You Put Your Whole Self In

“Is this your youngest? He’s so tall! When did he mature so much?”

Startled, I looked at my son through my friend’s eyes. He had grown tall. How had I missed this latest spurt? How long was I not really paying attention? Once I’d had every eyelash, every mole, each dimpled finger memorized; his hairline mapped out; the pitch of his voice was the refrain that wound through my mind like an 8-track loop.

What things had I put my whole self into instead? A novel or a project can capture my focus, so my attention and energy converge to one point. The external world fades. I even forget meals. Most often it’s the pressure of my To-Do list.

Now properly jolted, I reacquainted myself with the features of this young man of mine. I contemplated his choice of words—the things that made him laugh or concerned him—listened with care. I jumped on the opportunity to ride with him in the car once a week to his choir and art classes. This had been my free morning; now it was the morning I was free to spend my most precious commodity on him.

Time.

Two captured hours with my son in the car one morning a week until the end of the semester. I’ve been told that I’ve made a sacrifice. Hm—balance this one on the scales: my son on one hand, a few hours of my time on the other. In terms of sacrifice, I feel as though God has provided the lamb. He has gifted me with an opportunity to “put my whole self in,” as the song goes. My full focus and attention can converge to this one point. The external world can fade. My To-Do list can wait, my son’s maturing won’t.

Emily Dickinson said, “Forever is composed of nows.” Michael Altshuler said, “The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot.”

I get it. Seconds expire the same instant they spring up. I’ll put my whole self into these!