“Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid, one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.” – Douglas MacArthur
I am a little anxious writing tonight because I so desperately want to get this right. For the past few weeks I have been confronted with a tangle of thoughts and quotes and words and perspectives that have all built to a feeling to speak … I’m still not sure I know exactly what to say, but I can’t ignore the itch to try, and I pray something will come that is worthy of sharing, worthy of feeling and passing on.
I have been loving a song lately called “Charlie Boy,” by The Lumineers. It is about a young man feeling compelled by the speech of J.F.K. to enter into the war, and to fight for something bigger than himself – freedom. And as such, it is about a mother who is forced to accept his decision to fight, and ultimately, to die. The lyrics sing to her, “… don’t hang your head, love should make you feel good. In uniform you raised a man, who volunteered to stand.” Based on of a true story, I wonder how many brave young men and women have heeded a call I consistently choose to ignore. I crave safety, not the price of it. I yearn to be protected, not defend myself. Having children has only deepened this yearning for sanctuary, I think because I want to offer my son and daughter a promise that’s not mine to give – that they’re always going to be okay.
When my son was five and in kindergarten the Sandy Hook shooting happened. As a teacher, I always knew the threat was real, but when I had a son in a school, and I wasn’t with him – something shifted in me that has perpetually remained unaltered. I’ll never forget the months of shaking hands when I hugged him goodbye and sent him off to class … the way I looked back at the locked door thinking it wasn’t safe enough … the way I questioned the administration about the how they planned to increase the security measures of a small private school. Nothing seemed right for a long time, and every afternoon, when I picked him up, I realized that I’d release a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. It’s the same feeling I now have when I read accounts of families sold into slavery, of the Holocaust, of human trafficking … to me they are all tales of mothers being taken from their children. And I can’t read stories as impartial accounts of history anymore, because all I hear is the injustice of a mother’s broken heart, and the empathy in me rises so that I can hardly breathe.
There is something about my son, my daughter, that have made objectivity impossible. I can no longer look at a situation apart from them, because they are my own precious version of gravity, holding my identity in this time and space in history. And I wish – I wish with every fiber of my being, that the world could understand this love … because if it could, I really believe things would be better. I’m reading an amazing book called Circus Mirandus, and in it, there is a section where a magician offers a little boy an illusion to see anything he wishes to see, as long as he understands it cannot be real. The boy wishes to see his father home from war, and in the illusion, the boy’s mother says something to him that absolutely wrecks me … and I found myself wishing, beyond all wishes, that it wasn’t an illusion, that it wasn’t a beautiful part of a beautiful story, because it is so very acutely the way I believe things should be.
“The war ended all at once and very calmly. It was as if, between one moment and the next, all the mothers of all the soldiers in the world had checked their clocks and realized that their children had been out playing for too long … The soldiers shook hands with one another and wished one another well. Then they raced back to their mothers or to their wives and sons.” – Cassie Beasley
And can’t you just see it? Can’t you see all the misunderstandings, the judgements, the hatred erased as if it were one big confusing game that has just gone on too long? Can’t you picture soldiers, gang members, politicians, and rivals shaking their heads in sudden confusion, bewildered at the mistakes they didn’t ever intend to go that far? If only everyone heard their mothers’ voices calling them back to themselves. If only everyone heard their father calling them home.
What a world we could promise our children.
What peace our trepidatious hearts could feel.
Oh Elle, your words speak straight to my heart. I agree that motherhood makes objectivity impossible, and anyone who tries to convince themselves otherwise would end up cornering him or herself into an emotionally and mentally challenging situation. At this time, I choose to focus on Love and be a little kinder to everyone I meet. We can create a bit of peace wherever we are. I truly believe that.
I believe that if everyone had five minutes a day of uninterrupted time to be listened to and loved on, there would be no problems in the world. Love you Katia. You are an exceptional human being.
Yes!Yes!Yes! Beautiful thoughts full of hope, beautifully written. And there is still great hope for the world in which our children will have their children. It begins in the quiet conversation as we rock them. We can’t forget the truth: Love Wins❤️
Yes Aimee! Children are the key. Let’s love them well!!!
Oh My Sweet Friend As a Mother Of now grown children . I’ve always wanted them to live in a bubble and be under my protection For always . Unfortunately that’s not the way life works and that feeling never goes away . They grow up move on to Jobs , Families , worries and stresses of their own. It’s so hard to watch them sometimes but we pray that God has them under his care and all the other people in the world are kind to them and you are to their children.
Thank you dear Sandra. I will Tuck your words in my heart.
Oh Elle! You have described so poignantly a mother’s heart – so filled will love that it almost bursts daily yet at the same time so filled with the reality of the world and the desire to protect our precious ones that it feels as if it might easily break at any moment. The struggle gets no easier, no the breaths held any less as they grow up, leave home and begin to live their own lives. Although this is what we have prepared them for all their lives, our heart continues to hold them dear, to love, to protect. Because we are mothers and mother’s hearts are forever calling their children home.
Beautiful piece, dear friend!
“Because we are mothers and mother’s hearts are forever calling their children home.” This is the truest most beautiful thought. Stay strong!
Well done Elle. You captured your longlng to say something! We can not be silent. We know what that can lead to. “I thank Christ Jesus our Lord who has given me strength that he considered me faithful appointing me to his service.”-1 Timothy 1:12. Press on as you’ve been called.
Thank you mommy. You’ve taught me to love big.
Four kids and three grandkids and this trepidacious heart still feels the same. I see it becoming more difficult for mothers as the world becomes a more confusing growing-up ground for kids. Helicopter parents, lawnmower parents, best friend parents seem to be symptoms of not knowing how to cope with that that fear. Only God can calm the trepidacious heart!
Oh My Sweet Friend , As a Mother Of grown children I’ve always wanted them to live in a bubble and be under my protection. Unfortunately life doesn’t work that way. That need to protect never goes away. They grow up and move onto Jobs , families,worries and stresses of their own. It’s hard to watch them sometimes but we just have to pray God keeps them under his care . Also I wish everyone is as kind to your Children as you are to theirs.
Thank you so for your kindness and sweet comfort.