Willful

Someone in this house– I won’t say who– is currently straining the bounds of goodwill.

This person is small, so a good dollop of grace is being offered, but still … it–he— is exhausting.

There are constant questions. Constant activities. A constant flow of do, go, see.

This person is also trying his hand at being willful. As a matter of fact, I now have appreciation for a Biblical term I never quite saw in technicolor until this particular child danced over the line between preschool and school age: “set my face against.” As in “I have set my face against you, O Israel.” Have you ever wondered what that looks like, exactly? I can tell you: there is a slight clench to the jaw, the lips are pressed together, and the eyes are half-lidded and cold. Now that I’ve seen it in a child, I sure as heck have no desire to look into the face of God and see it thus.

Of course, the flip side of all of the asserted independence is astronomical growth. Vocabulary, comprehension, defining the relationships between one thing and another … everything is exploding in leaps and bounds.  There is awe and amazement and earth-shattering delight at the new things being discovered. A word he can nearly make out on the back of a storybook. A line drawn between the concept of summer and upcoming World Cup. The anticipation of an event on the horizon, and the dawning awareness of “three days” becoming two, then one. And then …

Then it all crashes down because the same newly-nimble fingers that are able to plink out a reasonable version of “Twinkle, Twinkle” on the piano have betrayed him, not yet strong enough to pry two Legos apart.

An eruption of frustration, a moment of fury, a sudden awareness and regret and …

And it passes. Because there is something else just beyond the corner that has piqued his interest.

Like I said, it’s exhausting.

I’ll be honest and say that these hot/cold, mercurial seasons are my least favorite when it comes to parenting. Give me straight joy or give me straight pain, but please, please, please, don’t flit from one extreme to the other with impiety. It’s just too much.

And yet, there are quiet moments– usually in the lull between “Can I help?” and “What are we going to do now, Momma?” where I look at this boy and I think, this is a good thing.

He always wants something to do. He hates idle hands.

He is constantly underfoot in the kitchen. He loves to help others.

He doesn’t quit. He is a hard worker.

He won’t take no for an answer. He has perseverance.

He never waits for instructions. He is not afraid to try new things.

He tinkers with everything. He has a natural curiosity.

When you put it that way …

In God’s economy, this headstrong, industrious little man has purpose– a purpose far beyond nagging his mom to print out yet another map at 6 a.m. on Saturday morning because he’s just looked through a book with polar bears and can’t wait to see the areas they inhabit. These traits that are so tiring, so overwhelming in a 5 year-old, well, distill them, with some maturity, into the body and character of a 25 year-old. Wouldn’t you want to hire him? Marry him? Call him Daddy?

I admit, it’s a hard perspective to keep when there’s a meltdown bubbling under the surface because his letters aren’t coming out on paper the way they look in his head, or when he asks, for the fourth time, for a job to assist in the dinner prep. But I have to remember– for both of us– that this is not just a child here. This is a future adult. This is the true meaning of Deuteronomy 11:19– that by example, I show him how to harness his energy, how to direct his passions, how to restrain his anger, how to treat others.

When I remember these things, I am a better Momma. I am doing my job. I am the hands of Christ right here, in my home.

Shared at: Essential Fridays