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First we get lampooned by Hannah Montana, and now we have Basil Marceaux. I’m telling you- Tennesseans can’t catch a break. For those of you who have been misled, I’m going to bust a few myths about my home state:
1. We own shoes.
2. Most of us go to the movies in modern theaters with stadium seating, not drive ins.
3. Yes, many of us have southern accents. Does this mean we sound like Reba and Billy Ray? NO
4. We are not all imbeciles. We have fabulous universities like Vanderbilt and Fisk.
However…I have to be honest. We do indeed, have Basil Marceaux.
Still.
He did not manage to win the Republican primary, but will Basil give up? Of course not. He’s launching a write-in campaign. He feels he has a pretty good chance, because he thinks his proposal that all traffic stops be outlawed will be pretty darn popular with the Democrats, because you know…they are ”poor people”.
Oh, Basil… I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
He is reading aloud to me by the soft glow of lamp light, wearing his X-Men pajama bottoms. His chest is bare, and tan, and he is completely unaware that he is heart wrenchingly beautiful. I smile at the thought, because I know he would be angry if I called him beautiful. He is a manly man- a lover of baseball, skateboards, castles, knights, and epic battles fought.
My son.
I reach over to run my fingers through his hair, still damp and sweet smelling from the shower, savoring a rare moment in which he doesn’t smell like sweat, earth, and the dog.
He reads on, oblivious of my affection, and the words slip clumsily through the gap where his front teeth used to be. He is lost in the story, and I am lost in him.
I remember then- that longing, desperate hunger I once felt to be a mother. It had been buried beneath the years of diaper changes, midnight wake-up cries, mountains of laundry, and nights when I collapsed on the sofa so weary that I couldn’t even make it to bed.
One child, two, then three, then five…
I didn’t mean to do it, but I had forgotten the miracle of it all. I had forgotten to be thankful.
He closes the book and I tell him he did a good job before he plants a soft, sloppy kiss on my cheek and runs off to bed.
My boy.
I became a mother after all.
As I mentioned a couple of posts ago, my son is a slacker. He is uniquely skilled at being a slacker. All of my other children work circles around him. I have said that he has “responsibility Teflon”- put it on him, it slides right off.
We are continually striving to find ways to encourage him to be the best version of himself. JROTC is helping, it is true, but I need more.
I need you.
If you were a slacker and have gone on to become a productive member of society, I would love to hear from you. What made a difference? What creative approaches did your parents take to root out the weed of laziness in your life and plant gumption in it’s place? What was the turning point for you?
I’m open to suggestions!
Mother Teresa is going to be a saint, but I just wish she was my friend, or maybe an older aunt who would invite me over for a strong cup of Indian tea. 
I never met her, but sometimes I find myself longing to talk to her, wishing with all my heart I could hold her love-worn, ancient hands in mine and ask her what I most need to know…
“How did you do it? How did you love so faithfully?”
I know the pat answer. It is one of her most famous quotes…
“Each one of them is Jesus in disguise…”
Right. But I want details. Because this life God has granted me is nothing compared to hers and let me tell you, it is no picnic around here.
I mean, how did she do it?
What sustained her when she was exhausted? How did she hold bitterness at bay when she was despised by those she served? (Because I gaurantee you that not everyone was properly thankful for her service.) How early did she rise to pray? How long did she pray? How often did she steal away for solitude and renewal? Did she drink lots of coffee like I do? Is it okay to be addicted to coffee if you are fueling your body for another hour’s service? Did she ever just lose it with someone? If so, did she find it as easy to offer herself grace as the leper at her feet?
How many times did she just want to quit? Was it weekly? Daily? Hourly?
But of course, we all know she did not quit.
We like quotes by Mother Teresa, because they inspire us. We like to be reminded that…
“In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love.”
But how many of us know this one…
“I do not pray for success, I ask for faithfulness.”
Or even better…
“I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish that He didn’t trust me so much.”
I hear in that quote someone who wants out. I wonder if it was the last thing she said that night before she shuffled off to bed, too tired to say her prayers. Somehow, the next day she drug her aching, weary body out of bed and found the strength to serve again.
Yes, Mother Teresa is going to be a saint. She is rapidly on her way.
But I just wish we could have tea. There are things I need to know.
