My little man with my daddy.
They’re good buddies, those two.
To Know This Love That Surpasses Knowledge
23 October 2007 by
One day a month or so ago Alex and I were in Publix, and completely out of the blue he asked me if he will go to heaven one day. Because I was a little distracted by the fact that at some point pot roasts have started to cost about the same as a cute pair of shoes from Target, I sort of off-handedly replied, “Well, yes, buddy, if you have asked Jesus into your heart, then yes, you will go to heaven.”
And then Alex got very quiet, and after about a full minute of Deep Soul Searching, he screamed “JEEEEEEEEEEEE-SUS! COME INTO MY HEART!” right there next to the pot roasts, only he said it not like he recognized his fallen heart’s need for a Savior but more like he was aggravated with Jesus for not sharing His toys.
So while I wasn’t completely sure that the little man was clear on some of the more fundamental doctrinal issues, I was entirely certain that Jesus had good reason to take issue with his tone.
But then, about five minutes later, when I was seized by TOE CRAMPS, of all things – toe cramps so severe that I could not imagine that my left foot would ever function properly again – I told the little man that I had to stop for a second before THE PAIN MADE MY KNEES BUCKLE, and he responded by saying, “Mama, I would like to tell a prayer for you.”
I said that would be wonderful, so we bowed our heads right there in front of the dairy case and he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Dear God. Please help Mama’s toes to feel better in Publix so that she can wear her shoe. In Jesus’ Name. Amen.” And he was so deeply sincere about the whole thing that I wondered for a split second if his profession of faith over in the meat department wasn’t the real deal after all.
I’ll probably never know exactly what was going on in Alex’s heart and mind that day in the grocery store, but I do know that he’s been chock-full-o-curiosity ever since. So we’ve spent last few weeks talking through all sorts of four year-old questions about God, and while part of me thinks that four is too young for a child to have any real grasp of sin and sacrifice and atonement and resurrection, a much bigger part of me knows that there is no faith as simple and profound as the faith of a child.
I also know that this is the time to plant those seeds of faith and then water them as much as we possibly can so that the little man’s roots will grow deep, so that one day he will be able, as Paul wrote, “to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that [he] may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”
And so, we answer Alex’s questions. We talk about God. We talk about the joys of knowing Him, of serving Him, of trusting Him. We pray that he sees evidence of those joys as he watches his mama and daddy work out their faith every single day.
And it has been, quite simply, one of the sweetest times of my whole life.
Before Alex was born, I imagined that this child whose face I had not yet seen would sit with me at a desk while I carefully read passages of Scripture aloud. Everything would be Perfectly Orderly; I would Teach With Care while my child Listened Attentively. Then we would clasp our hands together and begin the walk toward faith with lockstep precision, only stopping long enough for him to surrender to whatever calling God might have on his life.
Because I wasn’t idealistic or anything.
But the reality, as anybody with a little one knows, is absolutely nothing like that. The daily process of teaching and leading a precious little heart is about as methodical as herding a room full of cats. And you know what else? It is hard. On every single level. So much of parenting uncovers our own imperfections, and we are constantly being humbled, broken and refined in our own lives while we try to nurture the little lives that have been entrusted to us. Did I mention that it’s hard?
There are days when I’m really disappointed in myself as a mother; I get so tired of struggling to balance the things I need to do with the things I want to do, and as a result of that I am confronted with the reality of my selfishness over and over again. It’s a mighty good thing indeed that I don’t have to parent in my own strength, because I’ll tell you right now that I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t last a day.
But the rewards of parenting? They really are huge. They’re immeasurable. They’re eternal. And the longer I’m a mama, the more I find that the most teachable moments in terms of faith don’t require much organization or planning on my part. They don’t necessarily happen while we’re sitting in a church service or when we’re Reviewing Memory Verses With Great Intention, though certainly I believe that God uses those things.
For me the most breathtaking moments – the times when D and I are both able to share our faith with the most sincerity and transparency – are when Alex picks up a maple leaf from the ground and then says, with wonder, “GOD MADE THIS!” Or when he runs into the house after being outside and says, “Mama! I missed you! And I talked to Jesus while I played!” Or when he’s sick with a stomach virus and says, through his tears, “Mama? Will you always take care of me? Will God always take care of me?”
Or even when he puts his hand on my shoulder in the middle of a crowded grocery store and prays for my toe cramps while we stand next to six different brands of sour cream.
In many ways motherhood is absolutely nothing like I imagined but so much more than I expected. And for me, right now, the greatest joy is sharing the Greatest Joy with a four year-old who may get a little cloudy on the theological details – but whose heart is wide open.
