Before motherhood, arriving at my front door was predictable. Park the car, out the door, and up the steps while planning my to-do’s: dinner, laundry, a work project. Grab my keys, unlock the door, plop down my tote, and on with the evening.
With a toddler in hand, however, I embark on an adventurous excursion as soon as my field guide is out of his car seat. First, we kneel and study ants trailing along the sidewalk. Then, we see how the dandelions are doing. A handful is taken for close analysis. The wind scatters their little white furries, and we observe how each one skips across the grass.
A loud whoosh captures the little scientist’s attention. An airplane? He looks up . . . waits . . . waits . . . waits . . . and there! Yes, his hypothesis is correct. Airplane! “Ooooooh!” he remarks.
He’s still pointing above when our neighbor comes outside. He toddles over to her yard and smiles. New territory to explore, and with such big flowers! “Hydrangea,” she says. Using his whole face, he inspects a large pink blossom. Soft to the cheek, but, oooh, it doesn’t taste good! He sticks out his tongue. Now, a wave to our neighbor and a kiss goodbye.
He toddles back to our yard and scales the front steps. He beats a welcoming tune on the front door. Home.
This new method of getting to the front door, and essentially of moving about in the world, took some getting used to. It seemed to take f-o-r-e-v-e-r to get a-n-y-w-h-e-r-e. “Come along, now. Mommy has things to do,” I would plead.
Frustrated with being frustrated, I gave in one day. I’m not sure when, probably one day when I had few to-do’s. On this day, I learned to appreciate a child’s need to discover and the slow pace at which this vital learning occurs.
Moving slowly, I am growing in patience and self-giving love, and Jack has room and time to develop in the way I think God intends. He is developing a love for God’s creation and each creature’s purpose.
While admiring nature, Jack learns to love the ants for their industry and our neighbor for her kindness. With time to meander and explore, he gives equal consideration to flowers and weeds. He learns to satisfy his God-given desire to love by appreciating all the things right in front of him. No touch screens are needed to distract him from the blessings of his surroundings. Most of all, he is learning to be present.
I am learning to be present, too, and this brings peace. Without fussing over future to-do’s, I am more observant. People always say children grow up too fast. It does seem like yesterday that I packed away Jack’s newborn onesies. However, I don’t feel change is happening so fast that I’m missing something. I am certainly not missing my selfish sense of time. Somehow the to-do’s eventually get done. We always reach our destination.
Just as a Christian must realize that everything happens in God’s time, so a parent must realize that childhood doesn’t always tick according to the adult watch. This sacrifice—and privilege—is just part of the vocation of parenthood, part of the self-giving love that one is called to offer.
Of course, this isn’t the same as allowing a child to wander alone on a path that veers in the wrong direction. There are times when I have to swoop my little one out of the van and convince him he’s an airplane who needs to be present somewhere else in, oh my, ten minutes!
Most of the time, though, we move slowly and deliberately—both of us at the pace of discovery.
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