The Struggle is Real
While driving home from a wrestling tournament, my husband told my son, “We’re going to advocate for your future children to wrestle, whether they’re boys or girls.”
I cast my hubby an askance look. Sure, wrestling teaches discipline, defense, and fortitude, but do I want my future granddaughters doing half Nelsons and headlocks? My son is now a senior, and we’ve run out of space to hang his medals, but I vividly remember the early years when my heart stayed in my throat as my son’s opponents mopped the mat with my sweet baby boy.
It took all my willpower not to run into the ring and break up the fight, or yell at the referee because he missed the illegal move that gave my son a nosebleed. There were times when my son’s arm waved in an awkward position behind his back or his knee got twisted up, and I had to bite my lip, close my eyes, and pray.
My mama bear instinct to protect my babies is strong, but I’ve come to understand that I can’t take away their struggle.
However, it took a big learning curve. Being the only female in an all-male household was like living a social experiment. Boys desire to slay dragons and conquer, whereas I wanted to tell happily-ever-after stories, create things, or nurture through cooking yummy food and reading my boys bedtime stories. As I learned from the late Dr. Dobson, if a ball lands on the roof, boys think, "Can I get it?" whereas girls think, "Should I get it?"
Initially, I tried to change their behavior by reprimanding them for not sitting still or speaking to them about using their brain and thinking things through before trying something risky. But it was like yelling into a noisy crowd. I eventually realized God was trying to teach me. I was too particular and liked things just so, but when the boys were young, I’d run myself ragged cleaning up their messes or trying to stay one step ahead of what life-threatening feat they’d attempt next.
God gave me boys for a reason. He allowed customized trials to teach me that I wasn’t in control, but God was. My God, of great mercy and grace, offered me numerous opportunities to extend that same grace to others and taught me how to extend it even to myself.
I used to cringe when the phone rang and it was the school. I dreaded walking into the principal’s office. I used to complain to God that it was too hard, I wasn’t strong enough. God reminded me of Isaiah 41:10, “Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.” He reminded me of Nehemiah 6:3, that I’m doing a great work and the work shouldn’t cease, and Matthew 28:20, that He is with me always to the very end of the age.
Did I handle God’s lessons well? No. I wrestled with God and threw my share of it-isn’t-fair tantrums, but thankfully God didn’t let me win. My boys and I grew out of each phase, wiser, humbled, and with a deeper faith, and I wouldn’t go back and trade a minute.
Whereas I couldn’t fight my son’s battles for them, God sometimes, in His great mercy, has us fight our own, too. Trials and troubles are how He reaches, develops, and grows us more into His image. And when we feel like the devil is mopping the mat with us, God’s there beside us, encouraging us, saying, keep your head up and don’t be dismayed, I’m with you.