Let me get my shoes on.
I have always been enamored with my paternal grandmother, Mama Cloie’s, response to requests to go do something. Requests of “Hey Mama, let’s go get a hot dog and milkshake” or “Let’s go pick up some fried chicken for supper” were always met with a “Let me get my shoes on!” My Mama (pronounced maw-maw) has never had a driver’s license; so her involvement in my ideas always required a driver. Her enthusiastic response was one that I felt embodied a life without hustle and bustle and was always a resounding nod that whatever thing I suggested was important – important enough for her to drop what she was doing and go on my suggested adventure.
Lately, I have been very quiet on this blog and there exists a myriad of reasons for that. The biggest being my ability to be sucked into the enemy’s number one tool – busyness. Last March, I had the joy of participating in a women’s conference in my church. It was a wonderful day and I was so glad to share my story with “my” people. That elation lasted all of a few hours as the enemy’s attacks came fast and furious. At least a dozen women that attended had the rug pulled out from under them – emotionally, physically, financially, spiritually – in the coming hours, days and weeks. My own home and heart were not spared either. After hearing me talk, many of those same women reached out to me for prayer and counsel. I am thankful that my refinement by God’s fire has given me a heart to recognize hurt, pain, and suffering, but more than that – a heart that wants to help, if I can.
Additionally running in the background was an e-mail sent to me by a dear friend about a blog she stumbled across that I might enjoy. As I watched a video on the blog, I was humbly brought to my knees watching myself in the woman’s story of being too busy to recognize her child’s need to simply spend time together. The blogger’s decision was to make each moment matter with her child and herself. My emotional response to the video was reinforced by a conversation I had with the little C. After seeing one of her curly-headed toddler pictures flash on our digital frame, I lamented, “I miss that little, curly-headed Clo.” Without even batting an eyelash, her response went straight to my heart, “Well, I miss the momma who wasn’t always so busy working and doing other stuff.” Sadly, she was right, and I knew it.
I had been a bench warmer for a few years while Sawyer was healing, and once he was better, I went on a wild spree to not only get back on the field but also play all the positions available. Not a wise, nor Godly choice.
This silent time in my writing was not wasted. It was a revival time spent with God deciding what to do next and how to go forward to be the woman He wants me to be. One of the biggest decisions I made was to step away from the ministry where I was involved because it was what God needed me to do. I renewed my efforts to pare down, get rid of, and otherwise de-clutter to prevent material stuff from keeping me from making memories. I reaffirmed that I love teaching, and that God truly gave me a talent for working with children. Yet, I also recognized that the best job and ministry I will EVER have involves the children God gave to me.
But the most important thing I discovered was freedom. Freedom that truly comes from giving it to God. I think my two Cloie’s were conduits to that message of freedom. One reminding that I was blowing it by saying yes to every request for my time, and one modeling that I don’t need a title to work for God.
I simply need to be ready to put my shoes on.