This is my day-dreamer, song-singer, snuggler and animal lover, my grinner, my story-teller. This is my girl who needs to be pulled back from the Hundred Acre Wood with several calls to attention, and sometimes even a physical tug on her arm. I love that she’s not confined to the “real world.” But sometimes she can be really hard to parent.
Last week I was making Jello for my husband, his zero carb, sugar free Jello. He loves Jello. I think it reminds him of his childhood. Often I let the girls help.
On this occasion, however, the bowl I was using to mix up the Jello was little too small, and I did not let the girls help stir. By the time I added the cold water, it was almost up to the brim.
“Okay, girls,” I said to my five and three year old, who were hovering over me. “I might not make it to the fridge with this bowl of Jello. It’s super full. Please stand back. Don’t get in my way.”
“I’ll open the fridge for you, Mom!” my five year old said, eager to help with this challenge. She pulled open the door, and I carefully baby-stepped to the fridge.
I was about to set the bowl inside, when my sweet almost-four year old, realizing she wasn’t going to get to stir, suddenly wailed and yanked my arm. Red Jello cascaded down her Frozen shirt and light blue pants, and splashed on my shoes.
“Anneliese!!” I shrieked. “I told you girls to stand back! That outfit is ruined now! Why, why do you never, ever listen??”
She was crying, very upset. Well, so was I! How frustrating to care for this little person who had so much trouble processing my commands and acting accordingly. She would be four this summer–why did she still not “get it”??
As I peeled off her clothes and wiped up, I started feeling remorseful for the words that had flown out of my mouth in anger. Then, with a jolt, I realized that those same irate words had been spoken to me, a long time ago.
I was 5 years old, a mucky paintbrush in hand, and a very angry kindergarten teacher staring me in the eye. I was up at the painting easel…my favorite place to be, maybe the only place I felt comfortable in the crowded, chaotic, and downright scary world called kindergarten. But this time up at the painting easel, things had gone horribly wrong. Two minutes earlier, I was admiring a beautiful masterpiece that I had created. Flowers shaped like the letter “M” were blooming all over a green yard. “M”-shaped fruit dotted the trees. Flying “M”s filled the air, and a smiling “M” sun smiled down at everything below. I decided to call it “M” World.
Then, fatefully, I also decided that “M” World wasn’t quite complete. I wondered if I could make it tie-dye, like a classmate’s shirt that I had seen. I dipped my brush in the blue, then the red, then the green, and swirled it around. Ugh. That wasn’t right. I dipped the brush again and again, and kept swirling… Then I lowered the brush, aghast. The entire paper was now the color of you-know-what. The flowers and grass, the trees and birds and even my smiling sun…all gone! “M” World was ruined!
At that moment, my teacher rushed up to me and squatted down to look in my face. Her eyes blazed with anger. “Why did you do this?!” she exclaimed. “I told you not to mix up the colors in the paint jars. And that is exactly what you did! Now this paint is ruined, and no one else can use it. Do you never listen? You will not be permitted to paint again!”
Now I looked at my daughter, half undressed, covering her eyes with her hands in embarrassment and dismay. Seeing her, I saw myself. Her challenges were my challenges. She frustrates me in the way that I frustrated the adults in my life! Now, experiencing this frustration for myself, I saw my kindergarten teacher in a different light. It’s very possible that the painting incident was a kind of “last straw” for her, after my difficulties listening and following her directions had created many other messes for her to clean up. Just as the Jello incident was the “last straw” for me, sparking my harsh reaction.
Yes, my daughter and I share the same challenges. But we also share the same strengths. In her creativity, her imagination, her gentle nature, her unique view of the world, I see that God’s gifts to her are many of the same He has given me.
In His Word, He reminds me that He created her, and she is “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14). He provides the antidote to frustration: “love…is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs” (1 Corinthians 13:5) When I fail, He assures me, “Your sins are forgiven” (Luke 5:20). Thank God that for Him, there is no such thing as a last straw, “for out of His fullness, we have received grace upon grace” (John 1:16).
This grace I now extend to my little girl. I forgive her as He enables me. I prune her as He directs me, not to crush her spirit but to help her bloom even more beautifully. As she grows in the gifts God has given her, I look forward to all she will dream, create, and be.
