Lessons From the Woodshop
In response to my confession that I nearly cried the first time he started to crawl, this young man inquired as to my reasoning with a slight chuckle. He was eating, as he often is, and in between bites I noticed how he now more resembles a teenager than the boy of twelve years that he really is.
He’d never understand, that much I knew, and it reminded me of all of the times my own mother told me that maybe someday, if I was a mother, I would understand too. Yes, the breaking hearts of mothers everywhere sing a silent song to the beat of that thief we know of as time.
I finally, after weeks of hearing all about it, made it out to his newest woodworking shop. He pulled out the lumber he’d saved up for and the hand tools he’d either purchased or been generously given and showed me all of these things I’d never heard of before, though I am 23 years his senior. His handmade saw benches sat beneath the workbench legs he was putting together with a mortise and tenon, both of which I had to look up in order to spell just now.
I knew I had nothing to contribute to what he was saying, not then and not in the entirety of his short woodworking career. Supplied with some books and tools, he took to it like a moth to a flame, as they say, and I saw in that moment that whatever good the Lord does in my children will be despite me and not the other way around.
It won’t be long now, Lord willing, and he will be taller than me. It won’t be long now and he will be off on his own; they all will, really and there is no slowing that train down. So I choked back the tears that day, so as to not repeat the crawling incident of nearly twelve years ago, and thanked the Lord for this gift of being their mama.
I see rather clearly now, a dozen years in, that it will all be over quite soon. So, with the Lord’s help, I will try to hold them loosely and learn from this job daily and pray for them until the Lord takes me home, for that is all I know to do.
A perfect description of the job of mothering, equal parts holding and of letting go.
Love this!
Oh I so know the feeling. My oldest is 13 now, and IS taller than me (I’m 5’7) and he’s even growing facial hair…like complete ear to ear facial hair!! I am not ready for this!!! LOL
My other child is now 9 and he’s been my “challenging” child so to speak. I remember when he was little, he had tantrums for HOURS. I couldn’t wait for him to get older. Now that he is and he’s doing so much better, I want time to put on its breaks!!! Slow down!
I get it! (((HUGS))) from one nostalgic mama to another 🙂
I was reading your post while sitting on the sofa between my son and my grandson. My son will be 40 his next birthday and my grandson is 10. I remember how hard it was to let go and allow him and my daughter space to grow and learn. My grandson said to me the other day that his legs were sore and I said growing pains and he said do the growing pains hurt you too? I said, not like your growing pains; I feel mine here, pointing to my heart. There’s pride in knowing our children are growing up and there’s also pain knowing that their growing up means we are growing old and their new independence often arrives as we began to lose our independence. But, that’s the cycle of life, isn’t it?