Ezra is three now. I think I’d be in some granny ward in a mental therapy unit if it were not for Face-time. Ezra calls almost every morning and carries me around his house telling me “Dis is what we doin’ fust. We havin’ brehfust.”
“Good,” I say. “Can we have waffles today?”
“No, not today. Today we havin’ oatmeal.”
Then “I’ lie on the table for a while looking at the ceiling fan in his dining room while he says his breakfast prayer and then eats his oatmeal and tells me all about what he plans to do today (and the plans are earth-shattering, for sure). I comment about how good the oatmeal is and watch the fan some more. Every now and then he shows me Colleyanna or his mother.
And then he says “Ok, Mammy. Now it’s time for nap. Wet’s go to sweep.”
I beg to do something else. “I don’t like to sleep.”
But he puts on his very firm parenting stance and says “ No, we goin’ to sweep now.”
“But can I have a story first?”
“No because you did not obey.”
“Could I have my cup?
“No because you will wet de bed.”
“Could I have a snack?”
“No, you don’t need a ‘nack” because you a big boy now. Go to sweep.”
And then “I” lie there in his bed and watch the ceiling fan again, for a while…this time in his bedroom, while he waits for me to snore, so he can wake me up and tell me “nap is ovah. We have to get up, now.” And so he can go on and on for a very long time “parenting” me on through the activities, real and pretend, of his day.
Every now and then, I have to do something in the real life that happens in Huntsville, Alabama, too, though. You know, things like laundry, meals, and showers and appointments. So last Monday morning I said “Ezra, Mammy needs to go downstairs and run on the treadmill for a few minutes.”
“Can I go wif’ you?”
A minute later I turned on the treadmill and Ezra said “Okay, Mammy…Wet’s go!”
But the treadmill did not go. Nothing happened.
I checked to be sure it was plugged in. I made sure the (very important) safety key was inserted. Still nothing. While Ezra rattled on in my right hand, I turned that lever up to “run” with with my left and gave that belt a big backward stamp with my right foot…
And then I face-planted into that rapidly moving treadmill belt. My feet went flying off the rear of the treadmill and my body just lay there on the belt that was still trying to move beneath my weight. But before I could assess the damage, and to add insult to injury, the headboard of a bed that was stored behind the treadmill came down on top of me, having been knocked over by my feet that went all the way to the back wall of our basement. Ezra was still talking.
“Oh Mammny! Where are you now?”
“Exra, I have to go now…right now.”
“But, Mammy, no. Don’t hang up. We still talkin’!”
“But Mammy has fallen and she can’t get up.”
And so the day was off to a running start. (only not so much).
I thought a little about that incident as I was preparing for a ladies lecture later in the week. The lesson was about our dependence on God. It was more narrowly focused on how we react when things go awry in our lives.
Sometimes calamity happens slowly. At first, something just doesn’t work quite right or I just can’t figure out how to proceed. At that point, I can choose to wait on the One who knows how to help me (Isa. 40:31), or I can take matters into my own hands and experiment with my own “ways” (Proverbs. 3:5-6) of resolution. I can get impatient and do things that are counterproductive and harmful. Before I know it, the belt is on high speed and I’ve lost my footing. I fall to sin and, while I’m down, the burden of sin just keeps pinning me down more tightly. “Getting up” again, spiritually, is next to impossible.
I survived the runaway treadmill. I have a few scars to prove it. I agree with my husband (and everyone else who’s seen the belt’s print on my right elbow) that I should have waited for someone who knows something about treadmill motors. I should have stopped, before I revved that thing up, and thought a little more about what I was doing. I should have asked for help. I should have stopped talking to the someone who was merely a distraction at that moment and talked to someone who could really help me figure things out. Perhaps even getting out the owner’s manual would have been a keen idea. I should have secured that red safety cord to my person, so that the belt would have stopped before throwing me off the back of the treadmill. I should have thought of the fact that I was far away from the person who could have helped me get up. (My husband was preaching out of town that week.) If I had only thought of a few things, I surely would not have had that bed on my back.
I know that you see where I’m going. Sometimes we fail to wait on the Lord. Something goes wrong in our worlds and we just fail to stop and ask for help. We fail to ask for the wisdom of those who may be experienced in our dilemmas and, sometimes, we fail to pray to THE One Who is the Manufacturer. Sometimes we just spiritually face-plant and, unless we are able to very quickly recover, we find ourselves buried under the burdens of sin while far away from the One Who can help. Sometimes it’s a little late when we realize we should have sought help from the Father and from the faithful.
Looking back, it’s funny. I almost wish I’d had a video camera going so I could watch that fall myself (almost, but not quite). Ezra had a very good time at supper that night, in fact, telling his dad about what happened to Mammy, starting with “No, mom, wet me tell him about dis!”…and ending with “…and it was so, so funny!”
But the spiritual face-plant will never be funny; not in the moment, not in retrospect…not ever.
