A long-distance relationship

I’m understanding what it feels like to be on the other side of things.  Having a son in college and one in high school (meaning this one is slowly leaving us too) has obviously added a new dimension to our relationships.  I’m realizing—again—how God must feel.  Parenting is the perfect way to begin to understand God’s love.

I’ve noticed this as we talk on the phone with our son in college.  I love it when he just randomly calls on his walk to class.  I look forward to the long chats we’ll have on the weekends.  I want to know how classes are going, if he likes any girls, how he felt about his job interview, what his concerns about his future are today, how he has no idea what he wants to be when he grows up.  I love hearing about his adventures with his friends, the lessons he’s learning, the hard parts of living with roommates and being alone without us.  I like it when he texts me to ask how long to cook a roast or for the chocolate chip cookie recipe we like.  I like it when he sends me a picture of a cool sunset or a change of season.  Or a random snow report for his favorite Montana ski resorts.

I imagine God smiles similarly when I’m excited about my drive to town and notice all the twigs are loaded with fresh snow or that the trees are getting their buds back and I thank him verbally.  I think He loves it when I kneel in the middle of an afternoon for nothing more than to catch up or to thank Him for my amazing life.  Or out of desperation for an issue I can’t seem to work out.  I think He’s happy to respond when I need some words of advice for a sad daughter and can’t gather my thoughts.  I think it gladdens His heart when I ask for help on a blog I’m trying to write—just like when Andrew wants us to look over his resume or Mitchell leaves me his research paper to proofread.  I want His input as our boys want ours.  I love it when Mitchell just follows me around the kitchen and shares his day with me.  Doesn’t ask for money or permission for something, he just wants to talk.  Or when they’d come in and hang out on the foot of our bed for an hour past my bedtime just to shoot the breeze.  Those are good times.  I feel close to the kids because of times like these and I know we’re building our relationships little by little.

Because when we have created a warm and trusting relationship with our kids, hopefully the hard topics won’t be as awkward.  They will feel just as comfortable telling us about recess as they are asking us for help with a dilemma with another kid.  Hopefully we establish a similar relationship with God and likewise report back on all the great parts of our day while feeling just as able to ask Him about our own quandaries.  And yet, we're not there quite yet.  We're still working on having our kids share with us all that's in their hearts, and I see myself doing the same thing with God, holding back a little.  I realize we aren't as transparent as we could be.  Even though I love Him so much and we share a similar love with our kids.

I wish I could live in their hearts or at least see into their hearts like God can.  I wish I could physically be with my kids all the time, but--like God--I can't.  And so I’m counting on ordinary people to help them out.  Because as great as words are, sometimes we just need a warm friend, someone tangible who will just be with us.  I’m hoping that people will be in tune enough to know what our kids needs, that they will say or do just the right thing.  I’m counting on that so much.  And it makes me so happy when Andrew tells me about a friend he looks up to there on his dorm floor or a dedicated leader he admires or one of the other kids has a teacher who she connects with, a friend’s mom who is just like an aunt.  I like that other adults in our life take time to text Andrew and ask about him.  I love that other friends step in when I can’t.  So I think I understand how much God is counting on us to help Him help His other children.

I’ve noticed how well God listens.  I’m learning to just figuratively sit back and just listen as well, both to my kids and God.  I wouldn’t call this my strong suit.  But I’m working on it. Sometimes I feel like God will put questions in my head, as if we’re carrying on a conversation.  And I find myself saying out loud, “That’s the perfect idea!” or “I don’t know, I’m just sad.”  So I like to do that with our kids because of course we want to know what they’re thinking, what solutions they’ve come up with, what feelings they’re dealing with.  I know it helps to figure things out when I picture my loving Heavenly Father patiently listening to me.  Undistracted.  But with a thought-provoking rhetorical question every now and then.  And so I want to follow that example.

The past month or so we’ve been emailing our college son a lot.  Which is probably my favorite way to communicate with him (and most people) because I can think before I send him my words, we can share a lot of the feelings we don’t usually in a phone conversation.  I like that we can share opinions about religion and life and people and the future. I feel like I have this going with God in a way.  I’ll write questions in the back of my journal with a little blank space, waiting for a response.  I love when I periodically go back to see if any of them have been answered because inevitably some have.  A timeless version of email.

I like that sometimes we have lulls in our conversations (and emails) with the kids.  Sometimes it’s with Andrew on the phone or with my 13 year-old in the front seat while we’re driving.  I’m learning to get over the discomfort of it.  I sometimes feel that happening when I pray, I pause and kind of mull things over in my mind.  It takes a second to gather my thoughts.  And so I understand how that is with Andrew when he’s run out of things to say but doesn’t necessarily want to hang up quite yet. Or when the kids are on our bed and after a lively dialogue and then we just kind of sit for a minute.  I’m learning to just let the silence be.  You know you’re with a good friend when you can be quiet together.  God is like that.  I’m learning.

But I’m so un-Godlike in so many ways.  I feel my inadequacies keenly, for instance, in that I have no idea what Andrew is thinking unless we talk or write to each other.  God, on the other hand, knows us and our thoughts perfectly.  I can suspect and suppose, but I honestly am only ever guessing.  And so of course I get it wrong a lot of the time.  I notice how anxious I am, and I see God as ever patient and calm and collected.  Traits I try to hone but that are so difficult when it’s your own kids.

And so I’m left to wait.  I would love to get more emails and letters and phone calls and texts.  I don’t care if it’s anything important.  I just want to hear from him.  I miss him.  And I know Heavenly Father feels that way about all of us as His children.  But I also know it’s for his own good that I want him to call home more.  Which sounds just like a mom.  But I know that when he connects with us he’s reminded of what Home felt like.  He remembers in small ways what he’s been taught.  He can’t help but feel our love for him.  I can’t imagine he hangs up not feeling a little stronger just knowing he has a support system, a few allies.  I know that’s why God wants us to dial in as well.

But when he doesn’t make the effort, I just wait.  Kind of like a nail-biter who has to sit on her hands.  So un-God-like.  I would love to write and write and write to him.  In fact I have.  But I don’t feel to send him more until he’s read what I’ve already written.  I’m not sure what he thinks about much of it or if it matters to him.  I wonder if God feels that way about me and all He’s written.  Maybe I don’t show that His words matter or that I care about them.  And yet I understand how God must feel because even as imperfect as I am, I feel that I have so much I can teach him.  I have learned so much over the years.  I’ve been where he is, I know what it’s like.  I’m eager to share a lesson or an experience or a truth with him.  But I will never force myself on him.  Like I said, I’ll send him letters, just as God sends us counsel and comfort through the words of His scriptures.  I’m counting on others closer to him to be what I can’t right now.  I’m always available whenever he calls or texts, but I can’t force him to call me or write back.  I have to wait.