Category: parenting
Protected: It’s been a week
10 is where
10 is where we stand at the precipice of some big unknown.
I expected this while traversing through the land of nine, through which I marched alert and ready – noting every time he reached for my hand before crossing a street, the teetering ratio of “mom” to “mommy;” tracking the fading interest in trains and fast cars and the growing intrigue for computers and mechanics.
10 is where cancer came back to meet mommy for the fourth time. 10 is where he starts wondering out loud what it means that it keeps coming back, and when, if ever, it will stay away for good.
10 is where we began to discuss death, the frailty of humanity. All living things will one day die – nothing on this earth, including us, will live on forever.
10 is where we learned about the birds and the bees, sitting on the couch one Tuesday afternoon when he couldn’t understand how an unwed woman could possibly become pregnant.
10 is also where he began asking big questions about his birth and adoption stories and wondering – out loud – what his birth mom might have looked like.
10 is where a sweet ignorance gives way to a little more reality.
10 is where innocence gives way to a deeper understanding of this fallen world.
The Great #COVID19LockInOf2020
Son: Ughhhhhh! I don’t geeeeeeet iiiiiiiiiiit!
Me: Really? Because I literally just explained it to you three times in a row. Just now. Literally, three times in the past minute.
Of course, it would take something like a pandemic to force me into the role of homeschooling mom. I never thought either thing possible.
We are on Day 4 of our lock-in/homeschooling. We cover math, reading, handwriting, grammar, foreign language, and some music theory. It’s not easy; S hates making mistakes and can be a volatile little dude. You can imagine the choppy waters we sail on every day, from 10-11 and 2-3:30, when I’m trying to teach him something new. Or even just simply having him erase and re-write his “a” because it looks like a “q.”
Son: (erasing his mistake violently) This is the WORST thing EVER!
Me: (to myself, thinking about the next 24 days) With you 100%, buddy.
God bless the souls of all his teachers, past, present and future.
There have been some sweeter moments, though. We start our day with a morning walk around the neighborhood, and spring is in bloom. S and I bundle up and head out, hand in hand, and take it all in.
S: It’s just so amazing how God made all the animals and insects to know how to survive! Like, no one taught them how to fly, or collect food, or build their homes. They just know!
Me: Isn’t it awesome?
S: Yeah…I love nature!
And in moments like these, I’m thankful. Despite the hard things we’re walking through, we have eyes to see beauty and marvel at God’s hand in it all.
Real
Tonight, his four-year-old self said the words I’ve been dreading to hear, the words I had not braced myself for and certainly had not expected to hear until, at least, puberty.
“You’re not my real parents. I miss my real parents.”
I can feel the blood draining from my face as I sit next to him, in the dark, as we drive home from dinner. I can’t breathe. It feels as if time suddenly froze as headlights graze over our faces and I scramble to find words, enough of the right ones to string into an appropriate sentence, a sentence that wouldn’t give away the hurt that has its bony fingers wrapped tight around my neck.
What do I say?
Headlights continue to cut in and out of our back row seat and I see tears stream down his cheeks as his face twists and contorts in his four-year-old effort to hide his pain. His restrained whimpers as he cries for his “real parents” in Korea churn a pain in my gut that I fear will explode. I’m thankful for the dark that covers us and in this moment, it is just the two of us, in a world of heart pain that we are desperately trying to hide from the other.
I lay my hand on his and tell him it’s okay to miss them and that I understand he is sad. I remind him that we are his real parents and always will be, but he rejects this truth.
We cry together in the dark as the headlights flash by, our tears the realest things we have to give to the night.
From the archives, 10/21/16
Bedtime prayers
*Snippets that I managed to type out on my cell phone midway through his prayer, trying to be as discreet as possible to capture as much genuineness of his 6-year-old-ness. Thank you, Lord–that I can be here to witness this sweet, honest moment.
Dear God,
Thank you for books and TV.
You created the whole universe! There is no one that is more powerful than you.
You are 3 in 1. It’s kind of hard to understand, though. Is it like you have three heads? (long pause) No…well, I guess we’ll just find out when we get to heaven, where we will worship you forever.
You made all of these things on earth. On day 1 you created day and night. On days 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6, you made the rest of the world. On the 7th day, you rested.
You knew we were gonna be sinful when you made us. We all sin. We do not deserve to be called your children. But you still love us. Thank you for loving us.
In Jesus’ name I pray,
Amen.
–S, 6 y/o, at bedtime tonight.
Prayers and plans
“Mommy, when is God going to heal you completely?”
The question came out of the blue at our dining table, between mouthfuls of couscous being shoveled into his mouth. His eyes lingered a bit on his spoon before they drifted up to meet mine.
S and I were home alone on this hot, lazy Thursday afternoon, recovering from yesterday’s epically long day. Our delicious lunch was brought to us by a sweet friend down the street, which we were enjoying when S randomly popped the question.
It caught me off guard. Heal me completely…it sounded like such a mature question, a little too specific for a 5-year-old’s mind to consider. I froze for a moment before scooting my chair closer, and drew a deep breath.
“I wish I knew…but I don’t. Only God knows. But I hope it will be soon!”
“But why doesn’t he answer our prayers?”
“Well, God is always with us when we pray, and he hears all of our prayers and cares for us very much. Even if he doesn’t give us what we want or ask for, he is doing it because he has a good reason for it, and because he loves us.”
I went on to explain how even Jesus had a request in his prayers regarding the cross. He asked to be spared, but asked that not his will, but God’s, be done. And God’s will was for Jesus to die on the cross. I had S think about how it must’ve made God feel to see his son weep like that, and have to watch him endure such suffering. Even though neither of them wanted this, they knew there was no other way to rescue creation from sin.
Good—great good—coming out of pain.
S’s eyes were locked into mine through the whole narrative. I could sense from his eyes, he got it. I then circled it back to me and our family, and how even if God doesn’t answer our prayers to make me all better, he still has a magnificent plan for us because we are his children, and there is no need to worry.
“In fact, none of us will be 100% healed until we get to heaven!”
“Yeah!,” he said, “from sin!”
“Exactly! Our sinful hearts, and our broken bodies.”
We had such an amazing little chat, going so far as to even discussing the trinity (“is it like our family? How we are three—you, me and Daddy—but we are one, in the same family?”) and ending on the sweet truth of how secure we are as chosen children of God.
My heart was bursting. There were two emotions going on: one of great joy and gratitude, seeing this 5-year-old siting in front of me that I get the privilege to call mine, whose young mind so clearly grasps the concept of the broken world we live in and our need for a savior. The other, of heavy sorrow, wondering if God led me into this conversation to prepare him for what lies ahead. Will he remember back to these words one day when I’m gone?
What I deserve
S: Do I deserve my bike, Mommy?
Me: Well, actually, none of us really deserve anything good.
S: Why?
Me: Because we are all sinners who can do no good apart from God.
…
S: Well, do you deserve one thing, Mommy.
M: What’s that?
S: A special kind of love from me. (Hug)
True colors
(singing along to “True Colors”)
Me: I see your true colors, S.
S: I don’t have any colors!
Me: Yes you do! Everyone does.
S: Does Cubby? His color is brown!
Me: Your true colors aren’t the colors you are on the outside–they’re all the colors on your inside, in your heart, that make you beautiful.
S: Cubby’s heart is blue!
Me: Why?
S: Because he wants a pickle and we don’t have any.
glorious ruins 