The
oldest son calls and reminds me the semester is winding down. On
the other end of all the tests and all the homework, the holidays await; we
could both taste the sweetness of it.
We
both anticipate that life for just a few days will gear down. We will celebrate; we will remember. His father and I will attempt to remind him
and all our children that the presents and fun are just garland to the tree;
the tree where our Savior died to give us our rebirth.
We
wonder as parents how well we have taught the meaning of this season. Yet as much as I struggle, I steep in the
thought that this season will come and then just as quickly it will go. The lessons to be carried on are those that
teach us to live a life reflective of this great gift. I
listened as my son listed the tests he had remaining and reminded me he had yet
another paper due.
“Due
tomorrow,” he said and asked if he could email the paper for me to
proof. I am not a gifted proof reader I
readily admitted, but I am in love with this process of his writing.
In
the early hours of the morning, I received an email. I clicked and there my son’s words appeared on
my screen. The magic of this is he and I
can see his work at the very same time;
even more, although we are not speaking, when I type something it appears
in a beautiful little suggestion box off in the right margin of the text.
I
suggest with a click of a button. If my
son “accepts” the suggestion, the change miraculously appears in the text. Although I have a sense of pride when my
suggestions are “accepted” the rejected ones inspire some pride as well.
He is becoming his own man, with his own
thoughts, convictions and talents. In those brief few minutes my son and I are
collaborating on something; something of great importance to him.
I
watched as he typed and corrected a conclusion and then within just a matter of
minutes, we had both signed out of his finished work. This joyful work completed, I clicked into
other open work on my screen. Strangely, for just a few seconds as sense of
loneliness gripped me.
I
was at the same desk, sitting in the same office, yet it felt as though someone
precious to me had just walked out. And,
for the first time, I looked at my relationship with the Holy Spirit as
something of a supernatural collaboration.
You
see the story of our life begins and ends with Him. With incredible compassion however, He allows
us to hold the pen. I believe He orchestrates the setting, the
characters, many of the triumphs and the failures. But, our reactions, our attitude, the rhythm
to which we dance in this life; that is all uniquely ours. Ours to write, edit,
accept and reject.
In
those words, those moments, those days, we can choose to see Him, choose to
hear Him or lose ourselves in the thought that we are alone in the process of
writing and living. The extraordinary
gift of every season is His presence.
That is what I want my children to know.
I
want more than anything that my children live their life knowing nothing occurs
outside of the circle of the Father’s knowledge.
Nothing
comes into or out of our lives without His eyes seeing. And,
no word spoken or idea thought is beyond His hearing.
As
we write and suggest and as
we live, learn, hope and dream, He breathes wisdom, courage and comfort.
This
GIFT of His Spirit spans all seasons.
"This is the
covenant I will make with the people of Israel after that time," declares
the LORD. "I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts.
I will be their God, and they will be my people.” Jer.
31:33
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