rock

It’s been over a year since The Rock That Says ‘You Did It,’ and I’ve lost count of the number of times I hear myself saying, You can do it, Big Boy, you can do it, Little Bear. You can do it, come on, a bit more, you’ve got it. You can do this. 

You can do it. I guess you can say it’s become a family motto of sorts. We still have the rock on our bookcase, and yes, it is a reminder to me of that clear, sun-filled day, when my son leaned further than he thought he could, to grasp the big, black rock. The day when he Did It.

Yesterday morning I was pushing our double stroller up a small hill, and Big Boy could hear me struggling, and watch the wheels veering off the curb no doubt, and he said to me, You can do it, Mommy. You can do it. You’re strong, Mommy. 

I receive it because I feel anything but able.

This morning I went outside, and it felt close to freezing. I was in flip flops last week, I have no idea where my winter clothes are, to say that I was not ready is an understatement. I was taking the boys out to the park not because I wanted to but because the sun was shining, it’s almost October, and we’ve had a few days of grey and rain. In a few short weeks, sunshine will be almost completely gone. So when the sun shines in Sweden, you go outside. I was wearing a thin t-shirt, jeans, rain boots and my ski jacket. It wasn’t warm enough. I couldn’t find a set of gloves, the air burned my throat, my face ached. And I was so mad. 

glove

I was supposed to be ready for winter. I had a post all written in my head about how I was facing winter like a warrior, armed with my snow boots, exercise schedule and vitamin D pills, and how I was going to deal with it this year and win, something about how incredibly strong I am. But yet again, here I am: Not ready. The cold air blows still, chills my skin, quiets my boys. The weather is waiting for no one to get her act together, it’s going to come and chill me whatever I wear, whether or not I find the missing glove.

Strength is the last thing I felt like I had today. I could barely push the stroller straight, never mind surviving outside for more than 30 minutes in almost-freezing (to me) temperatures. That’s when I hear the voice from back of the stroller.

You can do it, Mommy. You can do it. You’re strong, Mommy. 

I’m pushing a little prophet, and he is calling me out to something better, something higher. He’s speaking truth, he’s telling me what I can’t hear. Today Big Boy is God’s whisper.

You can do it. I choose you.  For dealing with Swedish fall and winter and the freezing September rain, I choose you. You can do it. With a good attitude. You can find the beauty in it – look closely, open your eyes. For this task, today, of loving your children, of being patient with your circumstances, of rowing a pretend boat in the dining room for hours straight, of going outside for however long you can handle. For facing the pain in your heart, today, I choose you – I choose you to look hard at your life, to see my hand in it, to be thankful, to be honest, to ask for help.

You can do this. You’ve got this. You can do it. 

I don’t know what you’re dealing with today, but perhaps, just maybe, today is the day to hear God saying – through a rock, through a child, through these words, through anything – You can do it.