Into Your Hands, O Lord

Jan. 23, 2013 (written)

This week my 18 year old son is going to attain one of his dreams.  I think it is safe to say that it is a life-long dream for him.  For me, I cringe.  He is buying a street bike.  I’ve heard all the slang terms for motorcycles: murder-cycle, donor-cycle, crotch rocket.  They certainly don’t help the cringe-factor so I certainly don’t need to hear them repeated to me.  But, I have to say, I am also excited for him.  I am excited for him to reach this goal.  I am proud of him.  I am excited because he is excited.

Tonight, as I requested prayers for him as he gets this street bike, I heard all the gasps (of differing varieties) and a part of me gasps just the same.  My momma’s heart gets scared of worst case scenarios.  I know that even if Aron is the safest of all motorcyclists that the other drivers on the road tend to not give the motorcycles the respect of distance and space they deserve.  But I also know that I can’t protect him from everything.  Four broken arms and stitches in his chin are proof of that.

So, I find myself saying my mantra, which is my little prayer, that I’ve used so much throughout Kelsey’s illness: “Into Your hands, O Lord.”  It’s a reference to Jesus’ last words on the cross.  With his last breath, Jesus mustered the last of his strength to cry out “with a loud voice, [and] said, ‘Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit’ (Luke 23:46).”  Jesus gave up his spirit to God who then received it.  When I say those words as my prayer, I am reminded that I am not in charge.  I am reminded that I have no control in this situation.  I am reminded that I have a God who is in charge, who is in control, who receives my prayers, and who loves me and my loved ones deeper and wider than I could ever imagine.

Admittedly, this week my mantra is already well used.  I have to say that it has helped me to stay more positive in my son’s decision, so much so, that I find myself trying not to smile from his contagious excitement.  If you see me whiz by on the back of a white street bike Saturday afternoon, please just smile and wave and repeat after me, “Into Your hands, O Lord.”