It was one of those mornings. The ones where one or both boys were dawdling, despite my best efforts to prod them forward. One boy sprinkled sugar on the morning, while the other acted out in all his pre-teen glory, pouring attitude at every opportunity.
We climbed into the car—late—because of forgotten shoes and jackets. I steamed, directed it toward the boys. When would they learn? When will they finally realize it’s best to get ready first and then play?
Noooo. They had to steal time from themselves and from me. I got on them about how their tardiness affected my day, my morning.
Yah, that mom-moment was less than uplifting. Far less than beautiful.
We rushed to pick up the other children I drive each morning. They piled into the car, chatted of Pokémon.
As we pulled onto the main street outside our subdivision, a fire truck blocked all three straight-bound lanes . . . My first clue that something serious had happened. I crawled over to the left turn lane, my eyes absorbing the details.
All talk of Pokémon stilled in the back seat. A car parked off the road had a dented front end. I inched past the fire truck to see a tow truck still moving what was left of a mangled SUV onto its bed. My heart pounded. The front half of the vehicle was smashed. The roof of the vehicle—gone. Large pieces of debris, glass, plastic littered the lanes.
How unexpected life is.
You can be irritated as heck at your kids one moment, and then a few moments later . . . they could be gone.
Mine are safe, healthy.
I was convicted at how easily I’m blindsided by the petty, forgetting the important.
Yes, it is my job to train our boys to develop good habits. To be on time. Responsible. Thoughtful. Respectful.
How easily I get bent out of whack when they act like . . . well, children.
I’m stunned by how quickly I’m caught up in the trivial when eternal matters are involved. My boys have hearts, spirits that are easily crumpled. Easily dented.
I never want to be the oncoming vehicle who doesn’t stop until it’s too late. Slamming into the self-concepts, the precious hearts of our boy-men.
Some lives are much shorter than they should be. Am I going to allow myself to be dented by immature childishness of my sons? Or, am I going to take an eternal view of who they really are?
Can I choose to deflect the irritation that engulfs me when I’m on a tight schedule and they’re on Childish Standard Time?
After seeing that accident, I want to cherish every moment God gives me with our boys. Yes, I’m human. I’m going to get irritated. But, what I do with it is what matters most. Will I dent and crush?
Or can I, just maybe, breathe in deep and remember—again—that my guys are in training?
Can I show them they are cherished by their mama and their dad?
Remembering the scene of that accident spurs me on to look through eternal eyes. Only God knows the number of our days.
I want each day to count for our boys.
What about you? What impacting moments have altered your perspective? Was there lasting change?