You’re Not My Mommy
February 9, 2020 — Laura House
Nathan was always incredibly tender-hearted and kind. All three of my kids share that quality. He was also rambunctious and ornery, giving me a slew of funny memories to treasure, and he exhibited honesty to the core. He couldn’t lie. I remember Gary coming home from work one day only to find that the brick walkway he had just built was partially dismantled. We both knew it had to be Nathan. Calling him out into the yard, Gary asked him if he had done it. Nathan thought for a moment and with great solemnity responded, “Dad, it was either me or someone else.” Pretty slick. All three of my children were very obedient, sensitive, and truly wanted to do what mom and dad needed them to do. But they had their moments—as we all do. Probably the worst that Nathan ever did was to terrify a sweet, 15-year-old babysitter.
Hiring a babysitter was a rare occasion at our home, and he didn’t like them. In adulthood, we all joked about the phrase he once adamantly hurled at a kind sitter who was simply trying to maintain peace, “You’re not my mommy!” But on this particular day, one of the teenage neighbor girls had come to babysit and the low-down from the older kids after the incident was that Nathan kept opening the sliding glass door to play in the snow on the patio. Apparently, after repeatedly asking him to stop opening the door and letting the frigid air in, the sitter had no choice but to finally put him on a “time out” in our bedroom. After a few minutes, she went back into the room to check on him, but he was gone. The bedroom window was open and as she looked out, she could see little footprints in the deep snow. Frantically, she searched the yard and house in vain and finally phoned us, her voice quivering. “He’s not here. I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve never lost a child before!” Assuring her that he was probably just hiding, I headed home, not overly concerned.
I proceeded to go into each room, opening every closet and cabinet and calling his name. Eventually, his full name came out as I demanded, “You come out right now! This isn’t funny anymore!” No response. Frustration turned to panic as I saw the little footprints in the snow extending through the back yard out onto the golf course. He was nowhere in sight. I called my husband at his office, but he had no way home since I had taken our only vehicle. We decided to call the police. We needed help. Just as I began to dial, I heard a little voice say in a rather cocky tone, “Didn’t you think to look under here?” I had, in fact, checked under my bed, but my view must’ve been obstructed by the under-the-bed boxes stashed there. I was miffed.
When I took the sitter home that night, roaring silence filled the car. I paid her an exorbitant amount of money and never asked her over again. I’ve often wondered if she fully recovered from that incident and if she has children of her own now.
There were two other times when I thought we’d lost him; once at the mall around age five, and once at a water-park— another story of an over-zealous youngster with a mind of his own. I still remember the sheer panic, thinking he was gone, and the exuberant joy of finding him and knowing he was safe.
But this time, he really is gone, at least from earth. I won’t be finding him here again.
Today, as you and I grieve, we can also rejoice in the fact that this earthly life isn’t all there is. In fact, it’s just a speck of time, preparing us for our real life of eternity. Keep “running the race” with your eyes on Jesus. He will bring comfort and joy to your grieving soul, and purpose to the remainder of your earthly life. We’ll see them again, and this time, in the presence of our Savior.
Heb 12: 1-2 “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”
