Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

Packing a Lunch Box for Mars

“Will there be a garbage can in the lunchroom?” you ask me the day before kindergarten starts.

For weeks you’ve been thinking through the logistics of the new world you’re about to enter—a whole day away from home, eating lunch in the cafeteria, navigating a new school, a new teacher, new classmates.

That’s one question I can answer with a fair amount of certainty: “Yep, bud. Definitely garbage cans in the lunchroom.”

Your dad and I have tried to prepare you for various such scenarios all summer: quizzing you on our address, having you memorize our phone number in the form of a song, reminding you to wash your hands every time, rehearsing your teacher’s name, talking about what your day will look like.

On Kindergarten Eve, you ask to look at the “kindergarten readiness” checklist the school handed out last spring. You proudly check each item off the list and grin. “I’m ready, Mom!”

And you are. Or at least as ready as you can be, knowing there will inevitably be things around the corner we can’t anticipate.

This is the paradox of parenting: Our job is to prepare you, all the while knowing we can’t prepare you for everything.

Even as I wave goodbye to your backpack (while you confidently march through the door holding your big brother’s hand, with nary a look over your shoulder), questions swirl in my head: Wait, do you know all your letters? Do you know how to open that applesauce container? Will you know what to do if you skin your knee at recess?

I try to take my cues from you, waving bravely without calling out any last-minute instructions.

***

After school, when you share the highlight reel from your day over a snack, I’m reminded of what I already knew: There are just some things I can’t prepare you for.

I didn’t think about the countdown timer in the cafeteria and how you’d only get five bites before cleanup.

I didn’t think to tell you what to do if you fell in love with a pigtailed kindergartener at library time.

I didn’t think to tell you what to do if you went to your locker and somehow found yourself in the custodian’s closet. (You seemed unfazed.)

I can research and ask questions and forecast to the best of my abilities, but the truth is, I haven’t been to this particular part of Mars before. And even if I have, the planet has changed a lot since then. The best I can do is pack your bag with what I think you’ll need: a snack, a water bottle, the courage to try something new, and the humility to ask for help when you need it. And most of all, the identity label that courses through your DNA. You are not only my son; you are a child of God.

He will fill in the gaps for the things I haven’t prepared you for. He will walk beside you when I can’t. He will be with you when you meet your new best friend and when someone makes fun of you. He will be with you when you ace the test and when you don’t know the answer. He will be with you when you kick a goal and when you fall off the swing.

He will be with you when you find your way…and when you find yourself among the custodian’s mops.

And he will be with us too, as we return to a quiet house. Until 3:30, my boy.

We are made not only of matter that comes from the earth and stars, but we are made in the image of God . . . The face of Christ is within us, his thumbprint is upon us.

Frederick Beuchner

A Letter to My Son on His First Day of Preschool

Dear Graham,

I dropped you off for your first day of preschool this morning. When I caught a glimpse of your profile, with your little blue backpack perched on your shoulders and your head with its cowlicky curls (combed, for once), my stomach did one of those renegade back flips.

You’ll only be gone a couple of hours, I know. But as I watched you march toward your own adventures, apart from me, I felt like I was standing at the top of a huge sledding hill. Once we start, gravity and velocity will inevitably take hold, and there will be no turning back, no slowing down. As I waved goodbye, your future flashed before my eyes—your first overnight away from home, your first solo drive, your first day of college. And me waving from the driveway, quelling the back flips in my stomach.

In the four years I’ve been your mama, I’ve been learning something about the mysterious tether that connects me to you. When you were an infant, you were tied to me by a literal cord; you went everywhere I went. When you were a newborn, you were, in a real sense, tied to my breast. As you grew, the tether extended to the carrier I strapped you in when we went on walks and made dinner together.

These days you still like to hold my hand, but I’m all too aware that this connection may be mere blinks from extinction. Already you are straining for microfreedoms. Already you are faster than I am. Already you aspire to go places I cannot go.

I am tempted to make grand promises as you step into your world apart from me:

I will protect you.
I will keep you safe.
I will fight off any would-be bullies.
I will make sure you have someone to play with.
I will always be there for you.

But of course I can’t promise those things. I can’t always be with you—and I shouldn’t.

And then I remember there is a better promise.

“Hold out your hand,” I say to you, my brown-eyed boy. And one by one, I take your fingers, reminding you of the One who will never leave you: I. Am. Always. With. You.

I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.

Psalm 73:23

I (thumb)
am (pointer finger)
always (middle finger)
with (ring finger)
you (pinkie)

It is a promise you can hold in your hand, even after I’m gone. A tether that can never be broken.

As I head home, my vision blurry, I carry the promise in my hand too, my own umbilical cord: I. Am. Always. With. You.

You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart . . . I’ll always be with you.

Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh (A. A. Milne)

Friday Favorites

For all the pleasers out there…

If you’ve ever struggled with trying to add to grace, wanting to earn a smile from God and other people, I highly recommend this book by Tullian Tchividjian. It has been a game changer for me: Jesus + Nothing = Everything

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For all the teachers out there…

Teaching has to be one of the hardest, most thankless jobs out there. I had some amazing teachers and I know some amazing teachers, so I want to remind all you hardworking teachers out there that you are making a difference. (And you will make it through these last few weeks, I promise!) Dear Teachers Everywhere

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For kids and everyone who loves a kid…

This was a fun list of children’s books—it made me reminisce about some of my childhood favorites and make a trip to the library to check out a few I missed: 25 Books Every Kid Should Have on Their Bookshelf

 

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For Literary Nerds

In honor of Shakespeare’s birthday a couple of weeks ago, here’s a list of words we can thank him for. The world wouldn’t be the same without him, because I don’t think there’s a true synonym for bedazzled! 20 Words We Owe to William Shakespeare

 

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For Moms and Non-Moms Alike…

Mother’s Day can be one of the trickiest holidays to handle. How do we honor moms while acknowledging women who don’t fit the traditional mold? This post by Sarah Arthur offers a compassionate perspective: Are Women Really Saved through Childbearing?