I Can’t, I Can’t

I still can't

I Can’t, I Can’t
By Major Betzann Carroll
Dedication to Stephen M. Carroll Jr.

After heart surgery, Stephen was a real boy in every way. He was making up for lost time. He had a real talent for being right in the middle of any and every disturbance. At home, school, or church, Stephen was consistent. His dancing eyes told the story of his quest for excitement and adventure. He wanted to do everything, all at once. He climbed poles in the school hallway, performed stand-up comedy routines during class time and carefully adjusted the temperature dials on Auntie Donna’s aquarium and cooked all the fish inside. He even tried a new language on the school playground, which was interpreted and reported to his father and me, who promptly visited the principal. It was almost as if he was out to prove that although he had a slow start, he could keep up with his friends. “I don’t mean to be bad, Momma. It just happens,” was Stephen’s statement. As hard as he tried, he was always in trouble.

Every morning before I walked him to school we would pray, just Stephen and I. I would take his little hand and say, “Dear Jesus, please help Stephen to have a good day and to be a good boy.” Then he would look up into my eyes, squeeze my hand and say, “I will be good momma.” Then off we would go. When it was time to pick him up there was usually a special message waiting for me. I remember going to visit his kindergarten classroom for Open House. The teacher’s desk was in the room and a student desk was right beside it. I thought to myself that the child who sat at that desk must be hard to control. Later Stephen asked me if I saw his desk. He told me it was the desk right next to the teacher’s desk. He said, “I am the only one in the whole room allowed to sit there.” I had to smile.

One day we were late. It was my delay. I left his sister who was eighteen months younger sleeping and rushed him out the door and down the street. When we were almost there I handed him his snack and pushed him down the street. I encouraged him that he was a big boy and could go the rest of the way by himself. I turned and started for home, when I recognized a scream that stopped me in my tracks. It was Stephen! I knew his cry. “Momma, wait!” he screamed. “I can’t, I can’t!”

Stephen continued to scream as he ran towards me. I could not imagine what had happened. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. I picked him up and tried to comfort him, but there was no comfort for him. He looked me in the eyes and said, “I can’t, I just can’t go to school without my prayer. I will really get in trouble. I need you to say my prayer, so I can be good.” Right there on the sidewalk I held his hand and prayed. He wiped his tears away all by himself and picked up his snack. With a big sigh, he said, “I am a big boy, Momma, and you can go now.”

“Greater is He that is in you than He that is in the world.”






I often close my eyes and remember his words. Being big means we are able to go alone, but never without the presence of the Living God. He learned early where strength was found. Stephen soon began to ride the school bus. Later, he rode a motorcycle. Today, Stephen is in college. He has over come many obstacles, some I would have really struggled with. He is a fine son. I pray he will always realize the value of prayer.