Not a Warrior, Yet

I'm going through old CaringBridge entries, not because I'm some kind of masochist, but because I'm creating something super cool. I came across this post and in stopped me in my tracks. I was stunned, in awe really, of how different my son is. Of course, 9 years adds maturity and growth. But this guy is different that I thought he would ever be. Nice mom, huh? You remember my video about not parenting the weird out of my kid? Zion had always been different, and frankly, getting cancer only exacerbate that situation. Folks would call my son a warrior, a brave little guy. Each time I cringed, thinking, oh geez, if you only knew how horrific the scans went, the screaming he did when they stuck him with needle after needle, the fighting we went through to get him on the table. It was a beast of a time. I had a different perspective~ From October 2012- I wouldn't call Zion a warrior. Yes, I know that's the hip way to refer to the cancer victim in your family, but the title doesn't seem to fit for my little guy. I'm not disparaging his character, just noting that the opportunity for heroics don't seem to be there for him. No, he's not a fighter (other than sibling bare knuckle brawls); he's a little boy who has had the grievous misfortune of a melanoma diagnosis, followed by a shit-storm of doctors appointments and medical procedures. Where's the fight when he has to just lay there and take it? Where's the nobility in the suffering in all of that? I think sometimes we honor cancer too much by painting it's wounded in such splendid colors. A worthy fight requires two worthy combatants, and cancer is not worthy. Cancer is nasty little street punk with a rusty dagger. At the time I saw Zion as a little guy, so fearful of literally everything, super weird in his quirkiness and praying that for the love, could he just have a normal conversation with the doctors about toys, rather than science. (For real, I was such an idiot) Guys, as I read that entry, I thought, oh my soul, I had such small faith. At the time he was the antithesis of a warrior. But God. Now, my son is a force to be reckoned with. He is fiercely defensive of his principles. He does not care what you or anyone else thinks of his views. (I love that) He is unmovable. He is no longer slave to fear, and he is stronger than I ever imagined. Parents, are you wrestling with a child who isn't a delight? One who maybe doesn't fit your mold? Good. Because they weren't given to us to fit our molds, our ideas of what they should become. They were given to us as gifts, as reminders to get on our knees and cry out to the one who created them for guidance and wisdom. God means to grow them in the way He created them, in the way they are bent. I'm so grateful that I stopped parenting the weird out of my son. I'm grateful I saw him for who he was then, not a warrior, just a little boy with a suck diagnosis. I'm grateful that once I got out of the way, God did the things and made him into a better man than I could ever have imagined. Get out of the way parents and just keep praying.

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