He came to me, voice quavering, this boy who wears his heart on his sleeve. He was hurting because of words. Words spoken by friends. He shuddered and sighed, “Mom, they say that girls rule and boys drool. That’s not true, Mom. That’s not true.”
Oh, my boy.
I hid my smile, remembering the days of cooties and “hating boys”. His innocence slays me. He just doesn’t think that way, and it made my heart ache to hear him hurting.
How do I do this?
This parenting thing.
Last night we curled in her bed and read together, and I watched her fingers trace the outline of Maid Marion’s wedding dress. Her eyes lit up and then turned dreamy, and I knew where her mind had gone–to her own white dress and flowers and dreams of weddings and husbands and families. She loves to imagine that day.
I shook back tears and mentally screamed, “Must. stop. time!”
We read Dumbo together, Bear curling in with us, and she finger traced the Mommy and baby together and cried when they were separated. “That’s how I feel when I’m away from you, Mommy. Well, some of the time. I really like to be at school, too. I guess I’m torn in two.”
It happens in an instant. Unexpected. I know things are unsettled, but I do not know what it is that I say or do that triggers outbursts, meltdowns, arguments, emergence of the strong will.
Suddenly I am face to face with rebellion and anger, and I must swallow mine in order to love, train and teach.
And God’s Word rings in my ears…“let NOTHING unwholesome proceed out of your mouth… only that which edifies…for the need of the moment…so it will give grace…”
How do I do this?
It was a year or two ago that our worship leader, Mike, approached Brian just before the second service we were attending at church.“Brian! Ian wants to play the drums, and I say ‘let’s let him’! Would you bring him up on stage for the last song after the sermon so he can play?” Brian willingly agreed.
Ian. That dear boy who loved unreservedly and enjoyed life fully. That boy who hugged anyone and made friends with everyone he saw. That boy who loved to tickle and laugh and say “tamales” for Sunday School answers just to laugh some more. That boy who was a boy scout full of adventure. That boy with Down Syndrome. That boy who truly LIVED.
…why the blog has been silent the past few weeks. Well, we’ve kind of been busy.
