Picking Up the Pieces

“I’ll never say, ‘My child will never ________’ again. I’ll never believe that just because I think I’ve adequately stressed the difference between acceptable and unacceptable behavior the difference has been grasped, or more importantly, can be correctly applied. I hope I’ll be perceptive enough in the future to recognize a Heavenly nudge when the threat of a missed opportunity looms.” These regrets went far beyond a simple jagged vacancy where Anna Caroline’s exuberant crop of multi-length bangs had been cascading into her bright blue eyes. Her haircut, recently postponed, was on this week’s “to do” list. Yet with one swoop she took the situation into her own hands with a pair of kitchen shears, barely manageable with her five-year-old fingers. She had no way of knowing, as tears brimmed luminously upon my discovery of the deed, that I was blaming myself far more for the pieces that had fallen, figuratively and literally, during that supposed naptime on Saturday afternoon.

Fury replaced shock as I observed that, in order to bring cosmetic relief to the widely obvious transgression (which, centered in jagged perfection over the crest of her forehead, created neon illumination for the wayward cowlick that had accompanied her into this world), more pieces must fall. Desperation replaced fury upon noticing that this challenging bang distribution would now demand even greater effort to keep bows and barrettes secure in her baby-fine straight hair. Emptiness replaced desperation with the dejecting realization that this one micromoment had returned several months of patient waiting to the starting line.

As I dealt with the flood of emotions that engulfed us, as well as her father, who, already late for church, wisely advocated that any further inflammation of the issue would be pointless, my mind played tug-of-war with two sides: “How COULD YOU, child?” vs. “Why didn’t I see the writing on the wall?” As I repaired what was left as best as possible with a comb, scissors, and barrette, silently acknowledging Anna Caroline’s plaintive wail, “But at least it’s out of my eyes, Mommy!”, I felt emptiness descend into the fullness of the wide world of blame, which I began to self-inflict with a passion.

It wasn’t the HAIR that brought the avalanche of tears that accompanied the cascade of regrets. It was the gulf that now seemed to exist between parent and child as we realize that the unthinkable has indeed occurred. It was the dawning that some excellent opportunities to share an important life lesson had been missed because of my fear that bringing up the subject of preschool hair “creations”, discovered by two of her admired comrades, would ignite her curiosity and fuel her determination to try it herself. The ill-perceived theory, “If you ignore it, it will go away” took a direct hit, falling to the ground with a deflating hiss. But here dwelt the scariest thought: “She is NOT immune to doing what ‘all the other kids do’, even if we’ve insulated ourselves that ‘certain behaviors are too dreadful to occur in OUR house’.”

It was lost hair, today, that brought tears of anger and regret. Fast-forward imagining brought more potential “losses” that could occur in the move from childhood into adulthood. Although I knew the verse cautioning us to avoid borrowing tomorrow’s trouble, I stubbornly persisted, finding fresh tears as I imagined every horrible possibility that could become reality, no matter how diligently one attempted to prevent it. Then, sunshine broke through my “pity-party”as the powerful presence of God echoed through the words of my ever-practical mother: “WELL, WHAT DID YOU LEARN FROM THAT?” Many priceless pearls awaited discovery, pearls applicable not only to parents everywhere, but to all who accept the call to “love our neighbor” and serve as role models to the next generation.

First of all, we must confront the denial disease that begins with, “My child would never…..” As easily and often as we grieve our Heavenly Father with our God-given, but frequently self-centered free will, so our children will grieve us sometime in their lives. Our greatest test in this inevitability is how we respond in picking up the pieces. God specializes in rehabilitation for each demolition when hearts are humbled enough to invite His presence into the midst of the storm.

Secondly, we must learn to recognize the warning signals that foretell dangerous falls. Reminiscing the past week, I recalled a little “P.S.” on a certain report card that mused, “Anna Caroline needs a little more practice using scissors…” I clearly remembered allowing a certain five-year-old to cut animal shapes from paper plates with the overexcessive joy that comes not from using beginner scissors, but rather, through imbibing in shiny, grown-up shears. Most convicting of all, I faintly remembered even asking her to cut something for me, perhaps a freeze pop opening, and praising her profusely for her capability in doing so. In my temporary abdication of the “Throne of Mommy”, I exchanged convenience for a task for which she really wasn’t ready. We walk a fine line between teaching responsibility through encouraging independence and putting too much on our kids too soon. Perhaps we’d best listen to the messages of caution which arise and embrace the wisdom of, “If in doubt, DON’T!!” Warnings, however small, can escalate quickly if allowed to go unchecked.

Thirdly, we must realize our tendency to create situations that might invite a “scissors response”. Immediate flashbacks of the many morning hair struggles forced me to accept my responsibility in playing a significant role in grooming Anna Caroline to solve this hair struggle in her own way. Parents, if we’re honest, our hearts know that, however well-meaning we are, we are fully capable of creating physical, emotional, and spiritual tension in our homes that encourages our children to seek relief in drastic ways. Because no breakdown is the fault of a single person or circumstance, we must honestly embrace and seek to understand our part.

Fourthly, forgiveness of each participant must flow. We must forgive our children. They must forgive us. And we must both forgive ourselves, which is often the hardest task of all. We dare not keep regretting and punishing spilled milk situations. With God’s help, we must clean up as best as possible, learn from it, and move on. God may use our tragedy, however the size, to help others avoid similar trials. History testifies to both averted disasters and repeated mistakes, largely due to our ability or lack thereof to learn from another’s wisdom.

That was nearly six very short years ago. Now, as eleven rounds the corner, more lessons await. Surely the bottom line is a realization of how very much we need the wisdom of God, the compassion of Jesus, and the never-ceasing power of the Holy Spirit when it comes to raising the children who will carry our world into the future. Yes, they came with no instruction manuals, but they came by order of a God who yearns to supply our every care and concern. We have only to invite Him into the arena. As each opportunity comes to touch a life that looks up to ours, let us lean on God for the insight and application of the truths that will render us “leanable” for our little ones.