The Most Wonderful Rescue Mission

One day when I was young I was playing at a park with a fountain. There was a very young boy, not old enough to swim, trying desperately to get out of the fountain. The bottom of the fountain was too slick, he kept slipping and falling back under the water. As he coughed the water out of his lungs over and over again, I tried to stretch out my hand to him without slipping too deep in myself. Though I desperately wanted to save him, I was not big enough or strong enough to help; we could not reach each other. I kept edging a little closer but each time he reached out he would slip back under the water again. His mother finally noticed us and came swooping in to scoop him up. In that one swift motion of her capable arms the ordeal that sent my little heart racing was over! At the time I thought her angry words of warning toward him were mean, but as a mother myself now, I’m sure it was fear coming out in harsh tones.

Yesterday I read Psalm 49 verse 7. It says, “Truly no man can ransom another, or give to God the price of his life.” Later it reads not even the rich can ransom themselves, “For when he dies he will carry nothing away;” (.17).  This seems like a rather depressing reflection for this joyful season. But to understand the wonder of the light, we have to acknowledge the darkness that makes it shine so brightly.

The darkness is our own desperate situation. Just as I could not help that little boy, the same is true of every person when we pass into the next life. We are all estranged to God from our own rebellion. Our rebellion in this life means a separation from God forever in the next. That separation will be much, much worse…with no comforts of any kind to distract us from our misery without Him, the source of every possible good thing we get to enjoy in this world. No love. No light. No water. No way out.

We are on the path to this hell unless someone can help us. That Someone did come. Just as that mother jumped in to save her son in the fountain that day, God entered this world to help. And it was a Father’s love to rescue us that compelled Him. Since no man could ransom us, God sent His Son to save us all through His own death (and resurrection) for our sins. The Message version explains the “why” behind the Christmas story this way, “That is what the Son of Man has done: He came to serve, not to be served—and then to give away his life in exchange (ransom) for many who are held hostage.” (Mark 10:45)  This is what we celebrate this season. Not an obscure little story about a peasant baby born in a barn…but the most wonderful rescue mission of all eternity. The light coming into our darkness.

Why #Iloveraisingboys

 I was standing in my kitchen when it happened again. I got “the look” from an acquaintance. That look when I tell people I have three sons and they shake their head apologetically, raise and eyebrow or two and sigh under their breath. I want say “Don’t pity me! Having 3 sons is a tremendous blessing.” (Confession: I have wanted the pity at times - especially when they were ages 5 and under!) Instead I smile extra big and try to explain, “It’s a lot of fun.”

I wish they could see all the things I see. I’ve begun my own little visual campaign: #Iloveraisingboys. As I slow down to snap a quick pic I’m savoring those moments and appreciating this crazy boy mom life a little more. 

I’m not on a campaign against girl moms. I’m not saying boys are better than girls. Honestly I wouldn’t know because my only girl is part lab. Raising kids no matter the number or the gender is a selfless, sacrificial act, and if all goes right will leave us more like our Heavenly Father. And hopefully with well-adjusted adult children as our friends.

Yes there are days of way too much noise, chaos and potty humor for this lone female. But there are also a lot of little wonderfuls about raising these boys into men. Their fierce protective instincts of anything they deem theirs, like me. J Their constant building of anything from traps out of laundry baskets, to weapons from cardboard and duct tape. Their search for the highest hill to sled down, tallest tree to climb or widest field to foot race across.

All too soon their endless hours of energy and play will have to cease. They will be burdened by life’s responsibilities (and making lots of cute grandkids for me to love….please, just one granddaughter is all I ask).  They will have to build portfolios instead of forts, climb the corporate ladder instead of trees, and plan out budgets instead of Lego lands. So for as long as possible I want them to just be boys. All boy. And I don’t want anyone clicking their tongue at them and telling them to settle down…I do enough of that for them, thank you. Instead I want to enjoy all the crazy different things that this life of being boy-trapped entails. As I watch my boys precariously perched atop a play structure, breaking every carefully written rule for use, I smile and think, I love raising boys.