I see her emerging from the woods, stomping in pale green rain boots. Her shoulder length, pin straight hair is swaying back and forth as she bounces her way up the path from our woods where she spends her time playing with the neighbors and collecting treasures from old broken coffee grinders (I am still amazed by this find), and bugs. I immediately recall my girl in her very first pair of Hunter rain boots. Wobbly, often tripping over their size on her tiny feet and unbalanced two year old body. She insisted then though, rain boots were always the shoe of choice. It did not matter if it was 75 degrees or 35 degrees, she was sliding those yellow Hunters on her feet. Each year the boot color changes and her body gains balance, but they are still the shoe of choice.
The look on her face tells me this is not a happy bounce. Her arms are crossed and on her face sits a pout. Tears are pooling in the corners of her eyes. They haven’t begun falling yet but I can tell she is fighting a losing battle. My girl is on the verge of a breakdown. I want to ask what’s wrong from across the yard, but I know, from personal experience, that the moment I ask, the tears will come tumbling out.
Before she’s even made it all the way to me, her voice starts to shake, the tears pierce through the barrier, and she howls, “I GUESS NOW WE CAN’T PLAY!” I could speculate about what went wrong during her play in the woods with the neighbor kids, but they are four, six, and seven years old and I’m sure they all contributed to the collapse of their make believe game of school. But what exactly happened matters little. What my girl will do from here is what is most significant. I angle my body towards her, look in her beautiful icy blue eyes, and prepare to impart wisdom.
Hey sweet girl. I know it is so hard when not everyone wants to play the same way. Sometimes when we play with other people we have to do something called compromise. This means that you don’t always get to play exactly what you want, but it also means that instead of playing by yourself you get to play with other people. Grownups have to compromise too (insert one of the 10 stories of compromise that come to mind just from this week)
This is where Zoey could begin playing the blame game. “Well she did...” or “But mama, he said…” I know I’ve done it before. I take my hurt and in a feeble attempt to protect my heart, aim to turn it into no fault of my own. I think if I don’t own my role, I can detach and place blame and seek to feel some sort of vindication in my anger. However, it is only ever temporary.
How can I expect my husband to know my feelings are hurt that he is going to play golf this weekend after working overtime all week if I don’t tell him? Should I be surprised when I run into an old friend and she says “I was just thinking about you!” followed by the statement “I miss your chocolate chip cookies SO much!”instead of some kind sentiment about our friendship when I let our entire relationship be based on the amount I could give and serve. Running from the truth that I am in control of my actions and reactions proves futile, every time.
My daughter is full of immense emotions. Her sadness doesn’t flow like a river, but rather crashes like waves of a turbulent ocean, nearly knocking us both off our feet. Her anger erupts like a volcano, often causing devastation in its wake. Her joy shoots off like fireworks, loud and vast, reaching far and wide. Raising this girl has been the most sanctifying, humbling, and beautiful experience of my life.
Now that she has reached the back deck, she pulls up a chair next to mine, sits down, and begins sobbing harder. Behind the sorrow, I can see her mind working on how she can rectify the situation. I let her tears fall, and I hold my tongue for a moment. What she does next catches me by surprise.
She quietly utters, “Mommy, can you text Mr. C and see if they can come back outside? I want to say sorry to M for yelling at her. Maybe she will want to play with me again.” I gaze at her in amazement. Did my daughter just handle a conflict with her friend FAR better than I have in the past?
I send the text and he sends his kids back outside. Trusting she will do what she said, I do not follow her into the woods. I cannot say for certain if she did apologize, but I have been listening to them laugh together for the last five minutes.
When she angrily stomped down the path from the woods to the back deck where I sat, face buried in a book, I was prepared to relay some of my own wisdom. I was crafting the speech in my mind as soon as she emerged from the trees. There are times when I am positive that I know what is best. There are times, like this afternoon, I am wrong. Instead of passing down profound motherly wisdom, my six year old daughter taught me a radical lesson in courage and apologies.
On Courage and Apologies
This is beautiful. Loved seeing it out in the world. And the picture of her when she was little with those yellow Hunters!! My heart!
Our kids teach us so much don't they? God really uses them to grow us as they grow! Loved reading this 💛