Mary, Did You Know? and Pam, Do You?

As I listen to the words of a beautiful Christmas song, “Mary, Did You Know”, the words touch my heart and move me to tears.  The music is absolutely elegant and the message is phenomenal.  It includes a phrase

Mary, did you know that your Baby Boy would one day walk on water?

Mary, did you know that your Baby Boy would save our sons and daughters?

And to some extent, I think the bible teaches us that she had a clue.  I cannot imagine what kind of parent she was. What did she do when Jesus wandered out into the path of horses or other animals in transit? how did she raise him? discipline him? protect him? what did she feel? was she scared day in and day out? worried? faithful? Did God talk to her regularly and remind her of her son’s purpose? Did she feel empowered by that purpose ? or frightened by it?

Then I wonder what kind of parent would I be, how different than the one I am now, if God told me what he told Mary. Would I have more discipline and self-control and never lose my temper? Did Mary? Would I never grow weary from work and school, and cooking, and cleaning, and .......... ? Did Mary?

Kimberly Locke's MP3 of Mary Did You Know?

 (which I played more than 50 times on Christmas Day)

Another line in the song states,

Did you know that your Baby Boy has come to make you new?

This Child that you delivered will soon deliver you.

I have no doubt that the work of parenting changes me, changes us all, and has us work to bring out the very best in us in ways that no other relationship or experience ever can.  Come hell or high water, I am totally transforming year after year and I always assume it is God’s plan. Within that assumption is the notion that what I was before is what I am being delivered from... and there is someplace special, better, that I shall be delivered to.

The song continues,

Did you know that your Baby Boy has walked where angels trod?

When you kiss your little Baby you kissed the face of God?

While I believe God is within all of us, I am rarely present to the feeling that emanates from that belief. The lyrics suggest a tender, gentle image, one that fades as the baby becomes a boy, losing some innocence and becoming more knowledgeable of man’s worldly ways. As my son approaches his ninth birthday I rarely get to kiss his face let alone feel the divine presence within him.

How easy it is to be caught up in the day-to-day living that we lose sight of the divine! It seems so hard to me to keep the forces of commercialism and capitalism at bay in respectable yet distant places so that my household focus can be on the quality of our relationships, the substance of our knowledge and intellect, and the vitality of our spiritual, physical, and emotional health. It is so easy to work just a little bit longer at the office and then justify that time lost with the paycheck that buys the stuff we consume, a portion of which is not needed at all. But how tired does that job make me? how much less energy do I have for my child because I give extra at the office? What did Mary do? what kind of energy did she have? How loving, gentle, tender, patient, and gracious was she with Jesus?

The song ends with the following lines:

Mary, did you know that your Baby Boy is Lord of all creation?

Mary, did you know that your Baby Boy would one day rule the nations?

Did you know that your Baby Boy is heaven's perfect Lamb?

The sleeping Child you're holding is the Great, I Am.

As a parent, I have many instances of feeling the weight of a life, a young heart, in my hands. I can be too serious and significant at times, but I am not wrong. The decisions I make, behavior I exhibit, all of it fuels my parenting, models a role for my child, and makes a way (or not) in the world for him. Shouldn’t I err on the side of more serious than less? I fear intrusion from television and media, the character development I am at work on is under construction and vulnerable to outside influence. Shouldn’t I assume the work is serious in case this boy one day rules a nation? He certainly thinks he can be the next Barack Obama and I am not saying anything to the contrary.

What if she was none of those things?

How come we don’t all act like our children might be Jesus coming back? Do we need to?

Multitasking-less

I notice that in this era of advancing technology we are more and more capable of doing many things at once.  We can do more, do it faster, do it longer.  At some point in recent years, we became a nation that prided itself on its ability to multitask. Yet I also notice that as I age my personal ability, my internal technology, seems to be moving in the opposite direction.

I liken the experience to that of a juggler.  In my twenties and thirties I became a master juggler quite successfully. Now, in my forties, I still am. The difference being that I had responsibilities the size of tennis balls back then and today the issues before me are the size of bowling balls. I am successful at the juggling but as I handle the bowling-ball-sized responsibilities, the tennis-ball-sized-items that get tossed my way often fail to get picked up or handled well.

So, for instance, as I work hard in my role as mother, focusing on homework every night, I work to make sure my son is mastering the lessons, applying the exercises for practice, and absorbing the knowledge in his long term memory banks. I do this while working full-time at my job and volunteering part-time at his school and at our church.... the "bowling-ball-sized items".

I am mothering, teaching, directing, all with the intent and focus on my son's intellectual, behavioral, and social development. And now, as the fall season moves quickly toward winter, I notice the boy has no pants.... which ought to be a tennis-ball-sized matter... until November comes.

The boy has grown three inches since April and has insisted on wearing shorts the entire time. We are deep into October and the one pair of pants he has worn to church every week for months has finally given out at the knees. 

I am sure this sounds like a really minor problem. I can afford to buy more pants. Yet the multitasker in me cannot figure out when and where and I have zero time to get it done before they will be desparately needed and their absence will cause him to be labeled inappropriate and me to be labeled a bad mom (or at least a weird one).

I will manage this somehow... but what I notice more than the temporary pantless situation is how fried my brain became when I realized we lost the only pair of pants we had.  I am certain the issue is more complicated by my son's firm belief that he should not have to wear pants (thus, I suspect, the lack of forthcoming communication about the insufficient quantity of pants). Once the situation finally penetrated the fog that has become a permanent part of my head, I became paralyzed, frozen, stuck. I had plans, agendas, maps, and dates... this was an interuption. A problem. A challenge. One that I did not feel compelled to rise to meet, but rather compelled to fall under. Better yet, crawl under. Somebody please stop this ride that is my life. It is going too fast and I want to get off.

Stop it now.