A Slow Way
Thwack. "No"
.... Thwack. "No, D..."
.... THWACK. "NO."
I hear my husband reprimand repeatedly as I sip on coffee with a nice sturdy wall as separation from the back and forth. This is the bit of peace that I get every other morning, if I choose to wake up instead of sleep in. We're in the beginnings of toddlerhood and no is a word we say too often if we take gentle parenting seriously, or any of the thousands of other parenting tips for dealing with strong-willed children with little frontal cortex development.
Sometimes I try the talking gently, explaining the reason for why this thing cannot be done. This specific thing this morning being banging anything stick-like on our tv stand. It's gentle but firm, a hand on his shoulder with eye contact. Everything a course correction should be.
But then, he does it again. And again. And soon, it's a battle of no's, of pulling him away's, of even hiding the damn thing that he keeps thwacking on the table. Depending on the time of day, sometimes my husband and I jump directly into the firm no's that can build into shouts if not kept in check. Anyone with a toddler that isn't a gentle teddy bear of a kid knows what I'm talking about. This is one of the reasons this season is so tiring.
With all of the information about how to handle defiance, I had recently read one bit of advice out of "Bringing up Bebe," a book about french parenting culture. One of the things the french generally practice with their kids is using no infrequently, and if they are correcting, they give them time to hear it and then obey because they understand little minds take awhile to process the words we're saying to them. I had been trying it out rather inconsistently due to above behaviors and my own lack of patience.
It was a few days into trying this new parental idea when I sat down in the large hall, a dozen or so folding tables pushed together where us moms sit shoulder to shoulder on folding chairs huddled over our cups of coffee on Monday mornings. We come to commiserate together and speak our burdens out into the knowing and sympathetic eyes looking back at us. We come for the free childcare. We come for the coffee. We (sometimes) come for Jesus. Which is basically where I was at when our group leader asks us, "What are you learning for yourself that you are also teaching your child?"
Wow, what a gut punch of a question. I sit in silence as others go around the room answering immediately or agreeing with others sentiments. I think I've snuck by with my active-listening eyes when the group leader turns to me.
"Annie, what about you?"
God knew. He knew that if I spoke what was swirling in the back of my mind, that I'd actually pay attention to it.
With a deep breath and a sigh, I say, "It really took me all that time with everyone answering for me to realize it." Pause for the light laughter as I try and pull the thought into coherency, "I've been trying this new parenting advice about saying the correction and then giving space to see if he understands, rather then expecting obedience immediately and feeling frustrated when that doesn't happen. I guess... this is how God sees me isn't it?"
He is so slow to anger, so slow to give an immediate consequence (most of the time). He has given me everything I need to live an abundant life and yet I so rarely find myself there. And instead of him clapping his hands in my face, trying to get me to do the right thing, right now, right away; instead of declaring I be perfect, because yes, He has given me the power to do so, He waits.
He waits in love. He waits in patience. He corrects firmly and gently over and over. He tells me the way I should go, and then watches to see if I even heard him.
This could immediately invoke guilt in my Christian mama heart. Why can't I be like God?! Why can't I love my son the way He loves me? Why can't I be gentle and firm like You are with me, God?
And there He is again, not expecting me to be anything like that.
He doesn't expect me to snap to attention, into perfection. He's just waiting to see if I understand, and maybe next time I go to correct my son, I can be closer to the gentle guide that God is to me. Maybe I'll remember the small correction He gave me, gentle and firm and full of love.
It's not about the immediate obedience with God, is it? It's about taking the slow way towards trusting Him instead of trusting myself. It's taking the slow way of hearing His voice and knowing it is enough. I know even now, deep down this is really what I want between me and my son. To be together, knowing he trusts my voice to guide him. So that some day when I'm not there, he will simply know the way he should go, and walk in it.
God is with me too, ready to guide me over and over again until one day I look a little more like Him. And maybe with God's loving, dependable presence by my side, I can do that with my son too.
With, hopefully, a few less yelly no's in the mix.
This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Overheard at Home".