An Unlikely Ebenezer

Considering I arrived pretty early into parenthood, I’m considerably late to everything parenthood-related.

School pick-ups. Returning consent forms. Knowing what developmental stage my baby was supposed to be at. Weaning. Non-uniform days. Figuring out some disciplining tactics. School pick-ups. Kid’s Club pick-ups. Returning consent forms. Making packed lunches. Delivering said-packed lunch to the school after remembering it was sitting on the kitchen bench after it was too late. The list goes on. Maybe it’s a lack of preparation. I mean, I didn’t give parenting a second thought until there was already a second line on the pregnancy test. In fact, I was already finished the second trimester. I feel like I’ve been playing catch up ever since. I know you aren’t ever really ready for parenthood but I look at the thirty-somethings having babies around me and often they’ve got a ‘style’ or a philosophy, or even just an ending to the saying ‘I’ll be happy if my kids…’ I’ve never been able to look beyond the day I’m parenting through never mind look beyond the next ten years.

Maybe it’s just my personality. My mum would vouch for the latter. I’m easily overwhelmed, a bit of a scatterbrain, and as a result I often drop the wrong ball. I’m almost 7 years in and I’m slowly learning the hard way. You only forget about non-uniform day once, friends. In fact, my new husband often looks at me in awe when I stop him in his tracks and share a life-changing practical parenting hack. Little does he know the parenting-wisdom-bomb I just shared is a result of cleaning up the debris from my fair share of disasters. But before I get carried away feeling pretty smug with myself, this was a roundabout way of telling you that I sacked it again. I was late. I forgot to pick up the latest school report, and I will never forget again.

God’s people have always been big on remembering. In the Bible, Samuel set up a memorial stone called an Ebenezer or ‘stone of help’ as a way of remembering how God brought victory to His people against the Philistines. Their battle-weapon was prayer and the stone served as a reminder of God’s faithfulness, but also as a reminder of what happened when their weapon of choice was something entirely different: manipulation. Taking matters into their own hands never works for the Israelites and they ended up further away from God than ever, in the worst kind of way (no spoilers here). As all memorials do, the Ebenezer told a story. One of giving God the control and trusting Him to come through even when everything within screams the opposite.

I wasn’t thinking about anything even remotely spiritual like this when I frantically ran to my son’s school to pick up his report, 12 days late. A new record. In my defence, it’s Summer and at the time of writing this it’s Summer 2020. Which means we all have a whole new perspective on things that matter. I’m purposely not using the ‘C’ word so that future-Reb won’t groan when she re-reads this in a couple of years (I’m joking, but also kind of not. What a year. What. A. Year.) Remembering to pick up a generic, mass-produced letter, with copied and pasted comments isn’t high on the ‘things that matter’ list along with going to the beach and sitting-in at ALL the coffee shops that have been closed for approximately eternity. Oh, and going back to work. A priority that was a-given, of course. Plus, I don’t really need to be updated on his progress since, you know, I’m his teacher at this moment in time.

But it turns out school reports matter, even when your child is 6. Well, maybe not in the grand scheme of their lives, but they matter a whole lot when things haven’t always been easy in their short 6 years on earth. They matter a whole lot when someone finally tells you that the ‘normal’ issues your child is facing aren't so normal after all. They matter a whole lot when you’ve had to go searching for a children’s counsellor despite the fact you aren’t sure if children’s counsellors exist, because you haven’t even been brave enough to seek out an adult counsellor, despite most definitely needing one. School reports matter a whole lot when the P2 teacher has been a serious kick-ass blessing from God and answer to prayer. My status as a ‘dweeby parent’ is about to go through the roof but my sweet chipmunk-cheeked boy, who is rapidly losing the chipmunk cheeks *cries*, has not only made me incredibly proud to know him, never mind mother him, but he has also taught me another hard-earned lesson about lateness, faithfulness, and trusting when it doesn’t make sense.

With my tail between my legs, I can humbly inform you that there wasn’t a copied and pasted comment in sight. The year may have come to a premature end but her knowledge of Reuben was certainly not lacking. Mrs F truly got to know him as a person and not as one of many children with many targets to meet (although I recognise that targets are quite important and I would of course quite like my child to be able to read some day). When I think about him being seen through the eyes of someone else, I don’t usually assume that they’ll see what I see. I’m okay with keeping him all to myself for now. I just hope that they don’t see anything to phone social services about. But it turns out, not only does she see who he is, she sees something I don’t get to; glimpses of who he is becoming. Here’s the words from Mrs F that WRECKED me.

“Reuben, you have such a gentle and generous spirit which shows itself in how you treat everyone in our class, and how other children look to you for a place of safety, trust and solid friendship. I will never forget you and your mum, and the journey we have been on together this year.”

I’ll never forget this stage of our journey either. I’ve tried to. It’s painful and beautiful in equal measure to watch your child come out the other side of difficult stuff. The really difficult stuff that you wish you could fix but you can’t and all you can do is walk with them through it. I think of the many hours we spent praying and cuddling on his bedroom floor, unsure of where I ended and where he began, repeating the same words over and over, “I’m here, you’re safe. I’m here, you’re safe. I’m here, you’re safe” until we both believed it. In those moments, I just wanted to get through it. I cried out to God, not because I’m holy and pious but because no one else could help me. I had no control over anything, so I had to trust that He did. I had to trust that everything I’d discovered Him to be up until that point – merciful, powerful, all-knowing, infinitely wise, a father to the fatherless, close to the broken-hearted – had to be true. If it wasn’t, then my helplessness rendered me hopeless. In those moments I didn’t for one second think my little boy would become that place of stability, safety and trust for other children. But I guess that’s the kind of beautiful thing that happens when Jesus is your ultimate place of safety.

Now, obviously I don’t expect Reuben to come home as a fully qualified Child Psychologist as soon as he can read, nor do I expect that he’s even aware of how he treats other children or how they see him. But there’s a lot to be said for going into battle with the weapon of prayer instead of taking matters into our own hands. There’s a lot to be said for trusting that God is who He says He is, and trusting that He’s in control when we really can’t be. And there’s also a lot more to be said about this special boy of mine (maybe someday Reubs will write a book with me) but all I’ll say for now is this: Phonics and maths will work itself out (hopefully not through my home-schooling again any time soon) but I pray he’ll always be a place of safety, trust and friendship for other humans. That’s the kind of soul stuff that matters. So I’ll raise my latest Ebenezer, the school report, and I’ll stick it to the fridge. Thank you, Lord, for Reuben Smyth and all that he is and all that he will be.

AND P.S. And if you’re a teacher and you ever doubt whether going the extra mile is worth it or not. It is. It is always worth it.