ganymede
This is a hard time of year for Luke. He’s 4, so he’s definitely old enough to know what’s going on, and he’s beyond excited about Christmas, but it’s still tough for him. The whole Christmas season is one long exercise in delayed gratification, and patience doesn’t yet exist in his psyche to any great degree. There are lots of sweets roaming around as well, which can lead to frustration if he’s denied, or a sugar high followed by the inevitable crash if he’s allowed. His routine is off as well, with lots of outings, events and relatives running to and fro, for whom his boundaries aren’t always as clearly defined as they are at home. So it’s hard. There have been some testy days.
I see myself so clearly in him sometimes, though. A few weeks ago he was in his room for “cozy nap time,” during which time he’s required to make a concerted effort to sleep, mainly by staying in his bed and lying still under the covers. Whether or not he’ll actually sleep is kind of a 50-50 proposition; some days he will, but some days he just spends the time prattling on in there. Occasionally he’ll venture out to tell us he needs to go potty, a fine excuse since he’s perfectly capable of going by himself and doesn’t need our presence any more like he used to. But one day a few weeks ago he came out of his room during cozy nap time in a state of some distress. “Daddy, can you fix it?” he asked, with some urgency in his voice. “Fix what, big boy?” I replied. “That,” he said, led me in his room and pointed to one of nine planet cutouts taped to his wall above his bed. I stepped back and examined the scene. In order to reach the planet cutouts, he had taken every single item on his bed–stuffed animals, blankets, pillows–and with them constructed a mound near the wall to climb on, clearly transgressing our mandate to stay still under the covers. I readjusted the planet that had him worked up, disassembled the mound and tucked him back in, giving him a firm warning to stay put and try to sleep. But leaving the room I just had to shake my head in amazement. He had crossed one line and was upset that an activity wasn’t going his way that shouldn’t have even been possible. But how often do I do that in more sophisticated ways? How often do I ask the Lord for help when I’ve backed myself into the corner of a room I shouldn’t have even entered? And how often do I see the situation I’m in as just an unfortunate set of circumstances to be delivered from, when He would have me step back and examine my situation in light of the Word, evaluating it by that standard? Sobering thoughts. Among myriad other ways, I’m grateful for kids in that.
Merry Christmas, all!