Mama Verses the Dentist: Worry and the Sovereignty of God

I had a spiritual breakthrough yesterday. At the dentist's office. Actually it was my son's dentist office. 

Titus sorta doesn't like going to the dentist. Like a we pray for days leading up to the visit that he'll open his mouth this time aversion. We've bribed him with everything under the sun, and I confess in my darker moments I've wanted to beat the tar out of him if he doesn't open his blessed little mouth. 

We made progress this particular day as I didn't have to physically carry him to the back from the waiting room. Instead he was plastered to my leg as I awkwardly hefted the carseat containing the newest chick through the halls. We passed by the open space with a row of petite dental chairs containing the compliant children on our way to the back room. One that has a door. Because this ain't our first rodeo, and we clearly have warning notes on our file. 

I promised that kid a straight up skate board if he would sit in the chair by himself. No chance. So I squeezed into the little person dental seat with a 61 pound 1st grader laid out on top of me as the hygienist attempted to work in between his sobs.  For a routine cleaning, ya'll. They didn't even use the scraper. JUST THE HARMLESS SPINNING TOOTHBRUSH. When it was time to use the suction thingy...utter wig out. And don't get me started on applying the fluoride foam.

Finally, Cutesy Hygienist Girl finishes and I assume we can all breathe a sigh of relief that it's over for another six months. And then she says, "Dr. Greenlief will be in to check you in just a few minutes." 

Cue fresh panic greater than the first. 

She goes out to "let him know we're ready". But bless her darling bones, I think she needed a break from our brand of drama. I have nothing but love for her. She was totally patient and kind and over the top gentle. I feared for her fingers the entire time she was working in Titus' mouth.

Alone with my boy, I attempted to turn down the dial on the terror. I asked why he was afraid of the dentist. The hygienist had already done the hard stuff. All that was left was for the dentist to look in his mouth with a mirror. 

And so we got to the bottom of it. My little fella was terrified that the dentist (who is no small guy) was going to do something to inflict epic pain. And he had no power to stop him. 

I didn't pause to pray about it. There was no scripture quoted. I simply responded with this guttural truth:

Titus, do you think that the dentist is the boss here? I am your Momma, son, and I AM IN CHARGE OF YOU. Which means that dentist can't do one thing to you that I don't allow. If I tell him to only look in your mouth with a mirror, he can only look in your mouth with a mirror. What I say concerning you is what goes. 

I said it with absolute confidence and complete authority. Because it's true. I birthed that boy which means the dentist has to go through me to get to him. Besides, I pay the bill. Okay, Nate pays the bill. 

Meanwhile, as I was dealing with my child's fear, I got a good glimpse of my own. And in the same moment I spoke to my son, God was speaking to me on the matter of some fears I've been wrestling with lately: 

Child, do you think the world around you is in charge here? Your fear exposes your belief. When you worry, when you fret, when you allow terror to run wild in your mind, you are buying into the lie that this world can have it's way with you. I am your Father, and I am in charge of you. Not one thing can happen to you that I don't allow. The powerful forces that you think are in control are under my domain. And they have to go through me to get to you. If I do allow pain, it is for a good that you can't comprehend. I won't let anything happen to you that I don't deem purposeful. I work all things to your good, child. Your times are in my hands.  

The craziest thing happened yesterday. Titus fully believed the truth that the dentist answers to me. Probably because I repeated that little speech when Dr. Greenlief came in the room. I got a bizarre look from the big guy, but that's another post. What matters is this: 

My son saw me as more powerful than the object of his fear. He believed I would intercede if needed. He trusted that I loved him enough to. 

And the kid opened his mouth.

What would change if you and I consistently believed the same? 

Motherhood and the Six Year Adventure Slump

Are there any other moms out there who remember the life they once lived? You know... before children. 

Am I the only one who misses it? 

Because at the risk of sounding ungrateful and whiny, I sometimes pine for my old life. The way it was exciting and wide open and untethered. I miss living unrestricted to do big stuff with God. And the thrill I got from it. 

And quite frankly, sometimes this mom thing doesn't feel big. Or adventurous. Or thrilling. I get lost in the find another episode of Dora and break up another fight and fix another snack sameness of it all. 

In my darker moments I'm completely jealous of my husband. The way he has seeming freedom to pursue goals and plan plans and pull it all off. And I can remember when I had that.

Enter Titus six years ago. Then two more since then. And I know lots of people have way more than that, but wow does it feel like a lot today. Because all of these little people mean someone needs to care for them.

And I can't figure out a way to do that well and all the other big stuff too.

So that girl with the unfettered sense of adventure is in an adventure slump. For six straight years.

Meanwhile there is still a corner of my brain that hums with a constant working of big ideas. And I can't shut it up. 

I have all those same dreams and desires AND kids. But without the confidence that I can still do the big stuff. Or the conviction that I should do the big stuff.

Because isn't raising kids big enough? 

Before I had them, I thought it would be. 

This is so not a conversation about the worthy pursuit of motherhood. I already know what I'm doing is important. But can I bear my soul without judgment for two seconds and say 

Sometimes the other important stuff seems like more fun.

I've had this conversation with Jesus one billion times in the last six years.

I whine and complain. And ask him why He gave me all these dreams and then asked me to put them on the shelf. 

He reminds me that there is a time for everything and a season for every purpose under heaven. 

I ask Him if I'll still have a brain by the time my season gets here.

He asks me to be a living sacrifice, dying to self so I can train up these children in the way they should go and love them the way He loves me.

And I try. I really do. But the thing about being a living sacrifice is that it can crawl down off the altar. At will. 

