Kiss Your Dinosaurs
This Mother’s day, I’d like for you to know why I love my
Mom so much. And why this website exists.
She tells the story that as a small child, before I could
even tell time, I knew exactly when it was 4:00. I also knew how to turn on the
television. And when I turned the television on at 4:00, I had only precious seconds
to race back across the room, to the protection of the sofa, before
"it" would appear.
The "it" in this case was the ferocious T-Rex in
the opening of "The Land of The Lost". You can watch my fresh hell
for yourself at the 1:11 mark here.
Don't be fooled - the banjo music only adds to the horror.
Now you must understand the
frightening image was a necessary evil; I really loved the show. So I pushed the terror into my stomach
as this monster would steer its gaping maw away from the fleeing Marshall
family - and run towards me! His roar sending shivers down my still-growing
spine. Every weekday at 4:00. Stomach acid and Kool-aid. Terror. Fantasy.
Compulsion. This was my lot.
Who knows how many days my Mom watched all this play out in
our living room. She seemed content to let the TV show be a TV show; a scary
ghost story to out-grow one day. However, her tact changed during a visit to
the local five-and-dime store. Walking the toy aisle should have been heaven. But
on that day, my beatific vision was blinded when I caught sight of
"it". Up ahead, on the bottom shelf was a bin. Full. Of. Dinosaurs.
I was mortified. How did "it" find me here? Was it
4:00 already? Where's the knob, the sofa? Where can I go? WHAT DO I DO??!?
My Mom saw my frozen panic and improvised. She took my tiny,
shaking hand, led me closer, and then, picking up a single figurine, she asked,
"Why don't you give it a little kiss?". A brilliant option only a
mother could concoct. I was terrified - but I trusted my Mom more.
An innocent, awkward little peck was planted. Something
shifted. I could now see what fear had been hiding from me. The monster was not
alive. No roar. No chasing after me. Just a toy. A fake. It could not hurt
me. And like that, the fear was gone, leaving only utter fascination in its
wake.
I walked out of that store with a new toy and a new obsession.
Dinosaurs became the theme of all my drawings. I read all about them. I learned
all about them. What once held me captive now only captivated me. I was free.
All because my Mom had a stunning intuition and acted on it.
But we all eventually grow up. We outgrow the toy aisle. We
learn that dinosaurs are extinct. We learn that making out with toys isn’t the
best way to deal with all the predators that give chase after wading
into adulthood. My youthful certitude was run off by new, smarter monsters: doubt,
skepticism, self-pity. They would roar out, "How do you know Christianity
is true?", "Religion is nothing. Science is everything", “Your
parents are too weak and stupid to ask the real tough questions – why would you
continue to pay heed to their fairy tales?”.
Once again, I was frozen by fear with no answers to give. Thanks
to Mom, I knew enough to trust something more than my fear. I could not abandon
the God our family had trusted through the darkest times. That much was
settled. The problem, though, was that seeking answers only upset the delicate cease-fire
in my mind. So I learned to live a reserved, silent, limping faith – avoiding
any interaction that might provoke these treasonous thoughts to roar out again.
This was my lot for almost 15 years.
By the time Christmas of 2014 rolled around, I was beginning
to suspect my tenuous tight-rope act between doubt and faith might need to come
down. Maybe it was time to seriously seek out some answers. I had told no one
this – secrets are safety when monsters are involved – which made Mom’s gift even
more profound. There, in the box she sent, among all the carefully wrapped
contents, lay another brilliant display of her intuition. For reasons she
could not completely explain, she thought it would be nice to send me a new
dinosaur toy – sort of like the one I got that fateful day in the five-and-dime.
Mother’s day seemed to be a good time to inaugurate
the 25,000,001st blog ever, whose author was once a timid, scared little
Christian boy. The picture above is that Christmas gift, a vivid reminder that One
who stays closer than a brother is with us. If you trust, have courage, and
take His hand, Jesus will be faithful to help you see: these questions, those
doubts, that fear - they are all fake and plastic. He is real. The fear of
the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. My Mom, and my Dad, taught me that.
Mothers remember when we cannot. They know what we barely
perceive. And when they can't figure it out, they just make it up - and it
works. Brilliantly. My mom's insight still exposes the plastic monsters roaring
from the glowing screen. Her love still tucks me in these many years later. And
I know her devotion keeps vigil even when I cannot see her. Thank you, Mom, for
loving me well.
And for showing me how to kiss my dinosaurs.
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