When you’re winning and on course, at first you won’t recognize it. Initially, it will seem like work. It will be so natural and so routine that you won’t feel as if you are doing anything particularly special. Your road to greatness won’t be you “trying” to do anything; it will be you simply doing what you do. You should also be aware that while you’re growing, things will also be falling apart at the same time. Sometimes it’s relationships, jobs, sometimes even death. If you’re not careful, you can allow the distractions of what’s breaking take your gaze off of what God is establishing.
“Did you pick up Hasan from school?”
My body instantly froze in the middle of typing at my work cubicle.
“No,” I responded slowly, trying to comprehend what was being asked by my son’s childcare provider.
Jesus is all I thought about as I rose out of my seat and began quickly walking to the hallway.
“You never picked him up from school today?” I made it a point to stay calm so I could think clearly.
“Jesus,” I whispered softly.
“Yes, we picked him up from school ... but he went outside to get his jacket and we haven’t seen him since.”
After those words, the rest of the conversation faded into the background.
I called my grandmother. “Ma, is Kenya there?” I asked slowly, anticipating the next course of action should my son be unaccounted for.
“Yes, baby, he’s here.”
All I could say is “Thank you, Jesus.” Every time I wanted to get angry, I felt His spirit on me and I could only say “Thank you.”
“He showed up to the front door about an hour ago crying, said he got locked out from the daycare.”
“Thank you, Jesus.” All I could manage to say was thanks and praise to Jesus. My thoughts instantly shifted to the morning prayers baby Hasan and I would say every morning. I would ask the Lord to watch over his coming out and going in, that He would be a hedge of protection over him. I imagined my son walking down seminary alone to my grandmother’s and had a hard time digesting it. Every time I tried to react, my spirit felt completely at rest as I said, “Thank you, Jesus.”
I felt so guilty, like a horrible mother. It was bad enough that I chose a father for him that was absent, but now I sent him to a daycare that didn’t notice when he was missing.
If we’re not careful, the weight of our past decisions will keep us in a constant cycle of guilt. Twenty years later, still frozen in time, paralyzed by things that happened at twelve or seventeen.
Then I was reminded that I was a great mother, although not perfect, but doing my best. I picked up Hasan that evening and took him to dinner.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Son.” Staring into his beautiful brown eyes, I reflected over our journey up to this point.
He smiled at me. “Don’t trip, Momma, I was good.”
After a long period of silence, we both broke out in laughter simultaneously.
“Aye, I’m not gone lie, though, Son, I’m proud of you! You made it to gram’s house all by yourself?”
The enthusiasm from my voice seemed to hit Hasan right into his heart, pumping life and a form of communication that only bloodlines shared. His eyes got big while he nodded his head and shoved a huge scoop of his ice cream into his mouth. There we sat, mother and son, soaking in admiration for one another.
“You a good mom, Mommy.”
“Thank you, Son; you’re a wonderful, brilliant, handsome baby.”