When You Must Take the Helm

The heaviest picture

Tonight I dreamed of your grandfather. He was sitting in his favorite armchair, the one that's been empty for three years now, and he was smiling at me with that look he had when he was proud of us. When I woke up I cried, because I understood that you too will soon have to learn what it means to lose the one you thought would always be your guide.

I'm holding the eighth picture from the album. You at thirty years old, standing in front of the desk that until yesterday was daddy's. Papers everywhere. Phone ringing. Employees looking at you waiting for you to know what to do. But you don't know. Because until yesterday it was he who decided everything, and now suddenly you're responsible for everything.

"Do you see this moment, little one?" I whisper while looking at this picture that fills me with pride and terror together. "This is the day you'll discover that growing up means taking the place of the one who taught you to walk."

And you'll discover that you're never ready, but you're always enough.

The picture comes alive and I relive the day that will change everything. Daddy's heart attack. Sudden, unexpected, devastating. One day he's there, with his confident voice and firm decisions. The next day there's only silence and you who have to fill it.

I see you sitting at that desk too big for you, with hands trembling while you sign documents you don't fully understand. I see you looking at the phone praying that someone else will answer it, that someone else will make those decisions that now rest only on you.

"I'm not daddy," you'll whisper to me that evening, collapsing on the couch with eyes red from exhaustion. "I'm not good enough. I don't know enough. People expect me to be him, but I'm just... me."

And my heart will break because I'll recognize in you the same lost look that Joshua had when Moses died.

Joshua who for forty years had been the right hand of Israel's greatest leader. Who had seen Moses talk with God, part the Red Sea, lead millions of people through the desert. Who thought Moses would be immortal.

And then one day Moses was no more.

And God looked at Joshua - this scared and inadequate thirty-year-old man - and told him something that will change everything for you too:

"As I was with Moses, so I will be with you." (Joshua 1:5, NIV)

Not "try to be like Moses". Not "you must become Moses". "As I was with Moses, so I will be with you."

The same presence. The same strength. The same wisdom. But through you, not despite you not being Moses.

Little one, when that evening you tell me you're not daddy, I'll look into your eyes and tell you the most important truth a mother can tell her son:

"You don't have to be daddy. You have to be you, but with the same presence of God he had."

Because you see, sweet boy, daddy wasn't special because he was perfect. He was special because he had learned to let God be great through him. And that same greatness now wants to be great through you.

"I am with you" doesn't mean "I'll make you a copy of your father". It means "I'll use your uniqueness to do things only you can do".

Daddy led with firmness. You'll lead with empathy. He made quick decisions. You'll listen before deciding. He was the lion. You'll be the shepherd.

And the company will never have worked better.

Do you know what will happen in the months that follow, little one? You'll discover that that fear of not being enough was actually the humility you needed to be truly great. That insecurity that paralyzed you was the wisdom of one who knows he needs help.

The employees who at first looked at you with doubt will start looking at you with respect. Not because you became your father, but because you became the best version of yourself.

And like Joshua, who conquered the Promised Land not by imitating Moses but by being himself with God's strength, you too will build something new and beautiful on the foundation your father had laid.

One evening, five years later, when you're sitting at that same desk but it no longer seems too big, when you look at the company that now bears your imprint but keeps the heart he had given it, you'll understand something incredible:

You never replaced your father. You continued his work.

Like a son who doesn't copy his father's voice but sings the same song with his own unique tone.

And that evening, while you turn off the office lights, you'll almost hear his voice whispering to you: "Well done, son. You did exactly what I hoped you would do. You took what I gave you and made it your own."

"As I was with Moses, so I will be with you." (Joshua 1:5, NIV) Not a condemnation to be the same. A promise to be unique.

Sleep, little Joshua.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about that time when you'll be thirty-five years old and have to learn that sometimes God blesses you in ways you don't recognize right away.

--Mama who knows that every generation carries love forward in a new way