Before embarking on any trip, in my family it is a common custom for my husband or myself to ask, “Is everyone wearing shoes?” before we start the car.
This custom developed after I drove to the grocery store one day and discovered one of our children clad only in bare feet.
Recently, as my husband asked this customary question of our four children in the car, he decided to test their attentiveness as well.
What does sitting down and playing the preschool game Hungry Hungry Hippos have to do with your spiritual life? Living in the moment and keeping the presence of God, if you are the parent of young children.
That’s what I figured out one day while considering the laundry piling up, all the cleanouts and projects I had put on hold due to Christmas preparations, a growing pile of dishes in the sink, floors and carpets that needed cleaning, plus impending chores of offering homework help after school and policing and transporting children to basketball practice.
In addition, I was just feeling a bit down after all the hub-bub of the holidays.
“I can’t do it!” my four-year-old son cries out in frustration as he suddenly scrunches up his artwork to his chest.
His masterpiece, a brightly colored partially crayoned alphabet, is now a ball of crumpled paper, mashed beyond redemption.
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to calm his tears. “I can help you.”
Slowly I coax the ruined masterpiece from my son’s angry fingers, smooth the jagged creases, place my hand over his to guide the creation of the letters he’d wanted to be just so.
“You are still learning,” I tell him. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
Not long ago, dear friends of ours tragically had to lay their tiny precious baby, Maria, to rest.
At her funeral, Maria’s brothers helped carry her small white casket and her sister followed with a bouquet of roses. My friends and their toddler walked behind, supporting each other through tears.
At 32 weeks, Maria had unexpectedly died in the womb. Since then, my friends have been shouldering unimaginable suffering, wondering if they will ever again be free of the incomparable grief of parents who lose a child.
My six-year-old daughter clutched her daddy’s hand as they walked side by side through the woods one day.
Suddenly, a black and yellow snake slithered across their path, startling my daughter. She gasped in fear and squeezed her daddy’s hand.
Her daddy, my husband, patted her hand gently and said, “Don’t worry. Garter snakes won’t bite you. They’re just looking for crickets to eat.”
“Mom, won’t you be lonely when we all are at school?” my son asked me innocently one day, true concern spilling from his deep brown eyes.
At the time, I smiled and assured him that of course I would miss my children, but I would get lots of work done and the time would go by so fast that before I knew it, they would all be home in the afternoon.
The face of my four-year-old scrunched up as he sounded out a word in a book. “Gah,” he said, successfully figuring out the sound of the letter “G.”
He considered the next letter, “O,” thought a moment, then said, “Ahh.”
Finally he got to the last letter, “D,” and put the sounds together. “Gah-ahh-dd,” he said slowly, enunciating each letter individually, his eyebrows knit in concentration.
“Gahd.”
Suddenly, his eyes flew open, his eyebrows shot up, and the light of understanding emanated from his joyous grin as he shouted out, “God! It says God!”
I sat down in the midst of my children today and did Morning Prayer aloud.
Never mind that it was already 10:30 a.m. Never mind that the two little ones were giggling and grabbing markers from each other at the kitchen table.
Never mind that the older ones still needed to empty the dishwasher and take out the recycling and I still needed to start the laundry.
Never mind that we needed to pack a lunch for our day of running errands and playing at the park.
“Kids! Set the table! Finish vacuuming!”
My voice roared through the house as I struggled to complete the task of getting dinner on the table for my family of six. It was 5:55, and Daddy would be home shortly.
Homework was scattered across the table, toys littered the living room floor, the two little ones were bickering downstairs, and the two older ones, lost in books, were reluctant to tackle their chores.
The general chaos of the household suddenly set me on fire as I caved in to the feelings of stress and anger that erupted on the surface.
Today I found a marble while doing the laundry. There it was, blue and shiny among the grey folds of my son’s sweatshirt.
My heart leaped as I picked it up and admired its beauty, thinking about how Michael would smile when I showed him his lost treasure.
But just as suddenly as I found it, the marble slipped from my fingers and bounced into the dusty unknown beneath the hot water heater. Sighing in defeat after peering into the darkness, I shrugged and continued with my work.
