If you ever want to know what is in the hearts of your children, stand outside their doors and eavesdrop on their prayers. Or in my case, have your sweet daughter be so touched by a movie, she wrote hers down.
As I stated in an earlier post small voices, I think one of our biggest challenges as a parent is ensuring that we really take the time to truly listen to what are children are telling us or in most cases trying to tell us.
This letter was written while I was on travel a couple months ago for the shuttle launch. My trip kept getting extended as the program worked through issues to ensure a safe launch. When I finally came home I found this letter taped to my 7-year-old daughter’s door. (Exactly as written, not edited for spelling)
Help my Mom ples, that woud be great cuse she is giting in a devos and I want you to help her, ples pray for her. I love her a lot I wish she didet go to work cuse it fells like she is speding more time at work then she is with us, but she neds more money so she can get us things.
Upon reading this I learned that what I thought I had perfected as my game face was not fooling my children. In fact not only they could see my internal struggle as I walked through my challenges, they felt a responsibility to try to help me. Which no child should ever feel the need to carry such an adult’s burden.
I felt the pain of guilt for working so much, and always finding the rationale to justify my time away. But most importantly it was a wake-up call and I came away with a desire and knowledge of an area I needed to improve.
I felt the pain of guilt for working so much, and always finding the rationale to justify my time away. But most importantly it was a wake-up call and I came away with a desire and knowledge of an area I needed to improve.
I took this particular letter off her door and kept it in my room to read when a reminder was needed.
With the kids gone for the weekend, I kept myself busy. But tonight (and this morning) I was struggling with some internal self evaluation after some difficult memories were triggered. I fired up the laptop (too cold for the front porch and cement stairs and my ankle are currently at odds) and decided to turn to my therapy writing to see if I could discover the root of my angst.
In the erie child-less quiet of my house – which feels wrong inside these walls – this reflection seemed even more brutal, as I was trying to piece together and understand my emotions, I saw my daughter’s folded note paper with the words on the outside, “To God from Belle, miss you God, love you.”
I stared in disbelief, I had read this letter multiple times, yet had failed to see what she had written on the outside – miss you God.
I realized how much of this journey I have really been trying to do by myself. Although I have not discovered the answers to my struggles tonight, I had a reminder from a tiny heart that it is a path I do not need to travel alone.
