Untitled ~ part One

The 25th of this month is Andrew’s 13th birthday. We never expected not to
celebrate his entry into the teenaged years with him. Just a few months ago
Andrew and I were joking that he would be driving before his older brother
who was showing no interest in obtaining a learner’s permit.
Yesterday, I watered and pulled the dead parts from the plant that rests at the
head of Andrew’s grave.

One day, several years ago when I was home schooling my two oldest
children and Andrew was nearly 18 months old, I was fasting. Although I
had not eaten I was finding it very difficult to snatch time here and there for
undisturbed prayer. Life just kept coming! I was fixing meals, doing
laundry and teaching math and reading. Andrew, at only a year and a
half, was “into” everything.

Frustrated and feeling spiritually inadequate, I finally heard my husband’s
car in the driveway. I handed Andrew to Dan and asked if he could take care
of him while I went in our bedroom to pray.

I retreated to our bedroom, closed the door and knelt by my bed. Tears trickled down my face. I felt like such a failure. I asked the Lord just what He expected of me as a mother who desired to serve Him whole heartedly and who longed to be in His presence. Tearfully I whispered to Him that my life and children were a blessing and although I did not look at them as distractions,

sometimes the duties of motherhood intruded upon my time with Him. Sighing, I rested my wet cheek upon the bed.

From the family room I heard Andrew crying for “Mommy.” My husband

tried to calm and placate him. Still on my knees I asked the Lord again, “What do you expect of me?”

I sensed this gentle response, “Go to your child.”

Just then the door burst open and a teary eyed toddler ran into my outstretched arms.

I heard my husband call out, “I’m coming. I’ll get him.”

“That’s alright,” I answered, “I’ve got him.”

I stood up, holding my son and speaking softly to soothe his frazzled nerves, a reflection of my own only moments before. As I held him I noticed his bare feet were dirty and I went toward my bathroom intent on washing his feet in the sink. Turning on the water, I heard that quiet voice again, "Whatever you do for the least of these, you do for Me."

The overwhelming love of God seemed to suspend time, when in the mundane act of washing my little boy’s feet, I sensed I was washing the feet of Jesus. The atmosphere in that small bathroom seemed to thicken as the holy presence of God descended upon Andrew and me. I dried his feet and we both breathed deeply, satisfied with this unpredictable turn of events.
My son had simply longed for the attention of his mommy, and to have her gentleness soothe away the frustrations of his day.
I had wanted to be in the presence of my Father and hear His gentle voice speak truth to my spirit.
That day my son and I both got what we wanted.


(There is more to this story…Part two occurs 10 years later.)