Blessings of snotty noses and Christmas phone calls

There are many blessings moms receive.  You get your own tulips picked and handed to you by proud elementary age children (the first day they open in February), you get breakfast in bed (dry toast and hard oatmeal) served by proud children on your birthday, you get wet, snotty kisses from your four year old.  All those blessings are so totally great and you have no idea how great till you're a mom.  No one can prepare someone else to like snotty wet kisses.  You just have to experience them yourself.

Sometimes when your children are almost grown, when you've taught them as much as they can stand to be taught by their irritating, old-fashioned, mean mother, they decide to leave for two years.  You are actually sort of glad that they are going to leave you alone.  You're tired of waiting up till curfew, tired of worrying about speed limits and girlfriends and temptations.  You're really just, well, tired. 

You buy them suits and ties and expensive shoes.  You write them the last letter and tuck it into their suitcase, wiping your tears off the pages.  You pray.  You pray more.  You pray for him or her.  You pray for yourself.  You're not sure he's ready. You KNOW he's not ready.  But there is no more time.

Then the day comes and he's gone.  The pictures have been taken, all the kisses and hugs have been exchanged.  But there is more to teach him!  There's more to say, more to give.  But there is no more time.

You realize you're done.  The timer's gone off on the cookies and they're done.  They're baked, no longer dough to mold.  It's time to clean up the kitchen and put away the tools.   Time to wash the smelly boy sheets, clean up the x-box games, feed the dog every morning and not ask him to do it.

It's not a fun blessing to feel the vacuum that used to be filled by your son.  It takes weeks to stop leaking out of your eyes, but you are strong, like you've taught him to be.  You try to do what is right, try to do what you've taught him.  You pull yourself together and find some solid ground to stand on since your world has been shaken.  You're doing okay and THEN

Christmas comes and you're worried how you'll feel.  But then the best gift of all, the best blessing of all, calls at 10 AM.  You are one of the lucky missionary moms whose missionary is allowed to video call.  The ringing starts and you're not ready!  But you're so fast clicking on the little green telephone icon and then his happy smiling face fills the screen and you see that your boy is YOUR BOY!  But he's more.  He can't stop smiling.  He's considerate and kind.  He listens.  He LISTENS like he's never listened before.  He really hears you.  He WANTS to hear what's been going on, isn't just interested in whatever he's interested in.

You realize how quickly your boy has changed. You realize you are a witness to a miracle.  You want to reach out and touch his hair that is so short now.  You want to pat his cheek and tell him you're seriously going to have to repent of the sin of pride.  You want to hug his dad and laugh out loud at what's happened to the kid who could sit for hours in front of a video game while the house was falling apart around him.

Being a missionary mom on Christmas is one of those kissing-a-snotty-nose-toddler blessings.  The kisses that come from the four year old who has been playing in the snow, nose cold, heart warm and absolute pure love in those bright eyes and squeeze-me-tight-mommy hug.  Moms learn to enjoy the wetness because they know what's coming after.  There's nothing like it.

Except video conferencing that difficult teenager you wanted to scream at whose heart has become soft and warm, whose face has lost it's tense I'm-in-control-of-my-life, Mom! expression, and whose voice is like the sound of gentle rain on a hot summer day.  Snotty nose kisses and missionary calls on Christmas day.  Thank the Lord for both.
(For pictures of the Christmas Day phone call, visit Ben's Mission Blog.)