The nice thing about having an unknown blog is that hardly anyone reads what I write. The bad thing is that usually the people that do read what I write are my friends and family. As a fairly private person, it's a bit unusual for me to put my business out there, but I suppose things are a bit unusual lately. Bear with me friends.
On Wednesday night I had the privilege of taking my kids to practice for the Children's Christmas Program at our church. It was nice being able to get a sneak preview of cute kids singing and also be able to strike fear into the hearts of my boys as they lined up, walked in, sang, stood up, sat down and did their thing. Yep, I'm the mom that stands in the back doing the "I got my eyes on you" motion as I point to my eyes and then to them. Honestly, I believe that even if I had not been there, my kids would have been well behaved, perhaps even better.
Liam, my middle son, signed up to write about his favorite Christmas memory and share it during the program. When his moment came, he moved to his marker, listened to a sweet 6th grade girl share her moving story, held the microphone to his mouth and said "I can't do this." He then set the microphone down and walked off stage as one of the teachers followed him out of the room. I didn't run to him. I let his teacher provide the counsel and encouragement that a Mom just can't provide, especially a Mom that seems to be watching your every move. When she brought him to me, he was red eyed and still visibly upset. Probably embarrassed. We sat at the back of the sanctuary and he told me all the reasons he could not do it. "Hers was so good." "I'm scared." "I'm only in 4th grade." "Mine is so different from hers."
We dissected all of those concerns and discussed that his story was special too and needed to be shared. Then I reminded him of two moments in his life. The first was may be 3 years ago when he insisted on getting on the platform at our previous church to pray into a microphone in front of hundreds of people. I was more scare than he was and he did awesome. The second was about 2 years ago when he was baptized in front of a couple hundred people and he boldly proclaimed his faith, again into a microphone. I told him that those moments reflect the boldness and courage inside of him and that THAT is who he is. Then he said something kind of timely.
"That's not who I am anymore."
How often have I said these same words to God? I am currently in kind of a funky place. A place where dreams have been shelved and nearly forgotten. A place where the person who I was seems so distant and almost a little mythical. There is a certain boldness, courage and, dare I say it, passion that seems to have waned.
And I say "That's not who I am anymore."
So, on Wednesday night, as I sat in the pew at the back of the sanctuary, I told my son that, of course, THAT is still him. That God had created THAT in him. That, no matter what, THAT will always be him.
As we wrap up this final week of Advent and contemplate Immanuel, God with us, take a moment to pull a dream or two off the shelf. If Christ came so that we might have life and life more abundant, then would it not seem appropriate to reacquaint ourselves with the "us" we were created to be?
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