Maybe This Is Our Such A Time As This

Sometimes, life in the age of coronavirus feels like it’s doing nothing less than asking us to save our people.

Of course, as moms, we know we can’t; saving is always and only God’s job. 

But it feels as though He has given us a historic role to play this season, much like He gave the Biblical Queen Esther.

Comfortingly, she wasn’t all that crazy about it, either. 

She didn’t ask for the job.

She didn’t want it.

She balked at it, at first. 

And when she finally accepted it, she did it with sort of a “well, this might be the death of me, but if it is, so be it” attitude. 

You’ve got to love her.

“Who knows,” Esther’s cousin suggests to her when he’s trying to talk her into taking the job, “but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14).

Our maternal positions may not be royal, but we have been put in them on purpose, for a purpose. 

We might be reluctant.

We might be uncertain. 

We might think what we’re being asked to do will be the death of us.

But Esther accepted her calling for the good of her people, and for such a time as this, we can accept our calling for the good of ours.

All these generations later, Esther’s reluctant decision to go where she didn’t want to go and do what she didn’t feel qualified to do is celebrated and recounted as an example of faithfulness and bravery.

We may demur at the suggestion we would take on the enormous challenge set before us in hopes future generations might speak well of us. But if we accept this commission as nothing less than a royal appointment by the King of the universe, it is no conceit to hope that future generations might live well and serve well and love well because of it.

The quote “God couldn’t be everywhere, so He created mothers” (attributed variously to Rudyard Kipling and a Jewish proverb) gets God’s omnipresence wrong, of course, but maybe it lends itself to this revision: God is everywhere, and one way He is is in the person of mothers. 

When we don’t check out.

When we don’t give more weight to what we don’t know than what we do.

When we don’t suppose we have to figure out how on earth we’ll do the next month (or nine) and instead ask God to help us do each one day.

When, right in the deep and dark of our weariness, uncertainty, fear, and flat-out don’t-feel-like-it, we view ourselves as image-bearers of Abba. 

Not haughtily but humbly. Not because there isn’t any other way for God to preserve our children to the race, but because He thinks highly enough of us to give us the chance to partner with Him in the cause.

God will not force our hand. But if we extend it, He’ll reach out and take it and lead us along so that, following Him, we can lead the people we love. 

In such a time as this.

For such a time as this.

Don't Iron a Graduation Gown While Crying . . . and Other Wisdom From the Moms of the Class of 2020

A few weeks ago, I posted this question on my blog Facebook page:

“Dear 2020 Senior Moms: what advice/words of wisdom/guidance/encouragement would you offer next year’s senior moms?”

I asked this partly because I wanted to recognize these wonderful women and partly because I am a 2021 senior mom and “next year” has suddenly become this year, and I. NEED. TO. KNOW.

With the same grace these amazing moms lent their 2020 graduates, they responded generously, their answers ranging from practical to passionate.

Here, with deepest appreciation, are 21 culled and compiled pieces of wisdom from the moms of the class of 2020. I know I’ll be keeping a copy of this list close at hand...right alongside my purse-pack tissues and my waterproof mascara.

1. Don’t cry when you iron your senior’s graduation gown. Tear drops make more wrinkles.

2. Listen more than you speak, and worry less than you listen.

3. Ask—don’t assume—if they want to participate in school senior/graduation festivities and "lasts." Not all seniors want to. It is their year. Let them do it their way.

4. Allow space for the process of grieving. Honor your senior's emotions.

5. Keep talking to your senior. Give them advice and guidance, because even though they’re bold and ready, they’re also anxious and need you still. Be close, but don't hover.

6. Find out-of-the-box ways to celebrate. Try to help your student see (and to see yourself) that different does not mean not as good.

7. Take some moments to cry to yourself about the things you’ll miss and then cheer openly for all the new opportunities and adventures your son or daughter will have in coming years.

8. Be ready to be surprised by—and so proud of—how bravely yet honestly your senior will handle what comes his or her way. 

9. Pray. (Often.) And give yourself and everyone around you all the grace you can gather.

10. Understand that your senior is looking for independence as you are holding onto their lasts. They will experience a lot of emotions as they let go of you, in a way, and as they look toward their future.Their independence will shake you, but it will also make you proud.

11. Teach them to address an envelope.

12. Remember to take time for you. Renew your interest in things you loved in the past. This will be a gift to you and to your graduate.

