THE FATHER'S HEART THROUGH A MOTHER'S EYES: EXPERIENCING GOD'S LOVE FOR ME THROUGH MY OWN EXPERIENCE OF LOVE FOR MY CHILDREN....
And so, we left off with my deep confession. It may be yours, too: The fear of the band-aid. The desire to be healed and tended, but the genuine, accompanying dread of the process to follow.....and the conflict therein.
You see, I love being known, no matter how I run from it.
And my kids do, too. (And YOURS do, too). You want to know how I know? Because we are all just little kids...to God. And every little example of their simple hearts are easily likened to our simple hearts and minds- to Him.
I do. I love it. I need it and crave it. As a woman, a daughter, a wife, a mother- a human being, I NEED to know that I am fully known. And for all his best efforts, my husband cannot give me that. My children cannot give me that. My girlfriends, even, come close- but cannot give it to me either. I sit alone sometimes in some variation of a long standing hurt and am keenly aware that nobody knows my sadness. Nobody here, anyway, and that sense of alone-ness makes my hurt- hurt more.
I will admit, some aspect of anyone- anyone knowing me as well as I long to be known is a bit intimidating. After all, surely you can agree with this: the closer IN someone get to your heart, simply by their knowledge of you, your heart- the more power they have to wittingly or unwittingly HURT you. Yes? Still, I want it. I long for it. It’s quite a conflict. A bit like the band-aid conflict, only not nearly as conscious a plight….
I got a sweet example the other day that took me back quite a bit, but truly reinforced this truth: No matter how scary or even 'uncomfortable' being KNOWN may be, truly, it’s what I want even more than I want to be safe from pain.......
Avery and Emerson were up early in the morning together as usual, though only Em goes to school at 8:30. They'd had breakfast and were slowly getting dressed....they were losing focus....(can you imagine?)...playing with toys, neglecting shoes/socks/backpacks......I was getting frustrated. They were in particular, fascinated with a toy stamp....(which had already become a full-sleeve tattoo for Desi when he'd gotten hold of it the day before, as well as a lovely wallpaper in the hallway when Gaby had gotten hold of it the day before that.... and was now in about 30 different green bunny-heads swiftly become a full pair of gloves all over Avery's hands...) I lost it- but am happy to say that somehow, I did so with self-control.
I spoke evenly, without too much emotion. Pure, simple. “I'm sorry. It's gone. It’s caused too much trouble already and I’m sorry, I’m just done with this toy. Sorry, guys…” and I threw it away. My mistake was apparently not so much in letting them know I would be throwing it way, but rather, doing so in front of them- mostly because Emerson is a bit of hoarder. The need to keep everything, broken or unnecessary, found on the ground- doesn’t matter. Everything needs a home. In our home….
On his way out the door about a half hour later, I caught Emerson whispering something into Avery’s ear after I’d looked up to wave one last goodbye. It occurred to me then that he was very likely giving instructions to Avery (30 minutes at least post-event) to retrieve the stamp from the garbage at his earliest ability. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about it, but simply knowing Em the way I do brought back the situation to my mind.
Luckily, Avery is about as flighty in his attention span as I right now, so we both immediately forgot the stamp again after Em’s departure. Around 11, while getting Avy ready for school, it occurred to me again. I looked at Avy and simply asked him, “Hey, Av. When Em was leaving for school and he whispered in your ear, did he say something like, “Avy, when Mama isn’t looking, get that little stamp back out of the garbage and hide it…Ok?”
If I could have captured my 5 year olds’ face at that moment, it would be my forever reminder of this love to be known. It was a perfect mixture of shock, wonder and …. Adoration?
Avery had an immediate response, but NOT the one I anticipated. FAR from it, in fact. He ran straight to me, with his hand still over his mouth and threw his arms around my waist. I thought we’d both go down, he hit me so hard. I was bewildered and probably every bit as shocked as he had been only a moment before. What was this? What happened to, “Aw shucks, she caught us,” and all that???????
He said only one thing. And the authenticity still gives me a bit of a fist in my throat: “Mama, you’re the BEST Mama in the whole world!!!”- and through all my wonder, his arms held fast around me. He literally melted into my side for minutes on end as I gathered my reaction and attempted to reframe it as the picture of what it really was.
The LOVE of being known.
In the honesty of a child, he simply by-passed getting caught, losing the stamp, even the shock/wonder or frustration of feeling like he’s been caught in something….and dove straight into the comfort and security and LOVE of the frail little human heart that desperately longs to be KNOWN. His reaction was completely based on knowing he had a built in security, an automatic acceptance- a proven awareness that he could neither slip through the cracks or off my radar- even if he momentarily wanted to. He felt safe. Known. Seen. Treasured.
His response of love proved it.
I was not the evil Mama who threw a toy away. I was the best Mama in the world for knowing what was going on in those two little hearts, devious or not- and he simply couldn’t contain the assurance of my love that came along with it.
I recognized myself there, and remembered the band-aid. The desire to be tended to…the anticipation of hurt that may come in sticking it on. The truth that my Father, the best Father in the whole world, knows my heart as well as the healing process going on beneath the band-aid, and when exactly to take it back off- even the momentary hurt that accompanies it.
He knows me. He knows my wounds. He knows my every little itty-bitty particle of composition. I AM safe, band-aid fears and all, as long as I’m this sure of that.
And guess what? You are, too.
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