“Mom, are we going to the fair in the summer?” my oldest asked again this morning.
“I’m going to the fair!” my four year old middle daughter asserted. “And I’m going to ride the rides and get popcorn and chocolate ice cream!”
My two year old jumped in. “I can get Superman ice cream! And see the tractors.”
“But, Mom, will the fair get canceled?” my worried six year old persisted.
It was about the dozenth time she had asked. I would always reassure all three girls that our community fair would still be held, and we’d be there to soak up the fun:
riding the carousel,
greeting the animals,
doing a little milking,
seeing the tractors up close and personal,
and, of course, eating plenty of ice cream.
Surely by fair time life will be back to normal, I would think to myself each time she asked.
Now, on this dreary May day, as a torrent of rain washes away our freshly planted garden, I wonder. What will “normal” even look like for our family, our town, and a troubled world?
We are parenting in challenging times. This virus has altered permanently my life as a mom. Take just one practical example: Now I need to have on hand masks for the whole family, including three active little girls. Thanks to wonderful friends, I do have masks of all sizes.
But will my two younger girls even consent to wearing a mask for more than 60 seconds? Such a delimma never would have entered my mind. Now, if they don’t, it will be my responsibility to devise a solution. Ensuring that they have masks and the masks stay on their little faces is a new mom duty that I never would have imagined.
Then there are the changes yet to come when church is reopened next month, and when school starts again this fall. Is it really possible that my oldest may not return to a “normal” school schedule of in-person classes Monday through Friday? At the very least, school and church and the library and every other place important in their young lives will all have contingency plans for the next outbreak, whether that be Coronavirus or something else.
Yes, the world in which they grow, attend school, and make their early memories will be so different from that of my own childhood. Truthfully, I feel scared.
Today, I watch my daughters play, three little girls oblivious to the changes that will shape profoundly their growing up years. They are absorbed in an elaborate game of “animal rescue,” in which the animal ambulance (a body-length pillow with a Scooby-doo pillowcase) delivers sick and injured stuffies to a hospital bed (our piano bench covered with a Detroit Lions blanket) to be tended by three eager animal doctors.
The world may keep changing, faster than ever, but childhood remains the same. Children play, learn and laugh. Little ones bring joy to those around them, even when everything from Covid projections to the weather forecast looks bleak.
Children remain God’s precious gift.
And no virus or any other danger will ever negate God’s promises to them:
The Sovereign Lord tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart (Isaiah 40:11).
I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven (Matthew 18:10).
The kingdom of God belongs to such as these (Mark 10:14).
Our school schedule may change. Our church services may be impacted. And despite my assurances to our girls, we may not enjoy the fair this summer after all.
Yet their Good Shepherd is holding them close. Their angels are keeping watch. And God’s Kingdom–not this troubled world–is already theirs.