13. You never know what you’ll end up loving. (Drive-thru graduation was a kick! If you have it, go all out!)

14. Cherish all the small moments. Take nothing for granted. Enjoy every moment with your whole heart. These kids earned this time to be celebrated. Celebrate everything. Be present. Do it for your kids; do it for you. Do it for the kids who didn’t get to enjoy senior nights and prom nights and graduation festivities. Do it for their mamas who were heartbroken for these moments to pass uncelebrated. Applaud your senior loud enough for all of us.

15. Don’t blink. But do breathe.

16. Plan ahead; don’t wait till the last minute. Don’t procrastinate on minimum requirements for college applications. Be patient with online learning.

17. Take. Pictures. Of. EVERYTHING. And be IN the pictures.

18. Be supportive, let your students have fun, be there for what they need (hugs, chats, food, a confidante), enjoy spending time with them, encourage them, tell them again and again how proud you are of them, and love them.

19. Enjoy the ordinary moments. That’s where real life is.

20. There will be so many “lasts,” but there will be so many firsts to look forward to, also. Cry...but then put on a smile and get out there and enjoy every minute with them!

21. Do all the things and take it all in. Love fiercely...and laugh often.

*****
Deepest thanks to all the mamas (including but not limited to those listed below) who not only shared pieces of their stories on my page but also gave me permission to tell those stories here. You and your graduates truly put the class in the Class of 2020. 

With Tehanne Cooney, Mindi Hommerding, Mellanie Barksdale, Amber Lee Balentine, Kristina Bellon, Debbie Jones, Traci Welborn Holland, Heather Ann Lynn, Lisa Page, Michele Weyland, Jennifer Edmondson Viveiros, Vicky Valle, Cheryl Gottlieb Boxer, Debra Fhaner Cascioli, Becky Harless, Fiona Sing, Gena Bethune McCown, Robin Basone, Stephanie Kay Suranyi, Jennifer Lynn Remer, Jennifer Meyers-Heeter, Lorri Gail Moffatt, Emily Pruitt Nemec, Kori Titus, Katie Rud, Becki Heck-Knister, Leanne Grow, Lavinna Rendon, Tammy Ward, Stephanie Pietrasiewicz, Lisa Edwards Cyr, Amy Shupe, Cyndi Edgley.

Photo credit: Melanie Ortt

For All We Still Don't Know, Here's What We Do Know, Still

The unknowns still feel as though they're ruling the day, these days.

Or, at the very least, they still feel like a bunch of bullies who just won't back down for good.

We don't know what day-to-day life is going to look like this school year.

We don't know what's going to be open, closed, happening, cancelled, rescheduled, or restructured.

We don't know if trips or events or celebrations we've postponed are ever going to have their day.

We don't know what the virus is going to do next or when a vaccine might be ready.

We don't know what's going to be in short supply or a lot more expensive next.

We don't know how far in the future we have to look for plans that are safe to make.

And maybe one of the most unsettling things we still don't know is how long we're not going to know all this. We thought we knew how long a few months ago: a few months, we thought.

It's the open-endedness that still makes this new normal so murky. If only we had a better idea idea of how and when we're going to finally turn a corner. But that how and when still feel like the leaders of the unknown parade at the moment.

Yet for all we still don't know, here's what we do still know. (Some of which, we must admit, we didn't know three months ago.)

We know that learning can happen in lots of different ways and places, even if a lot of those ways and places don't feel ideal.

We know that getting outside and moving around are always good ideas, and we've never appreciated fresh air more.

We know kindness is disease-resistant and is, in fact, one of the best disease-fighters around.

We know laughter does not have to wait until there's nothing unfunny going on. Cannot wait, actually.

We know having a home to be in is a privilege.

We know patience is a skill we can get better at with practice.

We know the big picture is made up of a lot of little pieces that all have to be fit together before they make sense.

We know doing what's best for others often comes at a sacrifice to ourselves.

We know encouragement is not a one-time deposit but an ongoing investment.

We know right now is always the perfect time to tell our people we love them, even though we hope with all our hearts they already know it full well.

And when—when, not if—the fog of doubt closes in again, we strain our eyes once more to see this guiding truth that has not changed...does not change: God knows where we are, and no matter how we've gotten there, He is always ready to take us somewhere new worth going.

"He knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold" (Job 23:10).