There is really nothing special about today, as far as my eye sees. It is the middle of a rainy February in my small corner of the world, in the late evening when I should be studying. In other corners of this big world for sure someone is being born, or wishing to begin again, dying, or wishing to not live any longer, laughing at nothing, crying over everything, until the day is spent.
It was a horrible day in my small world. Two of the boys fought about nothing and decided to posture their manliness. I thought they looked like angry animals, and wondered if I would be driving someone to the doctor as the chair was being raised by my son and ready to be thrown. I remembered my brothers and how my oldest brother would pin the younger brother to the ground, the swearing, and chaos. I could not remember where mom and dad were. They were not present jumping in the middle as I did with my two sons. There is a lesson to be learned from their wisdom. I remembered myself as a little girl watching my brothers with not a lot of worry, truly not with the tortured pain I felt in seeing my sons fight.
Then the three of us stood for a second in awkward breaths of composure and exhaustion. I wanted to walk out of the house. I wanted to expel them from the house. I told them they looked like dogs. I told them to go away. I pushed the porcelain cup from the couch with soda in it with intention it would spill and break. The shattering resounded like a wrestling bell. The clock inched a painful minute forward and the younger son exited our little house. I shouted at the older son to go find his brother. Five minutes went slowly, and somewhere else in this world a woman embraced her newborn son. I remember the day the oldest son was born and his father jumped in the air, and then showered me with kisses. That was before. It was before this past painful year of 2010 in which he decided being a dad to four kids was infringing on his own life of sports and hobbies and lack of love towards me. It was before he decided to so simply make his home with another woman and her children. How did that day of beginning in the firstborn's birth become the day I lived today? Five minutes passed, and then I heard the scream of an ambulance. Where is my youngest son? My heart was pinched, as new lines were being carved upon my brow in an ancient writing known to many a worried parent begging for the peace of the lost son.
בְּנִי אַבְשָׁלֹום בְּנִי בְנִי אַבְשָׁלֹום מִֽי־יִתֵּן מוּתִי אֲנִי תַחְתֶּיךָ אַבְשָׁלֹום בְּנִי בְנִֽי
"My son, Avshalom. My son! My son, Avshalom. Oh that I was given death in place of you, Avshalom my son, my son."
After ten more excruciating moments, many regrets, and a reevaluation of all my mistakes that have brought about this life, my oldest son returned saying his younger brother was not to be found. He didn't return with the bloody coat found in the park. He returned with nothing, and that my son was nowhere. I covered my hoary head in hooded sweatshirt, walking aimlessly looking for my youngest son. As I moved through seemingly endless minutes I became sure Sheol would come upon my head if he was not found. It was at that moment that The Almighty Inventor of All Cell Phones, bless His Name, announced with a trumpeting of the latest ringtone I downloaded that hope was nigh. "He is home" the eldest declared of his younger brother.
Bless the prodigal.
Bless the beginning of a new day.
It was a horrible day in my small world. Two of the boys fought about nothing and decided to posture their manliness. I thought they looked like angry animals, and wondered if I would be driving someone to the doctor as the chair was being raised by my son and ready to be thrown. I remembered my brothers and how my oldest brother would pin the younger brother to the ground, the swearing, and chaos. I could not remember where mom and dad were. They were not present jumping in the middle as I did with my two sons. There is a lesson to be learned from their wisdom. I remembered myself as a little girl watching my brothers with not a lot of worry, truly not with the tortured pain I felt in seeing my sons fight.
Then the three of us stood for a second in awkward breaths of composure and exhaustion. I wanted to walk out of the house. I wanted to expel them from the house. I told them they looked like dogs. I told them to go away. I pushed the porcelain cup from the couch with soda in it with intention it would spill and break. The shattering resounded like a wrestling bell. The clock inched a painful minute forward and the younger son exited our little house. I shouted at the older son to go find his brother. Five minutes went slowly, and somewhere else in this world a woman embraced her newborn son. I remember the day the oldest son was born and his father jumped in the air, and then showered me with kisses. That was before. It was before this past painful year of 2010 in which he decided being a dad to four kids was infringing on his own life of sports and hobbies and lack of love towards me. It was before he decided to so simply make his home with another woman and her children. How did that day of beginning in the firstborn's birth become the day I lived today? Five minutes passed, and then I heard the scream of an ambulance. Where is my youngest son? My heart was pinched, as new lines were being carved upon my brow in an ancient writing known to many a worried parent begging for the peace of the lost son.
בְּנִי אַבְשָׁלֹום בְּנִי בְנִי אַבְשָׁלֹום מִֽי־יִתֵּן מוּתִי אֲנִי תַחְתֶּיךָ אַבְשָׁלֹום בְּנִי בְנִֽי
"My son, Avshalom. My son! My son, Avshalom. Oh that I was given death in place of you, Avshalom my son, my son."
After ten more excruciating moments, many regrets, and a reevaluation of all my mistakes that have brought about this life, my oldest son returned saying his younger brother was not to be found. He didn't return with the bloody coat found in the park. He returned with nothing, and that my son was nowhere. I covered my hoary head in hooded sweatshirt, walking aimlessly looking for my youngest son. As I moved through seemingly endless minutes I became sure Sheol would come upon my head if he was not found. It was at that moment that The Almighty Inventor of All Cell Phones, bless His Name, announced with a trumpeting of the latest ringtone I downloaded that hope was nigh. "He is home" the eldest declared of his younger brother.
Bless the prodigal.
Bless the beginning of a new day.