Reverend Mama
Help! I Need Nobody:
A Lesson Unlearned
I came home from the urgent care with CD images of my broken rib. As I eased into a chair, my 3 year old son bounded toward me. My husband ran to catch him: “No DON’T JUMP on Mommy!”
He was confused, as I’m clearly his personal gym. So, I pulled him slowly into my lap on my left side. I said: “we have to be careful because mommy has a broken bone over here.”
He looked at my right side, which clearly looked as it always does. “Looks fine, mommy,” he said.
“Yes, but mommy has a broken bone here under the skin.”
“Oh,” he said as his eyes brightened. “That’s because under our skin, we’re just skeletons made of bonnnnnnes.”
He’s right in more ways than he knows. For aren’t we all just skeletons, masking our brokenness with our skin and smiles?
I’ve felt that more than ever this Fall as my family has had a rough few months. It started Labor Day weekend when an X-ray revealed that the sharp pain I’d had for a week was indeed a broken rib. A week later, my son was in the ER with severe dehydration from COVID (he’s doing well!) 3 weeks later, after continuing to work and parent through the rib pain, I ended up in the ER …
Meet Them In Our Hearts: Talking With Children About Death
My phone dinged. A note from my daughter’s kindergartner teacher waited in the class app. The note began friendly enough: “She’s doing well today … but…” And you know there’s always a but … “A few times this afternoon, she said she was sad because her aunt died when she was 2. We empathized, of course and allowed her some quiet time in the calm corner so she could just be sad.”
I stared at the message in bewilderment with 4 simultaneous thoughts:
#1: Thank God for teachers.
#2. Leave it to a pastor’s kid to talk about death on a Tuesday afternoon…
#3: All our aunts are still very much alive (if you’re reading this, aunts, we love you!)
#4: This’ll be an interesting evening….
At pick-up, I slowly tip-toed into the conversation. “Your teacher said you were sad today.”
“Yes,” my 6 year old said brightly, “I was sad today, because I was thinking about our aunt who died … But it wasn’t our aunt was it? Who died when I was 2?”
Suddenly, it all clicked in my brain, “Oh … it was our grandmothers, love.”
To Click It Is the Ticket
Before I could turn off the water in the sink, my 3-year-old son opened the restroom door and ran into the restaurant. By the time I caught up with him, he was already in the middle of the room. He ran to his grandparents, proclaiming at the very top of his lungs: “I PEED IN THE POTTY!”
I stopped dead behind him, noticing that all the tables were looking at us — clearly these folks were morally offended that such talk might accompany a plate of spaghetti. My son and I were undeterred. I clapped and yelled: “He did it”!!! Moral sensibilities be damned. This was a time for celebration.
This day was a very long time coming. As all parents know, the potty struggle is a true test of grit and love. For months, we’ve tried all the methods that worked with our oldest. Then, we tried the ones that didn’t work with her. Then we tried the ones suggested in the myriad of books, which all claim to have the perfect solution for potty training your child. Public Service Announcement: they are ALL wrong. No one knows what they are doing.
In truth, my 3 year old son is the wisest of us all. A few months ago, when asked why he goes potty at preschool but not at home, he said with as much certainty as a 3-year-old can muster: “Because it’s a mystery.”
It’s a mystery why it won’t work, and then it’s a mystery when it does.
As a result of having strong roots in love, I ask that you’ll have the power to grasp love’s width and length, height and depth, together with all believers. I ask that you’ll know the love of Christ that is beyond knowledge so that you will be filled entirely with the fullness of God.
Ephesians 3:17-18
This Blog chronicles the life and times of this Pastor, Mama, Wife, and Child of God
Welcome to our chaotic and funny, yet always blessed life. I hope you find God’s presence in your life through our family’s stories.
Reverend Mama 