The Ledge

“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem." Isaiah 66:13 NIV

He measures 14 inches shorter and weighs 12 pounds less than his sister who drew her first breath more than three years before air brushed against his round face. Those facts hold little significance in Z-man's toddler-sized mind. He is not easily daunted by his limitations...he rarely recognizes their existence. Often, he stretches himself toward risks in order to grasp opportunity. He desires what his big sister possesses. He wants his legs to move as quickly as hers can. He does not want to sit on the sidelines and watch. For my boy, learning comes by the result of doing, not from listening.

This past Easter Sunday, my daughter stood on the wooden ledge that borders a small hill in front of our home. The ledge, which separates the sidewalk from the lawn, stands about a foot high. After obtaining her balance, she slowly walked across the eroding beam. Not wanting to miss out on a thrill, Z-man, hoisted his frame on top of the ledge. My hands held a camera, so I asked my son to wait. I knew he needed my assistance to secure his balance before he could follow his sister.

True to his nature, he embraced his impulses and ignored his mother's advice. Just seconds after the soles of his shoes touched the wooden ledge, Z-man's tender forehead collided with the cement sidewalk. My fingers pressed against his collarbone as he tumbled, which lessened the the damage caused by the blow, but did not stop his fall.

A sorrowful wail burst from the depth of his lungs and his hot tears seeped through my blouse as I held him close to my chest offering him every ounce of love I owned as comfort. I could not undo the fall, nor could I instantly relieve him of the system shocking pain that seared through his head. I certainly did not lecture or scold him about his actions either...natural consequence took care of that. In that moment of temporary agony, I simply covered my child with myself...my time, my tender words, my kisses, my love.

Sometimes, I act a lot like my son. I covet the possessions of others. Occasionally this includes items with material value, but mostly I yearn for the intangible...talents, admiration, abilities, milestones, and recognition. More than once have I hopped on top of a ledge looking at those ahead of me and wanting to catch up...wanting to be anywhere but in the place in which I stood. More than once, my Father asked me to wait...to allow Him to steady my balance and direct me. More than once, I shook my head and mumbled I know what I want. I know that I want it now, and I am going after it. And more than once, I took off running only to slip, crash, and cry out for solace.

After each fall caused by my own haughtiness, my Father scooped me up into His arms, held me tight, and covered me with His love.

(This is my entry to Scribbits April Write-Away contest--the subject this month is "mom.")