Not the Expert

With August approaching, I felt the urge to take my son Mark back-to-school shopping.  To be accurate: I drug Mark to the shopping mall.  Mark would have been satisfied for me to select shower caddies, sheets, and towels on his behalf.  But I was the one who needed today.  I needed one last shopping expedition before he leaves home for college.

In a surreal moment, as we selected sheets, I found myself explaining the meaning of “thread count”.  To my surprise, Mark seemed to pay attention.  I treasured the moment, thinking that there are few times when he expects to learn anything from me.  Once I taught this young boy to read with rewards of m&m’s and skittles.  I taught him to play card games like “hearts” and “spades”.  I taught him to arrive early at amusement parks and when the gates open to race to the latest, greatest roller coaster before the lines grew long.  I taught him to drive a stick shift in a church parking lot (I had no idea we would leave so many skid marks on the pavement). 

Now, a young man, Mark googles for answers or texts a friend with his questions. For now, I am not the expert.  I wait, and secretly hope that one day, perhaps when searching for a job or when a new child enters the family, he will once again turn to his mother for advice.  I pray that I will simply be welcoming and restrain myself in sharing my opinions!

For myself, I have gone through some long stretches in time when I assumed that the church had few answers.  I almost didn’t take Disciple bible study, thinking with much hubris thatI might not get much from the class discussions.  But I signed on anyway, hoping to learn something from the daily Bible readings.  Then one day, I sat in a class with twelve others and was amazed as Frances talked about God’s support for her during a decade of caring for a husband with Alzheimer’s.  Rick’s off-hand remark describing his prayers for coworkers opened my prayer life.  Bill’s description of his movie selections made me rethink my own entertainment habits.  Jean, who had read the Bible every year for over forty years, would remind us of how that day’s lesson fit in with the larger story of God’s ongoing salvation.  Years later, I still learn something from my classmates each week.  The difference is that now I walk into class expecting to learn.

It’s a good thing, a maturing, when we realize that it’s ok to look to others for help and advice—even our Moms.  In the listening, we find that God often seems to speak and teach through the words and lives of other Christians.  Hmmm…perhaps this is why we call ourselves, the church, the body of Christ.