I cannot imagine any greater privilege.
Waiting For Grandparents
6 October 2007 by
Raise your hand if you think he’s ready for them to get here.
Officially Abandoning All Hope Of Coherence
2 October 2007 by
Right now I’m sitting in a corner of my local Barnes & Noble, trying (unsuccessfully) to figure out how to connect to their trusted wireless network, watching Alex play with a Thomas the Train set and counting down the minutes until my computer’s battery dies because strangely enough, the Barnes & Noble children’s section doesn’t come equipped with a large array of electrical outlets so that mamas can “write” during storytime.
Have you ever heard of such craziness?
I had planned to take a couple of hours before Alex got out of school today and hunker down at Panera so that I could try to catch up on email and “write” a little bit, but I won’t be able to tell you about that just yet, because Alex wants me to read him a book now, so if you don’t mind please excuse me for a moment.
(Thirty minutes later)
Back again. Reading one book turned into reading three, one of which was a Backyardigans book that was clearly written by five year-olds who been supplied with excessive amounts of Coke and chocolate until they cranked out the most nonsensical plot imaginable, not that I have room to criticize, of course, because I believe my limitations with fiction are well-documented.
Also: it can get a little interesting when watching the boy in group play-type situations, because as I have mentioned before he is essentially a four year-old camp counselor, a self-appointed Funtime Organizer. He can’t begin to enjoy whatever task is at hand (in this case, playing with trains) until he has found out the names of all the other children AND parents, facilitated all the necessary introductions, and then made sure that the toys have been evenly distributed.
Needless to say, he’s not quite to the point where he understands that perhaps the reason why the mothers have brought their children to B&N in the first place is because THEY WANT SOME QUIET, ALREADY and would prefer not to have Mama/Child Meet & Greet followed by a round of shuffleboard over on the Lido Deck.
Or at the train table, as it were.
(Four or seven hours later. I’ve lost all track of time. But we’re home again. And the child is asleep.)
So, um, somewhere way up toward the top of this post I mentioned that I thought I would spend a couple of hours at Panera today, but I ended up changing my plans because my friend NK called and asked me to lunch, and of course I said yes because eating Mexican food with a sweet friend and our young’uns trumps checking email and fighting through writer’s (QUOTATION MARKS!) block every single time.
At lunch we had a great time talking about everything and nothing, and we especially loved listening to Alex and AC talk about their day at school. Being able to see each other every day has really added a sweet new dimension to their friendship, and they talk in a shorthand that NK and I don’t always follow but that cracks us up just the same.
Anyway, as we were getting ready to leave the restaurant Alex and AC were giggling and chasing each other, and at some point Alex caught AC, wrapped his arms around her, hugged her tight and kissed her smack dab on the lips.
I gasped audibly.
NK and I looked at each other, both of us completely wide-eyed, and I proceeded to ask the most obvious question of my life: “Alex! Did you just KISS AC?”
“I DID, MAMA,” he replied, about four hundred different kinds of pleased with himself.
And just when I was about to tell him that he might be a little young to be kissing girls, AC leaned over and kissed him right back.
Then they cackled with laughter and started chasing each other again.
Oh, I do love those crazy kids.
And while NK and I couldn’t help but grin at all their silliness, I’m pretty positive that we both left that restaurant with at least one more wrinkle than we had when we arrived.
I’m sure you understand.
In Which My Life Is Forever Changed
28 September 2007 by
You can imagine my delight when I walked through the kitchen earlier tonight and caught a glimpse of the playroom.
And as you can tell, the little man, who was hanging out with his daddy in the den, was terribly bothered by the mess.
But guess what?
Earlier this week his teacher sent home a chart that says “The Happy Way Is To Obey,” and it has four categories on it: goes to bed, comes when called, recites memory verses and picks up toys. And then out to the side of each category there are little boxes where you can put a sticker or make a check mark when that task is accomplished. Once the entire chart is filled in, Alex is supposed to take the chart back to school so that he can claim a special prize from the treasure box.
I didn’t think too much of the whole chart thing, honestly, because some form of gold star system has always motivated me about as much as a potential trip to an amusement part would motivate a fish.
Which is to say: not at all.
But the boy? On the other hand? ALL OVER IT.
We discovered his love for the chart the other day after he said his memory verses and started screaming “I GET A CHECK NOW! I GET A CHECK NOW! MAMA, PUT A CHECK ON THE PAPER FOR ME!”
