This morning, as the warm light of day began to lift the darkness and the hunters spilled out of trucks across the field, I sat cozy in my spot and took a little gem of counsel from Spiritual Classics, Richard Foster, ed.
photo by Dave Pearson
It was the strangest thing I've read on prayer, written by an anonymous in The Cloud of Unknowing centuries past. He wrote,
"Let me start by saying that the best thing you can do when you start to pray, however long or short your time of prayer is to be, is to tell yourself, and mean it, that you are going to die at the end of your prayer."
What? That's not very affirming. Some weird monk must have thought of this.
But you know what, I tried it. I took the posture of reflecting on my own demise. Immediately, tears sprang to my eyes. "God, thank you for all of this..." I choked. "God, I can die now, because you are good and I am forgiven and the universe will not stop spinning without me. You are the power and the glory."
Many have looked death in the face and trembled. The rest of us can let our imaginations lead us to that small and humble place where we glimpse a purer, wider, broader, deeper vision of God.
My great joys growing up were always the "slam dunks:" successes rewarded with the point or the A or the solo or the lead role or the accolade. If I was in an activity in which I couldn't bubble up to the top, I would quit and look for an opportunity to rise in something else.
My son is on a basketball team that emphasizes defense. Maybe this is common among coaches, but it seemed a little foreign to me. When I played three years of basketball in middle school, I recall that it was all about the points. Getting the ball and driving to the basket. The first email from the coach of the Homeschool Defenders team was about the priority of defense.
This got me thinking that deep inside, I've always feared being average, being one of the under-appreciated defense. One thing that homeschooling and staying home to raise my kids has stripped me of, though, is my penchant for slam-dunks. If there is a continuum of homeschooling aptitude, I am right in the middle. My children are average performers. No spelling bee champs or violin virtuosos. I don't see full-ride scholarships in the future. They aren't perfectly mannered or running a hobby farm. At the end of a day of homeschooling, I rarely feel we have accomplished much. A messy house. Some refereeing between siblings. A great deal undone.
But there is something different lifting to the top now. A fresh humility that cracks the egg of ego and spills out compassion and prayers. Like Jacob, I wrestle with God often and come in last always. But the last shall be made first in God's kingdom order, so can I really lose?
I can put my arm around a friend now and say, "I know, it's hard. There's no formula for perfection. There is no basket for slam-dunks."
And that, I think, is what God loves to see rise within us, like a great flock of birds bursting into sky.
The relationship between mother and teenage son is getting trickier. He, the solid blond toddler who was so ready with a giggle, the lover of planes, trains, and video games, the handsome Cub Scout standing at attention...I, the mother/teacher who always said I cared more about the child's heart than the academics, have come now to regular battle over the heart and the academics.
Conversations with my husband have trailed back to our days as 8th graders and concluded our son is in a far better place than we were back then, as we desperately tried to find our identity within the walls of a middle school. Yet, we didn't have to live with our teacher and principal, right? The boundary lines are in strange places when you home school, and are always moving as you grapple with new stages of development, new levels of freedom, and new demands of academics.
There are benefits. I pray more, for one, than I do in peaceful times, and I am startled awake by God's gentle answers. He says, "Look, I am working on that boy's heart. Do you see the changing, forming, molding? Do you see Me in his bright smile? And look, I am working on you, too. Did you notice how calm you stayed today?"
And I say, "You're right! I see it."
Why do we pray and then forget to watch?
Yesterday began with a snarl between us...him reiterating how much he hates a certain subject, me counting its benefits yet again, him growing silent, sulking. Me praying, "Help."
And then it happened, a moment of reconciliation like rain in the desert. He found me sitting on the floor in a spot of warm sun, looking at old photos crammed in a box; photos of him as a baby and toddler and goofy clown, with arms swung around his younger sisters, posed with the family in front of a backdrop of wonderful memories. He moved toward me for a closer look, until our shoulders touched and soon we were laughing heartily together.
I have an image in my mind now like a photograph. Mother and son walking backwards on a timeline , so that they can attempt to move forward again, refreshed.
