed the (real) Jordan River on bicycles. There’s a picture of one of us – can’t remember, me or her – cycling over the bridge with arms outstretched in a kind of cheeky-euphoric ‘Look Ma no hands!’ pose. I thought of that yesterday, and you. You’re doing it, my love. You’re doing it.

All my love

Mom

So the men did as Joshua had commanded them. They took twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan River, one for each tribe, just as the LORD had told Joshua. They carried them to the place where they camped for the night and constructed the memorial there… Then Joshua said to the Israelites, “In the future your children will ask, ‘What do these stones mean?’ Then you can tell them, ‘This is where the Israelites crossed the Jordan on dry ground.’ For the LORD your God dried up the river right before your eyes, and he kept it dry until you were all across, just as he did at the Red Sea when he dried it up until we had all crossed over. He did this so all the nations of the earth might know that the LORD’s hand is powerful, and so you might fear the LORD your God forever.” – Joshua 4:8, 21-24