Our 6 year old son, Elliott, lives in the moment, and sometimes that can be quite frustrating. For instance, if a toy (any toy, it doesn’t matter what it cost, or if he plays with it every day or just discovered it in a corner of a closet, after long forgetting it’s very existence) suddenly breaks or doesn’t work, it can set in motion any of a plethora of reactions, ranging from “oh, well…can I have a snack, Vern?” to a tear-soaked meltdown that concludes 10 minutes later when he wipes his eyes one last time and says “can I have a snack, Vern?”
I find myself waffling from battling my own baffled impatience to staring into his wet eyes and battling instead a pity for this six year old boy I love so much and anger towards anything that would dare cause even the first tear. I struggle with not understanding, with trying in vain to empathize with his plight, with not being able to successfully convey to him my perspective, with being faced with the challenge of finding that elusive middle ground between coddling and “toughening him up”.
Last night Elliott had been in bed just a few minutes when he started crying because his MP3 player wasn’t working. (It should be noted that it was past his normal bedtime, so he was really tired) Leona assured him that it was just a dead battery, but he continued to cry, saying it was broken and he would never be able to listen to it again. He had taken the battery out and he bent a metal piece on one of connector ends. It was so small that Leona didn’t even figure out what he was talking about until we were in the well-lit kitchen and I was recharging the dead AAA battery. As it was charging, we were trying to get the twins down. I wasn’t feeling well and my wife, who had requested I go to bed a couple of times already, was now insisting. After putting Simon down, she took Cash from me and took my place in the glider rocker in the nursery. On the way to bed, I took the charged battery and put it into Elliott’s MP3 player. It lit up and began playing so I carried it up the hall to Elliott, who I found fast asleep in his top bunk.
I turned it off, but plugged in his headphones and put it in his bed beside him and patted his head.
He lives in the moment.
I awoke at around two-thirty this morning still not feeling well. I knew that my continued tossing and turning was steadily increasing the likelihood that my lovely wife’s exhaustion level would be at an unacceptable level when her alarm sounded in a few hours, so I arose and retreated to the solace of my trusty computer. My computer (and by this I mean any of the computers in our house which I may happen to be planted in front of) is where I inevitably find myself when in need of retreat, be it from a bad mood, bad news, or as was the case at around two-thirty this morning, a bad stomach ache. My computer offers me refuge in so many forms. It feeds my thirst for news. It feeds my newfound need to keep up with friends, whether it be to share a laugh, a condolence, or a prayer, be it of thanks or for help. It offers me the mindless entertainment of surfing from site to site, my keyboard metaphorically assuming the role of my television remote. And when time and life permit, it also offers retreat to a blank page on the computer, to my therapy. Writing is such a tremendous outlet for me. I love words, and I love creating with them.
Sometimes I find myself typing a prayer. Perhaps a prayer for a friend, loved one or both, for myself, or in some cases, thanks for answered or unanswered prayers, typed or otherwise. It is a widely held belief that it is therapeutically beneficial to write letters, never to be delivered, to those in our lives with whom some form of closure is needed or with whom something needs to be communicated and for whatever reason cannot be done through words. I have always been able to successfully write what I’m feeling much more so than with verbal communication, so I have written such letters and can attest to their effectiveness.
I find it equally effective with my prayers, with the obvious exception that I know that they are delivered. When I am done typing my prayers, I erase them. I type “Amen” and then hit “Delete”.
Time and life cooperated this morning when I wasn’t feeling well and I opened a blank page. I had no specific thought, prayer, or inspiration, so I simply sat at first, staring at the blank white screen. Then I found myself typing story ideas. I have two unfinished short stories that I have been thinking about a great deal lately, so I brainstormed on them.
I can’t say for certain when the brainstorming ceased, but at some point I found myself compiling a list. It was a list of things I needed to accomplish, and it included household chores, projects, etc.. The list evolved into areas of my life I need to work on. (Needless to say, I don’t always type in order of importance) After a few minutes of compiling what was surely an incomplete list of chores, projects, and areas of “opportunity”, if you will, I started a prayer. I confessed my shortcomings and asked for God’s help in completing the list I had compiled. When wording my prayer, I found that a request for patience was an overwhelming theme. Patience in being able to complete tasks I wanted done, patience while waiting for answers to prayers, patience with our children, patience to stop and enjoy the few, cherished alone times my wife and I are able to enjoy.
Then it hit me. I tried in vain to suppress a smile when the realization came that, in essence, I was asking for God to help me live in the moment. The image of God trying to get this across to me and my not getting it, and of him finally patting me on the head and winking at Elliott while my proverbial light bulb illuminated right where he was patting was funny enough that I almost forgot about my aching stomach. Especially when I imagined Elliott giggling. And then asking God for a snack.
I cleared the screen and started my prayer anew. I started by thanking God for my children and all they are teaching me. I thanked him for the wisdom he affords me through them and asked again for patience. Patience to be a student instead of always attempting the role of teacher. Patience to realize that not all of the traits and habits of our children are in need of correction or even molding. Patience to realize that I have surely caused my Lord much more frustration in my lifetime than my children could cause me in 10 lifetimes. And I asked for the wisdom to be more like Elliott.
So that I may learn to live in the moment.
