Pray for the children

James finished his 5th day of kindergarten today, with the expected exhaustion resulting in a tantrum of massive proportion. Thank you, Jesus, for once I responded with grace and calm. After a tussle in the shower, we curled up on my bed for a story and a snuggle.

He wanted to tell me a story (which means it didn't really happen but he has been thinking about it). In his story, a bully pushed him in the gravel of the playground. "Why do kids push other kids?" he asked at the end of the story. We had just finished a book with a word about God's protection, and he said, "It's not true. God doesn't protect me from bullies."

I listened to him spinning more of the story, and responded that God is not like a Power Ranger, blowing up bad guys, because he hopes that the bad guys will become good guys, and they can't if they are dead. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and asked, "Mom, are bombs real?"

How I wished I didn't have to answer that, but I said that they are. He began to cry. "Why do people drop bombs on each other?" I tried to explain that they do it when they are at war, and he asked, "Do they drop them on children?" "Yes, where the war is, sometimes."

Tears were really flowing by this time. "Do kids get apart from their parents in war?" "Where is the war?" "Does the Devil get in people's brains, is that why they do it?" "Why doesn't God stop them?"

By this time, my heart had broken wide open. I tried to think what to say, wanting so much to ease his obvious pain. "God doesn't stop them. He hopes they will listen to him but they don't want to. He stays close to the hurt people." Out of my mouth poured all the things that we Christians say to try to make it better when God seems so far away. Not enough to explain it away. We talked for a while longer, but finally all I could do was reassure him that there is no war in Elkhart and that I am going to stick to him like white on rice, that if he listens to God in his mind, he won't be one of the ones who hurts people. "We should pray war doesn't come here," he said.

Yes, we should, and for the children where the war is. For the children who maybe might grow up to hurt others because somehow 'the Devil got in their brains.'

God have mercy on us all. God help James, and Maia, and the children of their generation grow up to make peace, to be as passionate about nonviolence as so many are about violence.

My children fight over me. For a moment of peace, I went to the front room and sat on the couch. Our son came in and sat on the edge, momentarily preoccupied with a plastic bag. His sister slipped in behind him, taking his spot next to me. A tussle ensued, all over who got to sit next to me. Finally, I expressed my displeasure of their fighting and they stomped away, united in their anger at me.

When they left, the dog came in and sat down in the place they both wanted. She doesn't fight, she just waits for an empty space.

I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere, but for the moment I am just sad that my children are in competition for my attention, or for their place, or for anything, really. Sure, my mothering could use improvement. Maybe I'm not handling it well.

So I pray, asking God to make them friends, to give them enough good memories to overcome the bad, to provide enough in common so that they can enjoy being together when they are older.

And then, Maia slips in quietly and deposits herself at the other end of the couch. Her brother dances in, a torn plastic bag making a laurel wreath around his buzzed head. His comic pratfalls elicit a giggle from his sister. Maybe there's hope. That's lesson enough for today.

Losing my temper, finding grace

Maybe it's the weather, or the stress of a long stretch of too much work, but my temper has really been short at home lately. Ask my kids, and they will tell you how crabby I've been. Then I wonder how much damage I'm doing by just losing it. Now we are just loud, all three of us. I have trained them to be loud.

In the midst of it, though, has come strange grace as Maia learned to sew buttons on scrap pieces of fabric and James proudly made basket after basket at basketball camp. They are really smart kids. perhaps that's part of the problem - I don't help them plan enough of their days, and then they go a little nuts and so do I, in a different way.

I prayed. Then today on my bikeride, a family from our church was outside in their drive. Mom and her two preschoolers played in a small plastic pool. Splashing and pouring and throwing water, they were all getting blessedly wet in the hot, humid afternoon. Mom. Playing with them. God shone a light on them, highlighting that particular parenting model so clearly it almost blinded me.

What a concept. Playing with the kids. Interaction. This is not me. I'm always in my own world, following my own agenda, self-centered to the core. Tomorrow (at least until I have to work in the afternoon), we are going to 1. buy fabric squares so Maia can sew 2. Play with bubbles 3. go on a bikeride 4. pack a couple more boxes from Maia's room 5. Get out some sidewalk chalk.

I'll be tired, but I can always sleep at night. Then Monday, I'm giving some thought to vacation planning. I'll have time to myself. But I'll also have times to give myself away.