One of the things that I passionately try to address when I speak to womens’ groups are the labels we hypothetically predetermine…”the terrible two’s” (especially at Mops) , or “just wait till they’re teenagers”, etc. I have some definite feelings about this, but yes, for a different post.
Since I haven’t officially “launched” my blog yet, and no one knows it’s here…this post is for me. A reminder of my calling. A whisper from my Heavenly Father in regards to the legacy He has called me to leave. This is to remind me of the goodness of a relationship with your teen when a mommy’s heart is fully engaged in reaching his.
Don’t get me wrong, teen years are tough emotionally, and I am only a few years into it. I mess up…royally… and am often asking forgiveness from those very blessings whom I desire to mentor. Yet these years are so precious. It’s a small window in which we can watch as the Lord bring boys into manhood. I want to be there – front and center – enjoying every minute of it. It is racing by, and I want to capture those “manhood” moments. That’s what this post is about. It was a mommy moment when the Lord reached out during a season of drought, and assured me…he is mine!
It started with some musing from “the mom” about the gross nature of dried and crack heels. Yep, you got it… ugly feet, and sheer vanity. I am not really a pedicure kind of gal (clarification…wasn’t), but necessity was rearing it’s ugly head when even my 5 year old daughter realized the drastic measures that needed to take place if mommy was going to continue in her usual flip flop foot fashion.
Yesterday morning, my oldest son and I were alone in the family room and he called me over to my comfy chair.
“Mom, let me try out this Ped-egg on you,” he said. (For those of you wondering…this pedicure tool won out on our local news “deal or dud segment.”)
I must tell you, I was a little taken back and wondered what his primary motives were. I mean, come on, this is a gross task and he just told me being a pedicurist would be a disgusting job. I do believe he said, “Can you imagine all the nasty feet that people have?”
And now he was searching those feet out…namely mine?
My “terrible teen” went on to spend not five minutes, not ten, but over 30 minutes meticulously
getting every bit of dry skin off my ugly feet. Then he took lotion, and massaged those feet, and made sure that they were smooth and beautiful. And in those moments, I saw Jesus…through my son.
We shared life those 30 minutes. We talked about Jesus washing the disciples feet and I couldn’t help pointing out how this act of service reaches down to the core of who someone is. That’s why Jesus choose it. It’s embarrassing, and yet as my eldest took care of “my man feet” lol… he ministered to me in a way, a simple way, that makes an impact for life. He won’t know what an impact it had. He has no understanding of the way that Jesus whispered through him. Only I could see, through tearful eyes, a boy share a moment of manhood with his momma.