Twilight Zone

The other day I had another Twilight Zone moment in our school room. Truly. Cue the eerie music, stand there with shock and bewilderment on your face, and then face the anguish of a truly seemingly impossible circumstance. That was me!

First, I have to say that I love my sons. ALL of them. Having said that; two of them more than the others drag me into these Twilight Zone moments, much to my dismay. They challenge me more. They test me more. They are the answer to that unfortunate prayer I prayed long ago-before I knew any better-for patience. LOL! Are you shocked a Christian mother would say such a thing-that her sons are testing grounds given in response to a prayer for patience? Well, it’s true!

There are moments when the eerie music fades and I manage to bring my jaw back up to face the bewilderment that I hear a still small voice. What does that voice tell me? I try not to hear it, but I do. It says: “Here is a refining fire. Here is the opportunity to be Jesus to your son. Here is the chance to develop patience. Don’t fight this. I am molding you. I am building your character while you train your children.”

Can I just say that if I were completely honest I often turn heavenward and roll my eyes at God! I do! Horrible, I know. I should be struck down by lightening. Really. Guess that is the essence of grace. Yes?

So, did I listen the other day? Did I take a deep breath, close my eyes, clear my head of the eerie Twilight Zone music and calmly, gently, patiently, re-explain the concept to my son?

I sure wish I could lie and say that I did. I didn’t. The bizarre nature of the situation overwhelmed me and drowned out that still small voice. I didn’t hear it till afterward as I felt the Holy Spirit reminding me of a missed opportunity.

One of the most difficult aspects of dyslexia and ADHD is the process of getting something into long term memory. What is shocking to those teaching such afflicted people is the sudden, dramatic and apparent complete loss of information and understanding that had been previously obtained. Now, I am not talking about a few moments worth of previous understanding. I am speaking of an ability to perform mathematical equations having grasped a concept for weeks. Did you say weeks? Yes, I did.

My son had been correctly computing, translating, and understanding decimals as they occurred in word, in digits, and in computations for more than two weeks when suddenly, with an agonizing clarity of true bewilderment, he became completely incompetent and unable, looking at me as if I were speaking Greek and as if he had never heard any of it before!! Please allow me and AAARGH here. AAAARGH!

So, rather than laying my Twilight Zone moment on the altar, crucifying the flesh, and ministering to my son with joy and grace and a steady patience, I failed. Miserably. Truly. I screeched in a controlled manner as I wailed and thought only of my own angst, my own frustration, and cried out, “How can you NOT understand this. You could do them yesterday. You did them all last week and the week before. Don’t you remember? Please tell me you remember.” Never did it occur to me in the moment that if I was frustrated and bemoaning surely his angst was even greater. How frustrating is it for him to suddenly not be able to do something he previously was able to do?

Yep. Going to get mother of the year award for that one. Whew! Maybe even teacher of the year. NOT! A deep breath, a quick prayer, a little hug of my poor Twilight Zone trapped son, and I re-explained the entire concept of decimal place and decimal names to him. We get through it all without too much more groaning on my part and he says, “Uh. Yeah. I think I remember that.” You could have come in and scraped me off the floor. Inside I simply melted and slid to the floor in utter frustration and helplessness. Outside I smiled at him and said, “That’s good honey. Let me know if you have any more questions.” Then I prayed he would go off for awhile and be able to manage his math without me for a few minutes so I could regroup. I might add at this point that math is his BEST subject-I won’t EVEN touch what it is like to teach him grammar! ROTFL!

Jesus,

You made this son. He is fearfully and wonderfully made. He will have all he needs to do exactly what You have prepared for him to do. You called us to home school. I know I am meant to teach my children. I confess my sin of impatience. I confess I am woefully inadequate to this monumental task. Oh, I am so glad that when I am weak then I am strong. I am so amazed that Your power is made perfect in my weakness. I am glad that love covers over a multitude of sins. I am glad that Your mercies are new every morning.

So, here we are this son and me. We stand before you weak, sinful, full of doubts and fears; yet knowing we are in Your will, knowing that You will supply us with all of our needs according to Your riches in Christ Jesus. We know You can do exceedingly, abundantly more than we ask or imagine. Please do not let my mistakes, my selfish desire for ease in teaching, hinder my son’s faith. Keep us, Jesus. Be gracious to us. Lift Your countenance upon us. And, Lord, help me next time to stop and follow You serenely right out of the Twilight Zone to a beautiful place of love and understanding. Amen.