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One of the hardest things that I do as a mother, my most challenging task, by far, is teaching my son about faith. I have many responsibilities as a mom. They're the common ones that we all share as parents. It's an exhaustive list, and so familiar that I think I can dispense with listing them here because you know what they are. They're all fairly intuitive and we do them without much difficulty in the day-to-day. Some things are not so easy, though. Guiding a child towards faith is one of those. It is not easy. Not by a longshot.
I am a Christian. A long time ago, I turned away from trusting in my own ability to do this thing called life, learning the hard way that my sinful self needs forgiveness, salvation, and a lifetime Guide and Friend to walk with me and talk with me this side of heaven. I want this same reality for Daniel, and it's my job, and his dad's, to live this out before him, guiding, teaching, and being intentional about it.
My son is a literal thinker as well as a visual learner. Abstract concepts are hard, if not impossible at times, for him to grasp. His literal mind requires "just the facts, please, and keep it simple." His visual mind requires a picture, a reality, to accompany the concept. What concept could be more abstract than explaining who this unseen God is and how we can know Him?
To this, his response has produced many excellent and rather profound responses.
"Why can't I see God?"
"Where is God?"
"Is Jesus here?"
And my favorite, "Where is the real Jesus?"
And to these questions, I respond as best I can, pulling from my own faith walk, experience, and knowledge, and relying on God to say the right thing--praying I don't say the wrong thing--and never feeling as though I've given him an adequate response. I struggle, my own faith being tested and stretched in the process. This is a weighty task; if it wasn't, I wouldn't need to depend so heavily (and desperately) on the Holy Spirit for guidance.
Truthfully, there are times that I am so disheartened by our progress in this journey that I begin to lose faith. I feel very alone in what I feel is a sub-subculture. Special needs families exist within their own subculture, one so starkly different from families with neurotypical children. Almost every aspect of family life is different for us. And then there are those, like us, within that subculture striving to raise their children according to Biblical principles and Gospel-centered living in our post-Christian society. Almost daily, I am unsure if I'm doing any of it right, sometimes sure that I'm doing it completely wrong. This past week has been especially draining. I might as well be speaking Greek, because he's not understanding me and I'm not understanding him. I've shut my eyes in frustration and shook my head in defeat more times than I'd care to count this week.
Oh, but He always surprises me when I'm not looking. It's then that God drops some mustard seeds from heaven, and they land smack in the middle of Daniel's hands and heart. And mine.
Last night, saddened that he would be in school when the trash would be picked up, he knew he would miss the first can pick-up. Andres, our trash collector, would come and go while Daniel was at school. Before he went to sleep, he asked me to pray to God about it.
"Mommy, can we talk to God about the cans? Pray about the trucks, Mommy. I want to see the trucks."
I have to admit that I thought to myself, "Well, here goes nothing. Lord, I'm sorry for asking for something impossible, but You know I'm doing it for the child's sake."
The trash is always picked up without fail by 10:00 a.m., the recycle or yard waste by 3:30. When he's in school, he only sees the afternoon pickup. He knows this is the routine, but far be it from me to turn down his request to pray! Of course, we would. And so we did. I asked God to arrange it so Daniel could see the trucks. I prayed with about as much faith as a housefly, sure that my words never made it past the ceiling fan.
"You don't have enough faith," Jesus told them. "I tell you the truth, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it would move. Nothing would be impossible." Matthew 17:20
Today is trash day. 10 o'clock came and went and the familiar rumbling of the garbage truck was noticeably absent, our prayer forgotten.
"Well, he'll be along soon enough."
Noon. 1 o'clock. 2 o'clock. Finally, 3 o'clock rolled around. The school bus pulled up and an excited and inquisitive Daniel hopped off the bus, firing questions at me rapid-fire before the yellow doors fully opened.
Springing off the steps of the bus, eyes bright with excitement, he said, "The green can is still full! All the cans on our street are full. What happened? Where's Andres? Why didn't he come? Did Manuel come yet?"
He assailed me with a battery of questions to which my only response was, "I don't know what happened, buddy. He must've broken down."
And then I remembered the prayer.
Walking into the mud room to deposit his backpack, I spun around to face him, and exclaimed, "Daniel! Do you remember what we did last night?" Realizing how overbroad my question was, I was about to rephrase it so he would understand. But I didn't have to. He understood. He understood because his mind wasn't doing the
His little-boy face beaming in that "aha" moment, grasping it fully, he lifted his hands in praise, and he said it: "Thank you, Jesus!"
"Yes," I said, "Thank you, Jesus. He answered your prayer, Daniel." God had answered our prayer, perhaps more to my astonishment than his. Daniel would get to see two trucks today, after all. Well, how about that?
These are the mustard seeds of faith in my son. God cares about what my child cares about. He loves him so deeply, so earnestly, so purposefully that He will move mountains to show him, and in ways only He can, he teaches him what it is to have faith. And I am the one left with the weaker faith. Daniel possessed the mustard seed and believed he could move that mountain.
This is the God who is the object of our faith.
This is the One who stoops to listen to a child's prayer for the seemingly impossible and ridiculous.
This is the One who stands in the gap with me when my faith is almost nonexistent and hands me the mustard seed. After all, He is the One who created it, for even that is not of myself.
This is Him. This is Jesus. He will stop at nothing to win him. Or to win you...
