Sometimes I find my teeth gritting and hands clenching at those ‘phases’ the kids enter. I hope it all passes quickly, trying to wait it out, watching and praying for some sort of miracle to pass over our house—for my child to return to normal.
Yet, there’s been this one thing both boys have been doing for quite a while now that will absolutely break my heart if and when they outgrow it.
What’s sad is I’d hate to see them outgrow this one. And what’s more troubling is they really shouldn’t outgrow it. The ‘phase’ may still linger in their adulthood, yet the extreme persistence, sensitively, obsession, will most likely slow, if not stop altogether.
You see it comes while we listen to the radio or ipod. It came as we watched skiers race, snowboarders jump and skaters twirl on the Olympics. They ask as we travel the aisles of the grocery store, as we sit in our church seats, and go to school each day. Basically, whenever they see or hear another human being—it’s always the same:
“Mom, do they know God?” or “Dad, do they love God?”
They’ve questioned me on Dave Matthews, Brian Williams, Chris Tomlin—if they have seen you, or heard you, they have asked about YOU. And instead of feeling like I’m solving some amazing math equation, or scientific problem, I’m oftentimes left with questions of my own.
When did I stop caring if everyone knew Jesus? At what age did my heart stop the sensitivity toward their eternal life? Sure, I care. But for everyone? All souls? Every. single. one? Even the ones that rub me the wrong way?
I tell myself I’m busy trying to raise a young family. I need to focus on them, their little hearts. I’m busy serving in church. Isn’t that good enough? Most of the time I tell myself—I’m just plain busy.
But the truth is, many people around me are on their way to eternal separation from God. No Jesus. No peace. No love. No one caring for them.
Somehow even knowing this truth, I can continue on. Like nothing is wrong. Like I have it altogether.
The Lord has commanded me to go.
And I’ve been ignoring Him. Maybe not entirely on purpose. Remember that young family I’m raising? Most of my days are spent within the walls of my home knee deep in diapers, laundry, morning sickness, homework, animal chores and dirt. I physically can’t always go.
Still, each day I do get out. I drive through my small town on my way to school. I stop at the market, the library, the local businesses carrying out my own.
And I know with my whole heart it’s here I’m suppose to go.
It’s here I’m suppose to smile and wave as I pass the school flag lady as she stands in the bitter cold, the STOP sign huge in her hands.
It’s here I’m suppose to pause and say hello to that teenager lighting up outside Town Hall. I don’t know him or the chains draped from his pants, but I know I’m suppose to.
It’s here I’m suppose to actually talk to the cashiers in our local gas station, learn their names, remember them and not just because they have a name tag clipped to their shirt.
I don’t want to be that mom tucked nicely in her mini-van, a frown on my face as I dart here then there, my children wearing the same expression as my own. I don’t want to be so consumed in my own world I forget those around me. And I don’t mean ‘forget those hurting, or lost, or confused, or angry, or happy around me’—No. I simply don’t want to forget.
I want that heart that wonders constantly about their eternal lives. Every heart I pass I want to ask the question:
‘Do they know God? Do they love Him?’
Fallon is not picky about how she gets her ‘Ear-Time’