I
remember decades ago I made decisions that concerned Sippy cups and
cloth diapers. I baked birthday cakes without sugar and provided
consistent naps and snacks for small but growing bodies. We worked on
proper speech and potty training and expanding boundaries juxtaposed
with potentially lifesaving obedience (“cheerfully and quickly”). And I
was confirmed in our efforts by the praise received in supermarkets
(“one hand at all times on the side of the cart – one of you at each
corner”), restaurants, church…everywhere we went. Somewhere in
the muddle of manners and good behavior I forgot to deepen my
acquaintance with the individuals my children were rapidly becoming. If
I had the strength I would regret those days in which I expended so
much on the externals. Did a pacifier really make him an inferior child
or me an incompetent mother? Really?! These days the standards are so
much less obvious than the days of capitulating in guilt to episodes of
Sesame Street “…just for the times that I am nursing or trying to get
supper on the table.” Life in our family is messy as templates are
rejected, molds are discarded and personalities become more dominant
than house rules. Ahead of me lies the ultimate Gordian knot: will I
remain entangled in pursuit of an ideal model or will I decisively cut
through and know and love the people my children have been growing into
since they were born? Each day I pray for the strength and wisdom to
consciously choose the substance over the form; more and more the former
seems the reality of living as a disciple of Christ. Like their
parents, these human beings that spent their earliest days within our
family are a cacophony of strength and weakness, passion and apathy,
triumph and failure, faith and unbelief. Unlike me, they are confident
in their freedom to make choices, and I cannot even catch a glimpse of
what their lives could look like over the next five, ten and twenty
years.
In weak moments I would trade them for Playmobil figures –
it would be more comfortable. I could set them up in their perfect
carved environment equipped with the appropriate accessories. They
would not risk anything, or become damaged with pieces broken off and
faces scarred. They would never slam hard against the bottom, or sob
from a broken heart or rebel or question…or lead me to lie in the
darkness before a new day pleading with God for their safety and
preservation. They would never embarrass me with their shabbiness of
conduct. In exchange, I would not have years to become acquainted with
these brilliantly faceted human beings with whom I share a wee bit of
genetic code, or see the triumph of growth and learning as they explore
their free will. I would miss the humbling times in which they point to
the illuminating treasure revealed through the crevices of their
earthen vessels. Play figures are always to be found where you left
them – never changing or growing. But in that ideal playroom of
carefully controlled options and outcomes I would never have these
sharply joy-filled moments of looking around to see that they have all
paused by choice at the same time in my general vicinity…. as they
occasionally do on these summer days where Sippy cups and diapers are
vocabulary words from another lifetime.
