“It’s MY turn! It’s MY seat! Get up!! I want to sit there! It’s MY turn! My stomach hurts! I have a headache! I need to sit there!!!”
Even the baby mocks the crying and yelling of my passionately entitled seven year-old. You know, the one who sits next to me each and every day while I read the Bible. Every day she has that, as she sees it, privilege. Every day she sits in, as she perceives it, the place of honor. But any time one of my other daughters decides it is their turn to sit by me, she loses her mind.
I mean really loses her mind.
Somehow, because she has been given the privilege too often and been allowed by her sisters to not be challenged or rivaled for that place very much, she mistakenly believes that she owns the space. She mistakenly believes that she is truly being offended when her sisters take the seat she covets.
That’s the point at which she makes certain that everyone on our block knows just whose place they are trying to take; just whose seat they’re trying to steal; just whose turn it really is – today, tomorrow, and for all eternity.
This is not a frequent occurrence, but, the only reason it is not frequent is because her sisters do not often want the space next to me. Which, of course, is another existential question of the universe. I mean, how could they not want to sit next to the coolest mom on earth? Nevertheless, anytime they do recognize the awesomeness of this girl, this tantrum inevitably happens and I have to give a whole sermon on putting others first, self-control, and obedience before I even begin Bible class.
“I can’t even read God’s Word until you obey, child. Please, can we get started? Do you really want punished? I know you feel better when you are next to me, but God is not happy when we only think about what we want and need.”
“But what am I doing wrong?! I want to sit by you!!!”
“You are lying by making up excuses about being sick to get what you want. You are being very selfish. You are using your feelings and your tears to control and manipulate. These are not good things, babe. You have to stop doing this. Then we can all read the Bible and see what God wants us to do, too.”
She obeys. We begin to read. The girls pick Revelation for our next book. We read what the disciple that Jesus loved wrote to the churches. One common theme becomes evident. He, in the wording of the International Children’s Bible, says in opening to all of them individually, “I know what you do.”
I know what you do. I know what you are doing. The first thing the Lord Jesus himself tells his church from the very beginning to be remembered until the present age and beyond is, “I know what you do.” I see you. I know the good, the bad, and everything in between. And I am warning you. Doing good things does not keep judgement from coming upon you if you refuse to stop doing wrong. God knows. Mommy knows. Be warned.
Little wonder why God chose to use the parenting relationship to relate to us. We are so much like little kids. We can only see ourselves, our needs, our wants, and our desires. We care far too little for our brothers and sisters. The truth is, being a kid is hard. Adults say it’s easy but I remember being little. I remember feeling scared. I remember feeling small. I remember feeling powerless, helpless, and frightened many times. Being a kid is fun, but it is hard. And this God’s child thing is harder than I ever thought it could be.
Do you ever just get tired? Tired of trying. Tired of failing. Tired of believing the best. Tired of experiencing the worst. Tired of ignoring the plain truth. Tired of being ignored. Tired of trusting and waiting and praying and being rejected anyway.
Little kids get tired a lot. They need naps and blankies and bottles lest the fury of the unrested fly out in same manner as the seat-robbed.
I recently became a cheerleader. Well, a cheerleader leader, as my husband calls me. This is the effect the blankie and bottle babies have as they get bigger and bolder. I am more tom-boy than hair-bow. I am more football than pom-pom. I am more fighter fists than flippy spirit fingers. I am more grit-teeth game-face than cheer-up smiley-pants. We will do things for our kids we wouldn’t normally entertain simply for their benefit.
The first thing I had to learn about being a “cheerleader leader” is that you have to cheer even when you are broken. You have to encourage your team even when you don’t feel like it. You have to learn a new dance when you would rather sit in the corner, cover your face, make up excuses, and cry instead. You’ve got a half an hour to pull yourself together because the game is about to start. The kids are counting on you to lead.
My own words repeat in my subconscious. Surely it is the Holy Spirit.
“I can’t even read God’s Word until you obey, child. Please, can we get started? Do you really want punished? I know you feel better when you are next to me, but God is not happy when we only think about what we want and need.”
I hold out my pom-pom prepared hand and I tell the Lord, “I trust you.” I go and sit with the team and I give the instructions on how to smile, cheer, encourage, and lift the spirits of everyone around us.
He sees. He sees the good you do. He sees the fear, the pain, the injustice, and the helplessness you feel. He knows exactly what you do. Trust your Father. Encourage your brothers and sisters. Cheer for team Jesus. We could all use some spirit power right now. Holy Spirit power, that is.
Go! Fight! Win! Amen.
Everyday Encounters With the Creator 