I kinda think of God as this brilliant puppeteer. The master handler of our strings. The tangles. The dangles. The holy.shnikeys.get.this.mess.unraveled.now of us. There are many who argue science, theory and all things evolution. Listen to them, I do, with equal respect for the human heart. And then I sit inside my very own beating.
There inside, I know nothing of bang or evolve. I know touch. Feelings so immense they overwhelm tears both of joy & sadness out of my insides. I know love. The kind that warms and the kind that heals. And I know peace. The feeling of completeness through all of the uncertain. It's a feeling heavy. Holy efforted. And anything but scientific. It's humanity: God's strings twisting us from above.
And the best part? We simply have to watch and see how He finagles us. There is no other mandate than to seek. And once you have your Pinocchio legs about you, MOVE.
Today's contributing author is living the Pinocchio life. Beautifully, she is. In the hard & through the heavy, she seeks. Him: the handler of her strings. This lady has moved 1, 935 miles away from a comfortable home built in her hometown of Chattanooga, TN where she worked as a public school teacher and raised her 3 sons with her husband. Away from her best friends and from her family. From her Mama who is winning the fight against breast cancer. AWAY.
She has left not only her family and her home, but her paid profession too. And she is watching Him move. Seeking the string life with her sons & husband, Las Vegas, Nevada is now her home. With huge steps of faith, she is homeschooling her children and championing with her husband to begin The Springs Church.
This friend is one I call so sacred to my steps. And yet, we've never formally or officially even hung out. As puppeteer, He knows just how to cross the strings of you & me. He has taken someone so far out of my everyday and placed them into my collection of strength. Her humanness is one of the holy strings I reach for to hold me when I need reminders to seek a little more and to sulk a little less.
She is light. She is love. She is moving.
Please make welcome Ashley Mosley and her wonderful words.
In what seems like a blink, my eight pound, eleven ounce bundle of baldness, cheeks, and all things round turned into a tall, muscular seven year old boy. In what seems like a blink, those diaper changes and soft snuggles turned to shopping for an athletic cup and hard bleacher sitting.
In what seems like a blink, the-holding-of-the-hand-and-looking-both-ways-before-crossing-the- road-instruction has turned to him teaching me how to create a Minecraft world and how to do the perfect roundhouse kick.
In what seems like a blink, the he needs me has turned to the he needs me to let him lead.
Mamas, the pain is real, right?
As the clock ticks and each day makes our kids older, we must make a choice...
Am I gonna let him lead... or am I gonna hold him back?
It has been set on auto play in my old noggin for a while now. Let him lead. Let him lead. Let him lead.
I watch his actions. I see the growth. I reflect on where he has been. I dream about where he is going. Let him lead. I hear it. Loud and clear. I get it, too.
I’m not raising a boy. He already is one.
I’m not teaching him to be seven. That teaching happened the first six years of his life.
I whisper a pep talk to the reflection in the mirror. You can do this, Mama. One day at a time. Raise him to be a man. To be a leader and go against the grain if he has too. And confidently stand up for his beliefs. Clothe him in courage and bravery. That is the type of man my husband and I are raising. Yes ma’am. We’re raising him to ride that bull of life for eight long seconds and not be shaken by a fall. But, pick himself up, dust off the dirt, and get back on the saddle to try again. He must be given the chance to lead and make mistakes along the way. To own their lessons, experience grace, and gain wisdom through it all.
To raise a man, we have to know when to let him lead. Allowing him chances for practical field training. On the job. In the trenches. We have to let him lead.
And he is letting us know too.
His signals scream that he is growing up. He often fixes breakfast for himself and his little brothers. He celebrates over climbing to the top of the tree and back down again while requiring no help from me. For it was Mount Everest in his young eyes. He runs out on the baseball field to meet his new coach without the same hesitation he would have clung to a year ago. All these warn me that he is letting go.
Crossing the street on his own to check the mail. Wanting to be able to turn that stiff key all by himself and deliver those daily sale ads and bills to our door.
The drive to fix his own scrambled eggs. “Don’t help me mom, not even turning on the stove or cracking the egg.” My watchful eye stands off in the distance. Who cares if part of the shell g!ets in there. I’m letting him lead. He knows his pace. I know how fast I can get to him.
Living in a new city, we have much to explore. We have this beauty of a mountain standing guard close by. Everyday her shadows at sunset beckon us to come. We set out on our first conquering hike. The sun slipping away, but my boy is armed with headlamp. For the view of Las Vegas from the top was sure to be stunning at dark. We climb. Rocky, windy. We climb. He wants to lead. I let him. For my boy is training to be a man. He knows his pace. I know howfastIcangettohim.
My heart stirs with emotions. Let him be brave and courageous, Ash. Teach him to be wise and cautious, too. I instruct. He leads. The adventure is great and conquering the climb drives him. We all marvel at the billions of lights that shine over the city that never sleeps. I marvel over my boy training to be a man.
Letting him lead now is part of the molding and shaping him into the man that he will one day need to be. Sooner than later, might I add. Much sooner than later. ! ! A man who will one day drive a car, vote, say I do, and hold his own child. Who will be responsible for caring for his wife when that first post wedding argument takes place. When the bills seem to be more than they can handle. When they might face the loss of their unborn child. We’re raising a man who will experience set backs, let downs, and “your not good enough” shouts from the world. And then must know how to put those in there rightful place. Even while he is seven. His daddy and I are teaching him the fine art...the dying art... of treating ladies with respect and dignity. He’s learning how to reach out of his comfort zone and do something even if it means he is afraid.
His signals warn me that he is letting go.
I have to let go too. Sometimes, us mamas don’t want to let go. We want to hold on to our baby forever. Keeping them close and never sending them out of the nest. However, maybe it’s in the letting go that we are really keeping them close.
It’s about giving our kids wings to fly and courage to do so. To know how to lead when someone else is depending on them for guidance. And to lead with strength, confidence, courage, and bravery.
But, it is also about creating a home with deep roots that they know they can run to for middle of the night hugs when a bad dream wrestles with their peaceful sleep. And, when they are grown and raising families of their own, they come home to you. For a chance to put their feet under your dinner table and share laughs about parenting and their own childhood memories. To hug you tightly in the airport when they arrive to their familiar for Christmas. Giving them roots promises phone calls for your words of wisdom in tough situations.
Giving roots requires giving space. Space to grow. Space to lead. Space to find their place in life. All while connected to you. As parents, we get the chance to guide. To let out the string and reign it back in when need be. We are coaching our kids to be adults. World changers. W! e are and they will be.
And for that, I choose to let my boy lead. I listen to the rhythms of his motion. I let his signals warn me of his increasing independence. My heart will always cherish his dependence of me as an infant. My heart will gladly let go as he trains to set out on his own. Even at seven, he is training.
Mamas, when we look through the baby books and tears stream down because of how little they once were, let’s also take a look at who they are becoming. Let’s give them a chance to lead. A chance to become mighty men and women who will change the world.
I’m a follower of Jesus, wife of Brian, mama of three boys, and native of Chattanooga, TN. My life has just changed speeds as we moved across the country. I’ve bid farewell to the last nine years of classroom teaching. I now welcome my new life of homeschooling my boys and helping my husband plant The Springs Church in Las Vegas, NV.
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