If you've ever spent any time with Aiden, then you know that from his marvelous little boy mind flows an abundance of curious inquiries. He wants to know what makes jello jiggly and how clouds can hold rain and if dogs can pray and if belly buttons can be untied and if people really get kicked out of places (like by someone's foot). Maybe you've been on the receiving end of one of these questions and you've scrambled to compose an age-appropriate, semi-logical, on-the-spot answer. Not easy...especially if you have no idea what the answer is yourself, which is often the case! I love that I have the privilege of watching him wrestle with the literal and the abstract as he figures out language and concepts and life. I love that sarcasm is wholly lost on him because he chooses to trust people and, most of all, I love to hear him teaching his sister something that he's learned only moments before, as if he's the world's leading expert on the subject. Yes, I certainly appreciate his young, fresh, eager mind, but, admittedly, I don't always give his questions the energy they deserve. Sometimes I get tired or busy or just plain selfish and my answers become nothing more than obligatory responses. This happened a few weeks ago.
One lazy evening after supper, I was nose deep in a book when Aiden asked, "Mom, are Fruit Loops and Apple Jacks good for you? "Ummm...well, they're not terrible for you, but they're not really good for you either," I said, without looking up, as I continued reading. A little while later, I noticed that he was being unusually quiet (in our house, when it's quiet we get nervous because it usually means that mischief abounds). I closed my book and looked at Aiden. He looked at me, mouth gaping, eyes wide, arms limp at his side, "You mean...TV lies?!?" he said in the most astonished, disheartened voice. I gave him a consoling hug, kissed his head, and smiled at his sweet naivety.
After putting him to bed that night, I lingered in his doorway, as I often do with my kiddos, watching the covers rise and fall with his tiny little breaths. My heart felt heavy and sad. I felt like I had taken a hammer and a chisel and carved out a chunk of his childhood. I wanted to be like a sentry standing guard, alert and vigilant, ready to do battle with anything else that threatened to tarnish his innocence. I started thinking about all the ways that the world will lie to him, all the distorted messages that he'll receive about what it means to be successful and talented and happy and of worth. I'll be honest, in that moment, I felt a crushing sense of helplessness. Then I remembered that, for a few more years anyway, Little Man thinks we're cool. He listens to us, watches us, and, for better or worse, imitates us. What an opportunity! What a responsibility! By fiercely guarding my own heart and mind and choosing to live in truth, I can help my children learn to do the same. In his book Abba's Child, Brennan Manning says,
Make the Lord and his immense love for you constitute of your personal worth. Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. God's love for you and his choice of you constitute your worth. Accept that, and let it become the most important thing in your life...The basis of my personal worth is not my possessions, my talents, not esteem of others, reputation...not kudos of appreciation from parents and kids, not applause, and everyone telling you how important you are to the place...I stand anchored now in God before whom I stand naked, this God who tells me 'You are my son, my beloved one.'This is how I want my children to define themselves and so, this is how I must define myself. I can't live like I believe that I have to be skinny to be valuable or that financial security brings happiness or that other peoples' approval matters most of all. If I do, then my children will too. Take care, Friends, because little eyes are upon you.
