It was a cold February day when Brad my strong man husband decided to volunteer in our youngest daughter, Lydia’s pre-school class. All the children were seated around their mini tables sitting on mini chairs. The two teachers and Brad the strong Dad were trying to cram their adult bodies into the mini chairs at the mini tables.
Lydia and her friends looked up at Brad in wonder. He seemed so large. His hands could gather up ten of them at the same time. It was always the most fun when Dad’s came to volunteer. They seemed less aware of the rules and gave smiles that made each kid feel extra big.
As the bowls were passed around for lunch, served family style, the little eyes watched the big man scoop green beans on his plate. Little girls laughed as Lydia put her little arms around her Dad’s elbow. With pride this move declared that he was her special daddy.
Next came the bowl of peaches. Giggles filled the table as each child tried to slop the peaches in the allotted square on their plastic trays. When Brad missed his square they all laughed loudly. The quiet corrective voice of their kind but firm teacher Miss Carly reigned them all in.
Next a little boy passed out the milks. Everyone had the choice of chocolate or white. So Brad naturally chose chocolate as any cool kid would. Before he could open it the little girl sitting beside him offered to open his milk. Because she looked so confident in her four years and because she didn’t wait for a response he let her put her fingers in his milk carton. Without a seconds thought she wiped her nose in the process. Looking up with big blue eyes she said, “It's ok I have a cold.”
Needless to say, Brad no longer found the chocolate milk to be cool or appetizing. But the story still makes us laugh as we think about the sweet but messy ways of children.
Someone recently asked, why do parents wish their kids would just grow up already when they are babies and then cry when they are grown because they miss the little years? It seems a crazy oxymoron, but I have found myself feeling both emotional extremes.
It is hard to take in moments as they come without wishing away the mess. Little ones are sweet… that is until they hit you in the face with a large plastic toy. Little boys are fun until you answer their call in the middle of the night and walk over scattered Legos barefooted. Little girls are a blast until they take your high heels and feed them to the dog, or stain your favorite shirt with red lipstick they smashed as they tried to dress up like mommy.
Little ones take patience, a trait I was sure I had in great quantities until I became a parent. On the flip side now my children are approaching the teen years at rapid speed. At this time I feel inadequate in my understanding. Yes, I was a teenager once, but it doesn’t make the mood swings or the awkward silence more bearable. We are entering into an emotionally messy time and I have suddenly gained a revelation that maybe the toddler years weren’t the hardest after all.
So why do Parents say such things? Why do they wish for a different stage than the present with their children? Why can’t they be content? Well…because it is messy.
I am feel thankful as I pause to think about a Heavenly Father that is not afraid of "messy." In fact, he couldn’t bear the brokenness of the world full of lost children. Sitting on his thrown he turned to his son and asked, "would you make the way for these children to come to me?”
As the story goes, the son came to earth making his dwelling among us. He spoke of the Father’s love but the world did not understand him. They did the worst of crimes to the only one who had the power to save them, they took his life. A life he freely gave up for them. It turns out God the Father wasn’t afraid of our mess. God the Son freely gave His life to break the curse that was on all the children of the world so we could be free.
He broke the curse not in death but in the resurrection. His coming back to life again. Sometimes I think that I can do this parenting thing on my own, but I realize again as I write this blog that I need my Father God’s help. I often think I am helping him out by working really hard in my own strength, but I am actually like the little four- year-old girl opening the carton of milk with her dirty little fingers saying, “It's ok I have a cold.”
God’s grace is a gift to the messy, the needy, the broken, and the parent. If you have been overwhelmed lately try God. He’s been around awhile and might just have the answer you are looking for.
😃
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