Man of Steel and musings on motherhood

The moon is big.  We drive through the country to pick up our children from their grandparents.  It’s still light.  Hay that’s almost ready for cutting surrounds us.  I think.  I process.  I pray.

Man of Steel and Musings on Motherhood

We’ve just left the movie theater.  We saw Man of Steel at the movie theater tonight.  I’m not sure it’s a great movie.  It gets very bogged down in action and the conflict between Zod and Kal-El seems to be an afterthought.  Still, long and endless action/violent scenes stretch before me.

The development of Clark Kent and both his human and biological parents though is what has me nearly shattered.  It’s beautiful.  The movie is worth seeing just for that. (Or else I wouldn’t care enough about it to be musing.)

I watched two parents put all their hopes and dreams in a bassinet, one that didn’t look too different from how I picture Moses in his reed basket, and send him off into a future and a world that they knew nothing about and had no control over.  They sent him in a hope that he would survive and in a hope that he would thrive.

It occurred to me as a Mom that this is what my job entails every day.  We we have children, we are preparing them for a future that is uncertain, sending them off for a world and a life that we have no control over.

Our children are our prayer of hope for the future.

I felt broken hearted, looking at the parents and their hopes and their fears, seeing their pain that they can’t go with their son and protect him from harm.  I think about my hopes and fears for my children.  I think about my pain as they encounter things that I can’t protect them from.

I saw Kal-El’s parents hope that their child could save the world–both the human Earth and the people of Krypton.

I think about my constant prayer that I can change the world by raising the type of children who will fight injustice and will give to those in need.  I want the type of children who will bandage up the souls that they encounter.

Our children are our prayer of hope for the future.

Our children are our belief that God is long-suffering.  They are the proof that hope that God will tarry with man just a little longer.  They are the arrows in our quiver that could change the world.

I think about my restless days.  My belief that I was meant for something other than just this sometimes.  My restlessness as I do the dishes and the laundry.  My growing global consciousness and my persistent dreams of Africa.

I think about the world that I want my children to inherit.  I think about how I should be an agent of change.  We don’t have the luxury of waiting on a “man of steel.”  Instead, we are called to change the world, not just by changing our children, but by changing ourselves.

We tell them to follow us. We show them how to follow God.

I wonder what kind of a job I am doing showing my children the way to be a follower of Jesus.  I think about my own cold heart.  I think about my lack of love and compassion.

My children are my prayer of hope for the future.

My children are not just for them, but for now, for me, to show me how to follow Christ.

By becoming a better follower of him, hopefully by changing myself I will change the world.

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