Wednesday, August 5, 2015

He Will Stand

He Will Stand

"Who are you to judge someone else's servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand."  --Romans 14:4

I may be taking this verse out of context, but perhaps not. The 14th and 15th chapters of Romans urge us to accept the believer whose faith is weak, to refuse to be an obstacle between a brother and the Lord, and to bear with others in order to demonstrate the grace of Jesus Christ extended to both us and them. 

Funny how these truths make sense to me in light of mothering teenage sons. These days I am surprised often by the subtle-sharp shock of the reality of their separateness. At times I have found myself strung with tension, death-gripping seasons recent and past, mourning a phase of life that is passing, fearing the changes that are already turning the color of our days like the overnight blush on October leaves. The irony is that I'll wake tomorrow and it will be winter unless I grasp the truth about letting go. The truth is that this winter has chilled my soul once, and I would hurl myself, heave my fear, and leave my children at the cross of Christ a thousand times before subjecting myself to it again.

I have three sons who openly claim the Lord Jesus as their authority and the rescuer of their souls. They stand alongside me in worship, and they take part in prayer with their dad, with me, and with others as equals. They do their best to stand with their peers in strength and loyalty. They are not naïve to struggle. They are not naïve to temptation. They are not naïve to some of the worst that human beings have to offer. They are not naïve to their own weaknesses. They are not naïve to the limitless warm swell of the very grace of God.

Not that long ago their Bibles needed pictures of epic heroes and wind-whipped waves. Not that long ago I molded their hands into little clasped fists and gently pressed their sweaty heads into a reverent bow. Not that long ago I elbowed their squirmy sides on Sunday mornings. Not that long ago I had to explain. I had to remind. I had to wonder.

As both their mother and a spiritual leader, I was and am flawed, fearful, and too-often failing. But God is gracious. It was by his grace that he gave me a season to press and mold and model and hold. Yes, God is gracious, because these young men stand. The same rescuer of my own soul will go to any length to defend theirs. If in any sense they were ever mine, it has always been under his authority. They are his servants, and who am I? I see now that I have never been their master. I am their mother, but to their own master they stand and fall. And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand.

God is gracious. 

We will stand.      


ErinRMS 8/5/15

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Homing


Family is supposed to be better than none.
Love is supposed to transform. 
A hand extended is intended to lift. 
An embrace is intended to warm. 

She nursed you with chemicals, starved you of milk. 
She taught you to need with no want. 
They stuffed you with filler.  They blinded with bling
And pitched soul-numbing dazzle to stunt. 

Would you have been better off left where you were?
Was anything changed by our choice?
Your tongue now spits curses. Your heart still fears love.
The only thing new is the force of your voice.

The time you spent here, did it buoy at all?
Did we shelter or catch and release?
Did you rip yourself out at the roots when you left
Or shake off the shallowest layer of dust?

The man I see now:  skinny, smoky, sunk-in,
More raw than the day that we met,
A self-declared orphan, fists balled on your thighs,
Wild hair dull, blue eyes hardened to flint--

How is it possible?  Nine years of home, 
Of my life braided daily with yours,
Was only the curl of my heart around air.
Was I somehow a fool for your ghost?

But maybe, like color picked up in the wash,
Or smoke curling under a door,
Or the imprint of sleep on your cheek when you wake,
We endure with you more than you know.

Son, we are real.  With our flesh, breath, and soul,
You are named.  You are loved.  You are known.
Though the shell of you--hardened, electrified--runs,
The truth of you still lives at home.

--ErinRMS 7-18-15