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I found myself today trying to make Zac do his homework.

Again.

“Don’t forget to make up that P.E. brochure,” I nagged reminded.

“Oh yeah”, Zac muttered as he played League of Legends, his latest passion.

I did this every assignment I knew about.  I’m good like that.  I’m a walking to-do list!

Then, a brain wave.  Why am I trying to make Zac in my image?  My high school years were about being perfect.  Sure, I masked it to some degree by trying to be excellent, get straight As, a girl on conscientious overload.  I so wanted to be sans mistakes.  It was my way of taking control of my life.  I couldn’t control things the adults in my life were doing – or not doing.  I couldn’t control my siblings or our pets.  But I could crank out my 4 hours of homework a night.  I agonized over the trigonometry homework and called my “help list” buddies if I got stuck.  I could practice my flute for 30 minutes, pushing myself to make the elite Wind Ensemble group.  I ground out an original thesis, depicting Alexander the Great as an ancient humanitarian.

I did it.  It was a tough sell.  As you may imagine, not too many original sources supporting that particular idea.

In other words, I did what I could to make my particular world, as small as it was, a better place.  But “fun” didn’t really seem to make the list.

But what if Zac likes his world the way it is?  School for him is just that:  school.  His nuclear family is, for the most part, without dramatic upheaval.  His little sister attends her elementary school all day.  Zac helps his granddad at the church a few days a week doing outdoor upkeep and indoor housekeeping.  He gets to wear shorts if he wants.  He is working at his own pace and learning stuff.  He also gets to play video games and pace himself.  He fully embraces being a kid.  The balance of work and play in his life is pretty ideal.  He is enjoying himself.  He has fun every day, without fail.  He is no hurry to grow up.

It bothers me.  He’s not as dedicatedly nerdy as I was.  He’ll never succeed!  I panic.  But that’s not my call to make.   I can help the plant that is my son grow, stake it up so it will blossom, give it sunshine and water and good earth.  I am unable to force the blossoming or change the color, texture or type of flowers it yields.  I have to let it open on its own, in its own season.  My meddling nature, if unchecked, will get in the way of what God is doing in and through Zac.  It’s my job to tend the plant.  It’s not my job to “fix it”.

So, I’m going play Kinect Adventures with him when he asks.  I’m gonna make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day if he wants ’em.  And, I’m backing off a bit and letting him figure some things out.  I’m sure I’ve said this before, but I truly get it now. Soon enough, he’ll be grown and gone. I don’t want to miss anything.   Zac is a one of a kind, unique creation.  His gifts and callings are as individual as his thumbprint.  I need to respect how God made him.

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