I wrote this as I was sitting in the Confident Driving parking lot a few weeks ago, while Gunner was taking his final drive test.
This week I have driven around the block over 100 times. Not me personally driving, but me in the passengers seat. I’ve gotten the joy of parallel parking, or attempting to parallel park 100 times as well. Pulling up, and wedging our way between the garbage bins. Over and over. My tires paying the price.
This morning before Gunner’s final driver’s ed test he wanted to practice some more. I told him I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I didn’t want anything to pierce the confidence he built up last night.
Last night? Oh. That was when after an hour of trips around the block, my inadequacy of being any help to him in parallel parking was clear. So I texted my neighbor. And in a half hour of practicing with him, Gunner was confident. He took me around the block three times after that and parallel parked perfectly. He was proud. And sure of himself.
So I was hesitant to take him out this morning before his driving test, and risk him losing that confidence. But he persisted in wanting to practice. And I relented.
He began with the things he is good at. Pulling to the curb. Backing around a corner. And then came the parallel parking.
We found a real car. And practiced parking behind it. It wasn’t pretty on the first attempt. Or the second. Or the tenth. He didn’t understand what he was doing differently than last night. And since I avoid parallel parking at all costs, I didn’t understand either.
The car we were trying to park behind was a minivan. And I found my stress level soaring. Not because Gunner’s a bad driver. He’s safe and slow. But I wasn’t good at judging how close we were to the car. Sitting on the passenger side is way different than the driver’s side. And a real car is way different than garbage bins. So I got out and mainly watched, to be sure when he was counter-steering that he had plenty of room between our car and theirs.
After a good half hour and complete frustration, I felt a sense of inadequacy rising in me. And with it, I felt the tears filling my eyes. I tried to self-analyze. What’s making me feel that way? My own lack of ability to help him. The fact that there’s not someone else to go home to and say, “Tag honey, you’re it!” The fact that the test is in less than two hours and we’ve spent the last month on it and it’s still a crap shoot (Don’t think I’m not sitting here praying about the test he’s taking right now, as I type this.).
I chased the tears forming in my eyes back down this morning. I told myself that they weren’t going to help him in anyway. He was irritated with himself. And my own feeling of inadequacy was only going to add to that. So I bucked up and did what I could. I sat there. In the passenger’s seat. Or stood outside to be sure he cleared the other cars. After that first half hour of failure, we decided that we would move on.
To another car. Where we practiced for another half hour. Still without much success. And then moved on again.
This time we found a trailer and car to park between. Gunner did what he’s done the past few weeks as we practice and a method isn’t working for him. He googled a new one.
I stood outside the car. He asked if he could just practice without me saying anything. And so I stood silently. Praying for his success. Hurting that I was no help. Present. Because legally I had to be. And because sometimes as parents we are simply called to be there. Even when we have nothing to offer.
When my boys were little and I was just newly divorced, they would go down the hallway to their rooms. Except they were struggling with all the change, and hated to be out of my sight. They would call to me from down the hallway, “Mom?” I knew that what they wanted wasn’t a question answered. They simply wanted to know that I was there and they were safe. I’d call back, “Yes sweet child?” and they would respond, “Nothing.” or “Never mind.”
In the whole parallel parking scenario, I wasn’t adequate to be what Gunner needed as far as an instructor. And in reality, in the hallway situation I wasn’t adequate to solve anything either. They thought I was. But really I had nothing more to give than my presence. As their mom.
Today my thought is this. I wasn’t created to be completely adequate. And when I start to think I am, I’m wrong. I was created to see my need for Christ. To recognize my sinful, prideful nature. To understand my inability to be all things to all people. And to feel my deep need for Something greater than me.
I’m not saying I’m helpless. Or without purpose. There are many things I do well. Or places I feel successful. It’s just that I don’t always. I can’t always. And this morning. I. did. not. at all.
I. felt. Inadequate.
Sooner or later. As a mom. Or a friend. A sister. Or a daughter. An employee. A mentor. A significant other. We will feel inadequate.
We will sit beside the one we love knowing our presence is about all we have to offer. And sometimes we sit there only because we legally have to.
We’ll feel our smallness. As the one we love faces a task we’re ill-equipped to help them learn. A sickness we can’t cure. A broken relationship that will not be mended. A death we can’t take away. A pain we can’t medicate. A bill we can’t pay. A sentence only they can serve. A problem only they can solve.
We will sit by them. Inadequately. And silently pray. For the outcome. For the answer. For Something bigger than us to be near.
So today I just want to remind you, how I felt in that moment a couple weeks ago as Gunner prepared to take that test. And years ago when my children struggled with my divorce. Or as I sat next to someone I loved waiting for them to be taken into custody for a few months of jail time. Or next to someone who lost a loved one. When in so many, many moments in life inadequacy whispered it’s name over and over in my ear.
Sweet friend, in case inadequacy comes whispering in your ear, here is what I learned.
We weren’t created to be completely adequate. And when we start to think we are, we’re wrong. We were created to see our need for Christ. To understand our inability to be all things to all people. And to feel our deep need for Something greater than us. To know of our need for Him.
And He wants us to know, when we are inadequate, He is mighty. And present. And fighting with us. For those we love.
I learned sometimes my presence is enough. And when I don’t feel like it is, I take a page out of my boys’ book all those years ago as they called out from the hallway. And I call out, “God?!”
And He calls back, “Yes sweet child?”
I call out not because I need anything. But because I simply need to know He’s there.
And just so you know. He’s always there.
Sweet friend. He. is. always. there.
gretchandboys 