It was a rough morning. Saying anything different would be a pretty big lie. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to get dressed. He didn't want to eat. He didn't want to brush his teeth or go to the bathroom. He let me know loudly and with tears. The list could go on, but I'm sure you get the idea. We finally got out of the door, into the car, and drove the two minutes to school...edging on the late side, but close. I prayed with him as we walked up to school, and he was settled for a moment. A police officer was on the sidewalk, making sure kids and parents were following the street crossing rules. I was going to stop and "introduce" Titus to him, I don't want him afraid of those who protect him! As we walked by, Titus said, "Oh! Hello Officer!" My surprise and joy bubbled right out of my mouth, and I didn't even care. I was thrilled to the point of verbal exclamation that my precious boy knew, respected, and acknowledged the officer. The officer greeted Titus, they shook hands (melt my heart!!!), and then we proceeded on.
As we neared his entrance door, things started going south. I got down on my knees, and held him. Another prayer, some back rubbing, and a few kisses to try to calm him and let him know how much I love him. Then, we sat on the sidewalk, waiting for his teacher. She came out along with one the extra staff assigned to the room. Titus was ready to run-pacing, crying, and verbalizing his desire to go home. I looked to one of them, and asked her what they would prefer I do. She told me to leave him there, and walk away. I cannot express the vice-grip fear took at that moment. If you've ever had a strong child run away, or watched an unknowing toddler run in front of a car, then you will know the almost paralyzing amount of fear I had. I walked away, terrified at any moment I would see him darting toward the street. As I walked down the sidewalk, other mom's were discussing their child's new friends in class. The majority were in his class, but no one brought up his name. So, I braced my shoulders, and walked as quickly to my car as I could. Don't cry, not yet.
An eternity later, I got to the car. Breathe deep, don't cry, be tough. I kept thinking this to myself over and over. A moment later, a still and small voice chastened me. Bring your tears to Jesus. I think it will be one of those moments I will never forget. For the first time in my life, I realized Jesus was waiting for me to crumple into His arms. He completely knew and understood the heart-wrenching pain of a hurt child who is not relating to his peers. I did not have to bare them alone. I didn't even have to just, "take His hand." I could fall-weak, broken, afraid...terrified, into His waiting arms, and He would comfort as only He can. So, I cried. Not the puffy-faced "poor me" cry, but a joy-filled release that let Jesus heal. I'm sure I cannot put into adequate words how freeing it was to know that I am incredibly "not tough" and Jesus wants me that way-and meets me right where my knees fail (even when I'm sitting up and driving a car).
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