The Abundant Gifts of Love

Yesterday morning, the kids and I went to the gym for our usual Friday “bag class” activities (in which I get to smack a heavy bag around with boxing gloves and do various other cardio and free weight exercises while my 14 year old son keeps a lively bunch of younger kids busy with their own exercises and games) and then we traveled on to the grocery store.

It was Good Friday, and the grocery store was packed with people stocking up for their Easter festivities. We had a small list of items to purchase and it included something I hadn’t written on my grocery list for a long time: eggs. (We reach for a whole-food plant-based diet so I choose not to bring animal products home from the grocery store.)

Eggs were on our list because we wanted to decorate them for egg-hunting Easter fun. So, at the store, as they often do, my kids tracked down some of the items from our list while I gathered others. They went in search of the eggs and came back with a large, square plastic carton containing 30 eggs. Perfect! Plenty for everyone to decorate, hide, and hunt for.

Later that afternoon, after we had returned home, unpacked, and worked on some other projects, it was time to get the eggs from the “garage fridge” (where we keep overflow groceries) and boil them. My 7 year old daughter was standing near the door to the garage, so I considered asking her to go and get them, but remembering that they were on the top shelf and that it might be an unwieldy container for her, I decided to get them myself.

So I did, and then came back into the house with the large, square container of 30 eggs, which you very likely think I’m getting ready to tell you I dropped at this point, since it seems I’m building up to something. But no, not today. That isn’t where this story is going.

As I crossed the threshold between the mudroom and the kitchen, my sweet daughter (who didn’t know I had gone into the garage for the purpose of retrieving the eggs) jumped out from her position next to the doorway and into my path with a giggly yell and raised hands to “scare” me. (This happens a lot around here, most commonly when you are coming out of the powder room, thanks to the influence of my fun-loving husband who has a natural gift for making the most of small, playful moments.)

Somehow, in that moment of unexpected startle with an egg container wobbling in my hands, a choice presented itself to me. I felt a whisper guiding me. Time seemed to slow as I noticed the choice I could make and I responded.

What was this choice?

The choice was to be silent. To smile. Even to giggle a little. It was a choice to join my daughter, to meet her exactly where she was in that moment and be her partner. To see her innocence and intention, her joyful and playful spirit, and not steal it from her. I believe the ability to see this choice and participate in it was a gift of the Holy Spirit. I felt led, as though my path was being shown to me and I was being encouraged to follow it, to try it.

In that moment, the Spirit was leading me, and I found there is great joy in being obedient, and there are so many blessings that flow from obedience. Blessings I can see and blessings that are far beyond my vision.

For me, the moment glowed with a special radiance that I’ve experienced a handful of times in my life. As I made my way to the kitchen counter and set down the eggs, I felt I had glimpsed a sacred act. I was a student of the Teacher, and had participated in an experience filled with His wisdom. Gratitude washed over me and I smiled at my daughter, who was smiling back at me.

In her smile, I received gifts beyond anything she could have imagined. Her smile told me a story of acceptance, love, and responsibility. I basked in the warmth of it as she crossed the room and came toward me, giggling still and considering the situation that had just occurred between us. She was free in that moment. Unburdened. Free to feel what she felt and use it for her own instruction. She could pay attention to her thoughts as they bubbled up, and share them openly because she didn’t feel judged. I hadn’t spoken any words or used reactive, negative non-verbal communication so nothing hung in the air to cloud her own feelings or bring an external pressure for her to push against.

She had the space she needed to process the experience for herself and arrive at her own conclusions. I hadn’t stolen her playfulness and I hadn’t stolen her opportunity to have an organic learning experience. I hadn’t stolen that small building block of confidence she gained by making choices and discovering the outcomes, learning from the experience, and moving on naturally. There was a bubble of love and harmony around us and between us. We were both participants and witnesses together, rather than adversaries in the roles of the-parent-who-knows-better and the-child-who-needs-to-be-taught.

I treasure moments like that, where I get to see in such an obvious way, the superior option of allowing the moment to teach rather than usurping the moment by getting in the way and substituting (usually ill-timed and emotionally charged) effort to direct the teaching, collapsing it into a negative summary of what happened and replacing the beauty it could have contained with something ugly that divides.

These are such tiny things in one way, and then again they are everything. These moments all go together to make a life, to make a relationship, and to make the impression on the hearts of our people that tells them who we are and, more importantly, what we think about who they are.

In other moments like this one, I have been the one to steal from my child. Rather than choosing a silence of camaraderie, I have chosen to admonish. In those times, which felt much more like a reaction than a response, I have sacrificed my relationship with my child on the altar of instruction.

There is much significance here, and I can almost feel the thoughts you, the reader, might be having now. You might be thinking there are times for admonishing, for instructing, that’s an important part of our job as parents. Or you might be thinking that it’s too much pressure to think about every tiny, little detail of our interactions with our kids and whether we’re “doing it right.”

And I would agree with both of these thoughts. My interest is not in creating a habit of overthinking my every move, but rather of creating a habit of intentionally meeting people, especially my children, where they are and honoring their truth enough to respond to it in the most appropriate way. I’ll never be perfect in this, but my awareness and desire will help me improve.

Sometimes, it will be the right time to admonish or instruct. (Usually it’s best to do that later, in a private, quiet moment after the emotions of the situation have passed.) And other times my inability to regulate my response will allow a knee-jerk reaction to reign in the moment, and I will need to apologize for my own words or behavior when my vision clears.

But when life is happening all around me and I find myself able to respond in a way that meets my child where he or she is, as a partner on this journey of growth and building character, I will rejoice and give thanks. When I can do this, rather than react, when I can hear the whisper above the noise, when I can embody wisdom and be a vessel for truth, I am so grateful. In those moments I know I have chosen what is better. I have chosen love and tapped into the greatest power, the most ancient wisdom, the source of every good thing.

Have you experienced moments like these? What did they teach you? Please share your comments below!