And so, as I silently wondered HOW IN THE WORLD I HAD A CHILD WHO RESPONDS TO POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT, I put an orange check on Alex’s little obedience chart and watched his face light up like a fancy pre-lit Christmas tree.
You would’ve thought that I’d given him a bucket of fried chicken or something.
Anyway, tonight after I saw the playroom I decided that I’d see if I could put the chart to work again, so I said, “Hey, buddy – could you please pick up your toys? I can give you a check on your chart if you work quickly.”
And then I witnessed two incredible events:
1) Alex hopped up off of the couch and ran to the playroom.
2) Within ten minutes, the playroom looked like this:
People! It’s magic!
And now I’m more convinced than ever that I need to add some additional categories.
I’m open to suggestions, but I’m pretty sure that “brings Mama a diet Coke at least twice a day” and “naps for at least two hours each afternoon” are going to the top of the list.
A child needs goals, y’all.
Oh yes.
A child needs goals.
All You Can Eat (Or Not)
24 September 2007 by
My friend Elise was the first one of my friends to have babies, and as a result she was our first go-to expert on Matters Concerning Children.
When her oldest boys were five and four, Elise told me about something that happened at the dinner table one night. Her five year-old didn’t want to eat what she’d fixed for supper, and after some gentle encouragement proved ineffective, E.’s hubby very lovingly outlined what I have come to refer to as P-Dub’s Suppertime Law.
If memory serves, P-Dub’s Suppertime Law went something like this:
Since your mother has prepared a delicious meal for you, you may either eat what she has cooked, or you may leave the table. And if you leave the table, you may not have a snack, alternate meal, or, above all, ice cream. Because if you leave the table, you’re all done eating for the day. Thank you.
Y’all have no idea how brilliant I thought that was when I was twenty-five and single.
The funny thing is that once Alex was old enough to eat real food, D and I put P-Dub’s Suppertime Law into practice. And with the exception of one meal in 2006 which will be known forever in our house as The Unfortunate Lasagna Incident (or: Why We Now Refer To Lasagna As “Pizza Noodles”), we’ve managed to escape a good bit of dinnertime drama thanks to P-Dub’s words-o-wisdom.
Which brings us to tonight. When we had us an old-fashioned Baked Beans Medley Breakdown at the dinner table. Oh yes ma’am we did.
Now for whatever reason, Alex has a very strong sense of when he’s full (what? what must that be like? what? you mean you don’t just keep eating UNTIL YOU’VE FINISHED AN ENTIRE CASSEROLE?), and he doesn’t really care for the feeling of being full (what? what must that be like? what? you mean you don’t just keep eating UNTIL YOU’VE FINISHED AN ENTIRE CASSEROLE?).
Anyway, since the little man seems pretty tuned in to when he’s had enough to eat, D and I usually just ask him to at least try everything that’s on his plate. He doesn’t have to love it or finish it or ask for seconds – he just has to try it. And as a result of the fact that he’s tried a lot of different stuff – at least I guess that’s the reason – Alex likes to eat things like butterbeans and pork tenderloin and roast and sweet potatoes and English peas. He’s not a picky eater at all.
Until tonight. When he spied the aforementioned Baked Beans Medley sitting next to his potato casserole.
I will spare you the details, but the enforcement of P-Dub’s Suppertime Law has never been more nerve-wracking than it was around 6 pm central time. We had quite the showdown on our hands, but when the little man finally realized that there would be no Oreo in his future if he balked at the beans, he decided that he’d give the beans a try.
And y’all. You have never heard such gagging and crying and carrying on in your life. You would’ve thought we were asking him to eat rutabagas covered in moldy hair.
Once Alex finally managed to choke down a lone pinto bean, he decided the beans weren’t so bad. I don’t think the recipe will go to the top of his preferred foods list (#1? Donuts. #2? Chocolate-covered donuts. #3? POWDERED donuts.), but in the end I felt pretty good about the fact that we stood our ground and made him at least try them.
I felt pretty good, that is, when I wasn’t feeling guilty.
It’s been very important to D and me that the dinner table not be a war zone, but tonight, I confess, it was a bit of a battleground. And I did not enjoy it. Which leads me to some questions.
How do y’all handle Situations Regarding Food with your kids? Do you have any hard and fast mealtime rules? When your child resists something you’ve cooked, do you offer something else? Do you let it go? Or do you stand your ground?
Because now I’m second-guessing myself. I know that this isn’t a life-altering dilemma, but it’s making me a little crazy that we let our dinnertime deteriorate over, you know, BEANS. The boy is a good eater, baked beans or no – and I’m wondering if we should have left well enough alone.
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