Missing Teeth and Leaps of Faith (For Any Mom Who Doesn’t Feel Ready For Summer!)
“Are you ready for summer?”
We were crammed side by side in the elementary school gym, the scent of school lunch still dangling faint in the sultry air.
The mom beside me had posed the question with a smile, but the sheer panic in her eyes revealed her own answer before I’d even offered mine.
“Ready?” I laughed, turning my head to look her in the eye. “Do we have a choice?”
Her furrowed brow relaxed a bit, and she chuckled with me as we waited for the year-end kindergarten program to begin.
“I never feel ready for school to end,” the honest mom admitted. “I just don’t know what to do with summer,” she sighed. “The days are so long….”
Her words trailed off as she grappled for a way to translate her thoughts.
Finally she proffered,“I guess the hardest part about summer break is just that there’s so many gaps to fill between breakfast and bedtime.”
“Yeah,”I returned her wry smile. “The endless days of summer can be so….. endless.”
A noisy gaggle of kindergarteners filed into the rear of the gym, and we twisted ourselves around to peek at the ones we’d come to see.
I scanned the jaunty slew of students for my six-year-old.
His green eyes brightened when they found mine, and he flashed me a whimsical grin, exposing a giant gap where his front teeth used to be.
I pointed my camera, gazed at my boy through the smudgy lens, and marveled at the change in my youngest school-ager.
He’d begun kindergarten with a mouthful of teeth and a headful of reservations.
He hadn’t been ready. Or so he’d said.
He’d cried as I’d tucked him into bed on that hot night in August, the night before the first day of school.
He’d begged for more summer, as if his mommy could control the seasons just like she commanded the family calendar.
And though I’d tried to comfort him with hugs and kisses, this boy who had spent his whole life digging in the dirt and baling hay with his miniature tractors was inconsolable.
He’d told me that there just wasn’t enough fresh air inside of that four-walled school room, nor ample dirt on the playground for plowing.
He’d worried that his little sister would miss him too much and that she wouldn’t know how to drive the Gator without getting it stuck in the mud.
And he’d fretted that his legs were going to hurt from all that sitting and that his ears might ache from all that listening.
‘I’m just not ready yet,” he’d said, desperation crackling in his cry.
And my heart had silently echoed: “Me, neither.”
But I’d curled up next to my kindergartener, and I’d rubbed his sweaty head.
And I’d refused to say the words on my heart for fear that we’d both break into a thousand pieces that would scatter wet and drippy all across that bottom bunk.
So I’d murmured all the right things as the moon rose high, and I’d prayed that in time my heart would catch up with my head—
I’d sung the praises of his sweet teacher and had wondered aloud about the new friends my little boy would meet.
I’d reminded him about the joys of recess and the thrill of learning new things.
And as my son’s taut shoulders had relaxed, I’d dreamed with him about all the masterpieces he could build with those wooden blocks in the corner of his colorful classroom.
Eventually, Joshua’s sniffling had stilled, and I’d eased my cramped legs out of the crack between the wall and that narrow mattress where he lay.
I’d turned off the bedside lamp and tiptoed to the couch where my husband sat.
And that’s when I’d finally let my own tears flow freely.
“I’m not ready,” I’d said, as I curled up next to my man and sunk my head on his shoulder.
I’d stared at the crisp tennis shoes lined up by the front door, the brand-new backpacks sitting in erect anticipation.
And I’d tried to imagine my favorite farm boy sitting criss-cross-applesauce on a carpet square, his slender fingers gripping a crayon instead of a shovel.
But I couldn’t picture it.
I couldn’t envision my son singing alphabet songs instead of off-key tractor tunes.
Or maybe, it’s just that I couldn’t imagine the rhythm of my hours without him.
“I just don’t know how Josh is going to make it all day at school,” I’d fretted, my eyes stinging from exhaustion and tears.
And that’s when my wise man had spoken the quiet truth.
“You don’t have to figure it out. God’s got it covered.”
I’d breathed deep and forced myself to recall the words I’d read that morning, the ones I’d buried deep in my soul but had failed to excavate in the midst of the evening angst.
“I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.” (Jeremiah 29:11)
Despite my hesitations; God had a plan.
Despite Joshua’s reluctance, God was ready.
He would be waiting on that carpet square for my brown-haired boy in the morning.
He’d be planted on the playground at noon.
And He’d be lingering in the bus line at the day’s end.
“The Lord himself will go ahead of you. He will be with you. He will never leave you. He’ll never desert you. So don’t be afraid. Don’t lose hope.”
And, so instead of echoing my little boy’s cry, I’d cried out to the One whose promise echoed hopeful in my heart.
The chatty mom shuffled in her chair beside me as the teachers tried to arrange the squirmy kindergartners into lines.
A tangle of little legs gambled giddy down the red-paper carpet that stretched across the center of the gym, and the room buzzed with whispers and giggles.
Happy kids waved at parents; teachers smiled large, and the students shuffled into rows as lively music cackled from a speaker at the front of the room.
Joshua’s brown-haired head began to bob to the beat, his green eyes alight with joy.
And the conversation we’d shared the night before crossed my mind.
“Mommy, I’m so glad I got to go to kindergarten this year. It was my favorite thing ever!”
My littlest boy stood on tiptoes and opened his mouth wide in song, his buoyant smile flip-flopping my heart.
I snapped a picture as those lyrics soared right through the cavernous cleft where his two front teeth used to be.
And then I saw it- a subtle splash of white just beneath Joshua’s top lip, a quiet reminder that soon those gaps in his giddy grin will disappear.
I glanced at the mom beside me, the one who didn’t feel ready for summer.
And I thought about the boy who hadn’t felt ready for kindergarten. (And his mommy who had been afraid to leap into a new season without him).
And as I peered at that toothless smile through the camera lens one last time, I breathed a prayer of thanks to the One who is faithful to fill every gap.
In His perfect time.
Linking up with Jen for soli deo gloria, Jennifer for Tell His Story, Beth for Wedded Wednesdays, and , laura for playdates with God, and Jen at Rich Faith Rising