I see the altar in the distance and realize I'm off it again. I wish He would just tie me on, already. Sometimes I wonder how many times I'll repeat the scenario. 

Probably until I'm all the way dead. 

Until then, I pick up the baby who's crying and sit down to the tea party in Anna's room. I breathe a repentant prayer, asking for the grace to love and train the tiny chicks He has placed in my nest. 

It won't be long before they fly. And I want them to be ready for the adventure.

Kindergarten Teacher, I Am Your Biggest Fan

My son has five days left in his kindergarten career. Which means he only has 37.5 hours left with you. And while this might be cause for a party on your part, my gut response is to fall at your feet and embrace your ankles because I am so not ready for you to not be his teacher.

I'll never forget the fear and apprehension and worry that accompanied me when I walked him into your classroom on August 19. He was my first to leave the nest and I wanted to ask if I could install a nanny cam. You looked too young. And cutesy. And I had serious doubts that my son was ready for this. To that point I had been successful at teaching him to (sorta) write his name and (maybe) a dozen letters. (I'm good at other things!) I was convinced he would need two years in kindergarten. How could you possibly get him ready for first grade in just nine months?

You won my heart and gained my confidence later that week when I got a text from you. He had a minor meltdown after nap time, you wrote. When I asked what was wrong he said he missed you. I sat on the floor and held him for a while. Just wanted you to know he had a rough few minutes, but bounced back. 

I sat at the table and cried. Tears of sadness because my son missed me and needed me and I wasn't there. And tears of gratitude that you were. You didn't scold him, or dismiss him, or overlook him. You held him. And I knew then that you were for him. 

Since then it's been emails about his progress and calls of concern. Pulling his tooth (cause we both know that ain't my thang!) and texting a picture of his gaping grin. Paying for his snack when I forgot to send a dollar and keeping him close when the Easter Bunny came. (What is UP with that fear of costumes?!) Laughing at the stories he tells and not holding them against me. (Ahem. Most of them are likely. Probably. Sadly. True.) Making sure I knew that he offers to push other kids on the swing, and telling me often that he's a great kid. 

You call him one of "your babies" and watch over him like he were your own. 

Because of you he can read letters. And words. And sentences. He can do math and follow directions and write I love you mom and dad.

On the wall.

In marker. 

Because of you he feels safe and secure in the classroom and looks forward to going there. Because of you he has something that sets the stage for a deep and wide life. A love of learning. And a confidence that he can. 

Even without seeing his report card and the progress he's made, your influence is obvious around this house. He draws you pictures and writes you notes. He asks to buy you candy bars and cars and wants to invite you over. You are the Grand Poobah of knowledge and he thinks he can win any argument simply by saying, "Ms. Peacock says so!"  Also, my daughter has started including you when she draws pictures of our family. 

Beloved teacher, how can I ever repay you? Jen Hatmaker already came up with all the really cool ideas. But I'll offer what I can. You need prayer? I'm your girl. Something on your heart, I'm here to listen. A Pinterest project for your classroom? Better call someone else. A girls night out? CALL ME NOW. My undying devotion and forever words of praise. They are yours. 

Few things in this life mean more to me than someone investing in my children. You opened the world to my son. I am your biggest fan.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Thank you for every time you got up with me in the night,

all the messes you cleaned, the laundry you washed, the meals you lovingly cooked,

the birthday cakes and parties,

for buying my favorite cereal,

a million trips to the doctor,

and a billion doses of medicine.

Thank you for getting me ready for church,

and taking me every time the doors were open,

for correcting me when I was wrong,

and praising me when I was right.

Thank you for teaching me about the big, big love of Jesus,

for reading the Bible to me,

for showing me how to be a Godly woman.

Thank you for teaching Sunday School,

and not wearing a new dress on Easter

so the little girl who couldn't afford one

wouldn't feel left out.

Thank you for putting up with my preteen swings,

for bearing my yelling and arguing,

for not killing me when I assumed I knew everything,

for listening to all the adolescent girl drama,

and buying me clothes that cost too much so I would feel less self conscious.

Thank you for being at every band performance, every concert, every competition,

for buying me two flutes and working tirelessly at dozens of fundraisers.

Thank you for bringing me dinner at school when I worked late on yearbook deadlines,

for being my number one fan and biggest cheerleader.

Thank you for all the money you spent to give me an education,

for leaving me at college, and then at seminary, so I could find my own way,

for letting go and trusting God would guide me.

Thank you for a zillion tears cried and prayers prayed on my behalf.

Thank you for a gazillion hours spent on the phone 

listening to whatever I wanted to babble about,

for not telling me I was crazy for dating all those weirdos,

for stocking up on wedding supplies for 8 straight years,

and for working your fingers to the bone when I finally met the one

to give me the wedding of my dreams.

Thank you for buying me maternity clothes,

for spending 4 hours in Babies R Us 

investigating "only the best" baby equipment,

for driving across the country 2 weeks early so you wouldn't miss Titus' delivery,

for spending 5 weeks away from home when Anna was born,

and for loving my children as much as I do.

Thank you for buying 3 dozen plane tickets,

for giving up having us with you during the holidays,

for never making us feel guilty for living so far away,

while making sure we knew you would prefer us right under your nose.

Thank you for embracing this new one who is not of my womb,

and every one who might come after him,

for defending us to those who think we're nuts,

for being a mama bear even though this cub is 34.

Thank you for not forcing me into a mold,

for being behind me no matter what the Lord asks me to do,

for trusting my discernment and letting me blaze my own trail.

Thank you for taking this mothering thing seriously.

You are really good at loving me.