Twenty-six Seconds in Hindsight (the smidge that got smudged)

I had a friend in high school whose mom was totally weird. Nearly twenty years later, I’m that weird mom. Case in point:  Sometimes I make you yell at me, as I love to see your confidence. It’s a little game we play occasionally after breakfast on mornings when Dad leaves early for work, lest he think I am - well - weird.

I go stand in the pantry and dare you to sing the song “My God is So Big” loud enough that I can hear you. When you and your brother accomplish this, I go to the next challenge.  Can you sing it loud enough that I can hear you in the bathroom?  The bedroom down the hall?  Upstairs?  Outside?  Just how loud can you shout my God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do?

“Do not be afraid. Keep on speaking. Do not be silent.”

This was the memory verse last week at church - Acts 18:9. I knew it was going to be about teaching you to speak up for Christ. I just didn’t know how fitting it could have been. Turns out it’s not only about telling others about God, it’s about reminding ourselves and reminding you, sweet one, who He is.

One week ago we conquered something…I taught you to downhill ski. Now there was a time when I vowed I would not teach you this skill, after seeing how poorly it goes for the majority of parents on the bunny hill. I’d hire someone else. Leave it to the pros. But my nostalgia won over. I knew you’d remember this day, and I wanted you to remember it with me.

With that, I warned you it would be really hard. Then I proceeded to tap into a parenting skill that will save you innumerable tantrums.  IT’S A GAME CHANGER.  I played the goofball card.  I skied backward - a lot. I danced.  I sang lame songs. I jumped up and down. I made stupid comments like “This is incredible - you did it! You really did it! I never expected you to get this far on the first day! Look at you - you got one ski boot on!”

And then we dismounted the chairlift.  More accurately, I dismounted the chairlift, and when I realized you were still on, now up over my head, I yanked you off and we both tumbled down. You giggled at first, but I could see the tears welling up.

The second time, we boarded the lift flawlessly and up we went. At the halfway point, I could sense your tension. Fear was mounting in you like a shaken carbonated soda. You were going to explode. And this is where, in hindsight, I should have spoken God’s love over you.

Instead, I changed the topic.  I said that surely you couldn’t count to ten when you were so afraid. And you counted to ten. Then I asked how loud you could sing the alphabet. And you yelled the alphabet. And I felt proud that the more you recited the less you were thinking about your fear. With that, it was time to stand up, hold hands and dismount the chairlift, which you did beautifully.

In hindsight, this could have been the coolest twenty-six second devotional ever. What if I asked you to yell your song as loud as you could? You would have. I know you would have. And your mind still would have been directed away from your fear. Only difference is, in twenty-six seconds, you would have been speaking God’s power over your fear.

My God is so big, so strong and so mighty there’s nothing my God cannot do. The mountains are His. The rivers are His. The stars are His handiworks too. My God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.