Posted in Writing

Lost and Found


Starbucks' Christmas Bokeh
Image by pierofix via Flickr

I lost one of my sons today, while returning to my car, from the coffee shop. I glanced over my shoulder, and he was sipping his coffee, whipped cream around his mouth, lagging behind, (yes, I let him have coffee on occasion, please don’t send lectures). So, I jumped into the car, and looked in the rearview mirror, expecting to see him, but didn’t.

I called my husband inside of Whole Foods. “Is Christian with you?” He reported he wasn’t. “If he doesn’t show up, call me, and I’ll go look for him.”

My phone rang two minutes later. “He’s not here. Honey, you should know better when it comes to Moose.” (His nickname)

Christian reminds me so much of our three legged cat, Tipsey. I place his food at the same spot each morning, but he gets lost on the way to his food bowl. I have to pick him up and place him in front of it, for him to eat. I am not belittling him, when I say this. He just notices everything around him, but the path he’s on. When he was a toddler, he stopped to observe every bug on the sidewalk. This makes me a mother bear when it comes to him, and love him that much more.

So, I jumped out of the car, to search for my son. I found him sitting on a bale of hay outside of Whole Foods. His eyes filled with tears, as he explained he thought we forgot him and left. Christian is not a sissy boy, he is all boy…big football player boy, but that burly body of his, surrounds a soft teddy bear heart.

I kneeled down and laughed. “You know Momma can’t live without you.” I said rustling his hair. “I will never leave you..never!” We crossed the parking lot, and he tucked his hand in mine, as he always does.

While walking back to the car, I remembered a scene from the week before. At his football game, my son was on the line, against this giant, and as I’ve said, Christian’s not small.  This giant knocked him down, and when Christian tried to get up, the giant knocked him down again. This went on about five times during the play, each time, the giant put his finger in my son’s face. I stood up in the bleachers and clinched the railing in front of me. I felt fur sprout out of my pores, and fangs break through my lips. I growled, “That’s poor sportsmanship!”

Meanwhile standing below, my husband tried to quiet me down. (When I start shouting, he always meanders somewhere below.)

After the game, I sprinted to the field to greet Christian. He walked over, with a sheepish grin, he shrugged his shoulders. Immediately, relief washed over me, and I forgot my plan to meet giant behind the bleachers later, shove him down, and stick my stiletto in his chest, because that wouldn’t have been very Christ like anyway.

I was so proud of my son, for unlike his mother, he didn’t allow the actions of a giant to affect his demeanor.

There have been other times in his life, Christian has taught me life lessons. One week, I poured out my concerns regarding Christian’s salvation to God. “He doesn’t pay attention to Bible stories.” I explained one night to his Maker, for while I read them the Bible, Christian traveled off to galaxies far..far away.

A week later, my answer to pray came on an index card. Christian had written a letter to God. He wanted God to know he believed in Him and loved Him. He also went on to say, if he didn’t get to go to heaven, he was okay with that, as long as his family was there. He wrote, “If you can find it in your heart to let me go too, I’d like that.”  I knew Christian was no longer lost.

Although with homeschooling, I stress about Christian today, and have to keep him going in the same direction we all are, I know he will be the least of my concerns later. For when he was a toddler, and I said I was scared to cross the parking lot, he slipped his hand into mine, to protect me. He will find the way he’s meant to go, for his tender heart will guide him there.

Author:

I am a Christian wife and mother of four children. I love writing, painting, and turning a house into a home. I live full time in Orlando, Florida, but write and paint at my farmhouse buried in the south. Welcome to the Roost.

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