My son started kindergarten last week. To initiate this transition, we went bowling. Toby (Andrew's bud, who calls him "And"), Andrew and Lizzie bowled on one lane, using a ramp, that looked a bit like a walker, to roll the balls down. As we watched, one, two, three balls roll down, all at one time, the staff at the bowling alley grew tiresome. Our children belly laughed when the gate would come down and get stuck at the end of the alley. The lady would walk down each time, with a half smile on her face, and unstick the gate. Jenny and I bowled, and chewed the grit of our lives, talking about moms letting kids go and stuff like that. And almost every time the ball slid out of my hand, it rolled into the gutter. One ball after the other. An older man with a long stringy gray beard and a bright blue t-shirt approached me from behind, like an angel on my shoulder, and said quietly in my ear, "Do you need bumpers, mam?" I paused and then said, "No, I am fine. Thank you." What was happening underneath that put together response? No, I don't need bumpers. Hold on, I can do this, I can bowl a strike, let me try again, I am not really as bad as you think, I bowled a strike the last time I was here, my little monkey mind screamed in my head. God, am I extreme. It's a strike or a gutter ball, where's the in between? See, bumpers make it easier, and for God's sake sir, don't suggest anything that would make it easier. I must plow through this game, pull myself up by my boot straps and play the game perfectly, with no help. He not only noticed I needed help, he asked me if he could help me. He didn't pretend like he didn't see the sad nature of my game or tell me I was just having a bad day on the lanes. He saw me. HE SAW ME NEEDING HELP! My stubborn, naked little self hasn't liked receiving help, in bowling or in life. Receiving help or assistance might mean...might mean..I am weak? Or maybe even, dare I say, not good enough?
The day that I quit drinking, 14 years ago, I committed to myself. To stay with myself no matter what the feeling. To experience life, gutter balls and all. As I watched Andrew and his little backpack walk away from me last week and into his new classroom, I thought, I do need bumpers. And in this case, knowing that Andrew was deeply rooted in his body and in God, eventually was all the bumper I needed. He is taken care of, in arms much bigger than mine and he knows it. And what more could I ask for. My relationship with God hasn't made things perfect, peaceful, or even easier. The more I trust God and feel God in my very bones, I go to deeper and darker places within me. In this life, we have gutter balls and strikes and times when we knock a few pins down. And we are here to help each other. As Benjamin, the senior minister at First Congregational Church says, we are the hands and the the feet of God. Knowing that God holds me, and all of us, IN ALL OF IT, is the ultimate bumper. It is the ultimate grace.
Maybe next time when I am at the Classic Bowl, I may just take that man up on it. When he asks me next time, "Mam, do you need bumpers?" I might just say, "YES, I do sir." And leave it at that.
