Chasing dreams is never a mistake...

We have been on quite a journey since my last post. Football got tougher, school started for my 6th grader and my 2nd grader, I went into my normal first week of school blues (I'm am just sappy that way), and then football came to an end. Not that the season is over, Josh just had all he could handle. After five weeks of conditioning camp, workouts, soreness and horrible bruises he just decided he didn't have what it took to play the game. Monday night after practice Joshua went up to all the coaches, shook all of their hands with tears in his eyes, thanked them all for investing so much into him and told them that he was done. The coaches hugged Josh and told him that just because he was not going to be playing on the field, that didn't mean he couldn't be part of the team. They still wanted him to come to all the games and stand on the sidelines to support them... wearing his jersey, with his name and number. He said he would do it with pride! When we got home, Josh knew that he had done the right thing, but it didn't hurt any less. After a long hot shower, he and I had an opportunity to talk it through. He said, "Mom, I'm sorry I couldn't do it. I know it was a lot of money and you spent so much of your time helping me." I explained to him that he had nothing to be sorry for, at all. I told him that we were so CRAZY proud of the effort and maturity he had shown through this whole experience. He has grown so much in his character, self confidence, and perseverance it's unbelievable. The main thing I told him was that he should never apologize for chasing his dreams. He truly had a passion to play football. He wanted to do it so bad. Just because it didn't turn out like he expected, doesn't mean he made a mistake. I used the example of my own life... When I graduated high school my dad had high hopes of my going to college, because my desire was always to be an English/Literature Teacher. I got married right away and God began changing my heart. Soon, I knew college was not where I belonged. God had called me to be a stay at home mom for my Joshua. Not at all what I had planned, and boy was my dad disappointed (kind of an understatement). Talk to him now, and my dad will tell you it was the best "dream" I had ever chased. Never be afraid to chase your dreams, they may not be the landing point that you expect, but rather a catapult toward God's Destiny for your life. Your "dreams", in God's hands, hold the tools to equip your future walk in His perfect will. The next day Joshua's coach invited him to still participate in the pep rally and jersey ceremony. The coach told him he had earned it. Josh went, he ran when they called his name, he did the victory chant with the team and Saturday he will be on the sidelines with all his new friends... cheering them to victory, louder than anyone!

Football, Tears... and motherly pride.

So my oldest son has entered the world of (if you are easily embarrassed, skip to the next line) jock straps and cups... How did that happen?? The last two weeks I have seen him yelled at, tortured and pushed to almost the breaking point for this sport. Don't get me wrong I LOVE football with a very un-lady like passion, it's just hard watching your son live it. I always imagined being the mom on the sidelines, biting my nails, watching my kids get roughed up... reality is a bit eye opening. He is not my little boy out there, he very much resembles a man. They are not talking to him as a child or gently teaching him as a boy, nor do they hold juvenile expectations of him. Yet, he is still my baby boy.
Tonight I was taken back to a portion of the movie "Passion of the Christ". One of the toughest moments when I saw that movie, even to this day after seeing it a number of times, was the part when Jesus stumbles bearing the weight of the cross as His mother looks on. In that instant Mary flashes back to him as a child, falling skinning His knee. Josh was at the end of practice, only a few minutes left. The coaches use the last 10 minutes to push the kids as far as they can physically go. Some are literally losing balance about to faint, some can't get their breath, others can't help but vomit, it's 100 degrees, they have pads and helmits on and he is feeling like giving up. They are doing sprints and up/downs (basically they have to run full speed then drop to their chest when the whistle blows...jump back up to run full on until the whistle blows to drop again, etc...) he has tears, like many others, streaming down his blood red face. He looks at me and I just give him a lame thumbs up, nod, and mouth "you can do it, you are doing great". Then it happened... he dropped down at the whistle, didn't pop back up, pulled off his helmit, slowly gets up crying very hard, motioning for one of the coaches. The coach quickly runs to see if he is ok, Josh nods "no" and they quickly pull up his shirt. He had landed on a large rock, it knocked the wind out of him and gashed his stomach pretty good. EVERYTHING in me wanted to run to him, but I couldn't or I shouldn't. He looked over at me, and I just waited to see if he was ok. One tiny gesture to me and I would have ran to him in record time! He was ok, he put his helmit back on and finished the drill strong. Never in my life have I ever felt so proud of him! In a very miniscule way, I compare my motherly pride to how Mary felt that day when her son got back up and finished strong... for us.