How
did we get to this point? Why does it just seem like yesterday he was 18
months old playing with a pumpkin on my sidewalk?
Everything
in me knew I had to pull away and everything in me wanted to go back and get
him. He was starting his second day of baseball conditioning with the local
high school. Knowing no one. He had been nervous pulling
up and that made me more. As I pulled out of the parking lot of Battery
Creek High School suddenly the music seemed so loud and my desperation
seemed to overcome me. I turned off the music and instead of turning right I pulled the steering
wheel quickly left to head to the back side of the field hoping on one hand to
see a quick peek of him and on the other hand praying no one would see me.
As I drove slowly past the field, the chain link fence was covered with a
green tarp and even in the small tear in center field, without my glasses and
the players congregated in the dug out, they all looked the same to me. I
had no choice but to drive home.
The
tears flowed freely again. In the silence, the only sound was my sobs.
God.
I need you to be with him. You know. You see him and I can't. Please. Please be right there with him. Like you were last year. Like you
were when he needed a friend moving to Beaufort. Like when you drew him
close when his Daddy deployed. He needs you. I need you to be with
him. I need you.
Slowly,
my silent heart prayer became audible. Talking out loud I poured out my heart
as the sobs came. It felt good to share my doubts and I knew He was listening.
I
guess I blinked. Everyone warned
me. But I must have blinked.
The
time, that seemed to have moved so quickly, in that moment in the parking lot
really hadn't been moving that quickly at all. But it was as if,
snapshots over the past few months made me realize that he was a young man
right before my eyes.
I
first noticed it a few weeks back. It
wasn't until trading seats stopped on the side of the road one day did I really
take notice. My Logan was no longer a boy. He was a man.
And my heart skipped a beat.
We
occasionally stop before the entrance to our neighborhood to switch seats and
let him finish the short, uneventful drive home. He has been driving the
golf cart around the neighborhood for years, the jeep on the deer lease for
even longer, and G-Paw's jeep on a dirt track last year. I figured, a
quick half a mile in our neighborhood is the easiest of all by far. We
had been talking quite a bit about the safety and laws of driving. He's
been figuring out mirrors and pedals and his mother's comfort zone. I
remember one conversation as I was driving one day.
"What's
the rearview mirror for? Seems silly."
"Even
though you need to keep your eyes forward, it's good to check your rearview
mirror every now and then."
Along
all of those quick trips, it wasn't until one day I looked over at his hands
holding the steering wheel. They looked just like Patrick's. They
were huge. Long fingers. Steady. Sure. It wasn't that
small hand that used to grab mine. It wasn't the small hand that would
reach out to hand me things. Or the one that pushed his Hot Wheels along.
Or even the ones that just a year before had built Legos for hours.
He had the hands of the man. And in that moment, I realized he was closer
to being a grown man than he was my little boy. In that moment watching
his hands drive home, I missed my little boy.
I
didn't think of those hands again until I watched him walk away in the rearview
mirror. It was that very question about the rearview mirror God brought
to mind and that I pondered on that day as I drove home.
In
all of the unknowns of what lies ahead for him, what he heading toward, and the things he will face,
God flooded my mind with sweet memories of my first born son. Precious memories.
Times where it was just the two of us pushing through a long deployment. Then, two. Then, six. Memories of the three of us at our first homecoming. The six of us at his last. Memories of
trips taken. Talks had. Prayers shared. I was looking behind
to God's faithfulness. God’s rearview mirror. I was remembering His works of old. In
that moment, He was overwhelming me with His provision, His presence, His love.
God was always telling His people, the Israelites, not to forget.
To remember. To look back on His faithfulness and be encouraged when the unknown was ahead. In that
suburban, just my Father and I, He spoke to my heart, quieted my sobs, and calmed my anxious thoughts.
He was right there. I know it. He was so real in that car. As
I drove, I talked and I shared with Him my fears and doubts, and yet, it was as if He kept
turning my thoughts to my spiritual rearview mirror, saying,
Look
my child. Look at my faithfulness. Remember. I love him. And
I love you. I have loved you with an everlasting love. And him.
Holy
hindsight. It was His gift to me that day. I was loved. He was almost audible, so much so I kept wanting to look over at the seat next to me. He was so
close, I knew He was there.
"...but your own eyes have seen all the great work of the Lord which He did." Deuteronomy 11:7
I
talked. He listened. He spoke to my soul. I listened. I cried
more. But my heart was calmed. He calmed me by showing me His
rearview mirror. Showing me where I've been. Where He brought me. And Who had been
there.
"When I remember You on my bed, I meditate on You in the night watches, For you have been my help, and in the shadow of Your wings I sing for joy. My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me."
Psalm 63:6-8
As
I pulled into the garage and the door shut, I sat in silence for what
seemed like an eternity. In quiet. But my heart was full. I
remembered. He reminded me. He was right there. My days with
my growing children may not get easier, they will look different as I move forward with each of them, and I do still have a lot of mothering left.
But I will have my rearview mirror faith. And I will check it.
I will remember.
"I don't need to know where I'm going, I just
need to know where I've been."
~Mater from Cars
