82nd doing heroic work in Haiti

82nd doing heroic work in Haiti

Where do you begin to help? :: WRAL.com

Where do you begin to help? :: WRAL.com

Mims goes with 82nd Airborne convoy to capital

Mims goes with 82nd Airborne convoy to capital

Just One More Kissy

“Just One More Kissy”

My youngest son Matt enlisted in the Army.  I haven’t seen him since mid-April.  A year before, Matt and I flew to Southern California for a family wedding -- that’s when he decided to let me know just how serious he was:  “Mom, it’s something I’ve got to do; I will regret it the rest of my life if I don’t go into the military.” 

Do you remember the flashbacks the father (Steve Martin) had in the movie “Father of the Bride” when his daughter said, “I’m going to get married”?  He looked across the table at her and saw his little girl in pigtails.  The same thing happened to me.  I looked at my 6’2” big burly son sitting next to me in this little airplane seat, and I saw a little boy.  This wasn’t my adult son talking; this was my baby. 

This was the baby I held in my arms after a c-section, the one whose big beautiful eyes looked up at me as I nursed him.  This is the one who used to follow me around the kitchen in his walker, always needing just a “little more” of me.  This is the one who struggled to speak for himself because his big brother would do it for him.  This is the one who used to hold his arms up to me and say, “just one more kissy,” whenever we parted ways for awhile.  This is the one who loved to be loved, who played the “baby” part well, who knew that he had this mom wrapped around his little finger, and he knew I was okay with that!  This is the one I prayed softly with the day he came to me to make sure Jesus truly was in his heart.  This is the one, now, telling me he’s headed into the military, in time of war.   

I sat quietly, carefully choosing my words.  Then this came out, “You do what you feel God is calling you to do then.  Don’t live a life wondering or regretting.  I will support whatever decision you make.”  With a huge lump in my throat and wanting to change the subject, he just looked at me.  He was relieved.  He knew that my support and love was something he needed.  We continued our conversation throughout the rest of the flight while he excitedly shared his dreams.  Me?  I held back tears while I smiled, listened, and nodded.

In less than 2 weeks, Art and I, along with other family members, will proudly see Matt graduate from Fort Benning, Georgia, Army Infantry School.  From there, Matt is headed to Airborne School and will be stationed in North Carolina with the 82nd Airborne Division, until he is deployed to, more than likely, Afghanistan.  

The lump that grew in my throat on the day of our plane conversation never left me.  It’s a little bigger now.  I take one day at a time because I know my thoughts only take me where I don’t want to go.  

It’s a little different now.  Matt doesn’t put his arms up in the air anymore and ask for one more “kissy.” 

But guess what I’m going to ask for the minute I see him?   

Ditching Worries

I read a devotional this morning that really had an impact on me; it was a simple little story; however, it has a huge application for someone like me, one who fights the “worrying” temptation more often than I’d like to admit.

 

A woman tells a story about her father who purchased 10 acres of land on a hilltop as a beautiful summer refuge for their family.  It was beautiful, not only because of the physical surroundings (strawberry beds, crocuses, orchards and big gardens) but because the father made it a place where all problems were to be left behind.  He insisted it be a refuge away from worries.

When they turned off the highway to this summer home, the first thing they saw was a ditch.  The dad named the ditch, “Worry Ditch.”  So before heading up the hill (a hill they fondly named Mount Pleasant) the dad stopped the car, and one-by-one, family members got out of the car and “threw” their worries into the ditch.  The dad even made a sign for all visitors, letting them know that “worries” were not permitted -- worries that may be “big or small, fat or thin” were to be ditched before heading up the hill.  And while on vacation, if a family member forgot the rule -- by allowing worrying, complaining, or quarreling in the summer home -- the dad would send them back down the hill to the ditch, to “dump” whatever was spoiling their experience.   As I pictured this beautiful place of refuge, I said to myself, “I want to go there!”

I also thought about the impression the dad was trying to make on his family, and I was reminded of Jesus’ teaching in Matthew Chapter 6, specifically about worrying.  I read it again this morning and realized at any time -- not just once a year on a summer vacation -- I too, can go to “Mount Pleasant.”  I can go any day of the week, any time of the day and worship the One who taught me that worrying is a waste of time.  Jesus said, “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his(her) life?” (v. 27)  Jesus taught from a mountainside, and I can only imagine that it was beautiful too, even more beautiful than Mount Pleasant. 

So, today, I sit on the mountainside of my own “Mount Pleasant” reading Christ’s words of encouragement, remembering that I haven’t “ditched” my worries entirely.  But, I don’t have to run to a ditch to get rid of them.  I simply leave them with Jesus, and it’s there where I find peace and contentment.  

Will I still be tempted to worry?  Will it be something I continue to struggle with?  Yes.  However, if I take refuge in Jesus by heading to His “mountainside,” and if I do this often -- as the dad taught his family to do -- the worries of this world will lessen.  And my worship will increase for the One who said, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.  Each day has enough trouble of its own.”