A Rare Experience With A Baby

A friend of mine posted the following on their Facebook account, which is something we don't get to enjoy very often:

"just experienced a baby fall asleep in my arms..."

Yet Another Funeral

I attended a funeral yesterday.  I don't have much to say about it... all I have to say is that I saw genuine emotion in action, and that was cool.  We were fortunate to hear from some very talented speakers and musicians. In the end, though, it was the tenderness in people's eyes and voices that made it such a soulful experience.

Sleeping Beauty

"Night. Fight. We fight all night." - Dr. Seuss

My boys stay up and fight with each other (and sometimes with their sisters in the next room) long past the time I put them to bed. If you'd like a personal experience, just ask my mom who has tried to sleep over at our house! But tonight, Thomas fell asleep early and I put him to bed alone... and then I had the rare opportunity to sit quietly and watch him undisturbed for a minute. A sleeping child must be the most peaceful and soothing image in the world.

Adults always have extra plans and expectations, even if just in the back of their minds; they have unspoken judgements or a veiled reluctance to fully invest their attention. In contrast, small children put their whole being into their actions and their expressions. While they're awake, they're 100% genuine; when they sleep, they put the day all behind them and their profiles reveal a gentle slumber that can calm the most troubled soul.

Tonight, I had the privilege of being touched by pure innocence.

I Was Trusted To Help

It's not fun to be roused out of bed by the phone. And it's not fun to see someone you love hurting from pain and frustration. What is awe-inspiring is to be called at a late hour and be invited to see someone who needs aid... because that means that they think you are capable of providing at least some bit of help and comfort. It's touching, and more than a little humbling.

I hope I helped enough to honor their trust.

Comfort

Thomas is our boy who resists doing anything new, so I was very happy when he agreed to practice riding a bike without training wheels. Sure enough, he pedaled hard, so he's almost ready to go it alone; he just has to be able to brake and stop by himself. So that's what we practiced: stopping without falling down.

I'm used to running around for basketball, but for some reason his starts and stops and near-crashes quickly had me winded!

After a number of tries, he started saying that he wanted to do it by himself. He's quite ready to pedal by himself, and maybe I should have allowed him to go and see for himself what happens at the end. But I said I'd help start and push him ONLY if we practice stopping, too; if he wanted me to totally let him go, then I would also let him get started all by himself. He kept asking, so I let him do it all by himself. He struggled to get on the bike, but he fell; I cushioned his fall, but he put his face down on the cement and balled. I sat down next to him. We just sat there for a minute while he wailed. He took his time and yelled for the sympathy of anyone nearby, spilling tears on the driveway.

Then he moved over to get next to me, curled up on his side, put his head in my lap, and went quiet. I put my hand on his shoulder. And we just sat for a while. The sky was overcast and a breeze was blowing, cool but comfortable here as we're emerging from winter. I hope I'll never lose that snapshot of us sitting there, with nobody else nearby... everything still and silent except for the company of the winter wind.

What a marvellous thing, to be trusted as a source of comfort!

Comforting a Frightened Child

Tonight Ellie was fighting Olivia about having the light on; she said she was scared of the dark, and she started balling at the thought of having it all dark. After while, she finally said, "I'm scared because of something inside, but I can't tell anyone or it'll get worse." That's a bit scary to hear from your child. So I sat by her and talked about how it's the opposite: the only way to make it better is to let it out, and if you just leave it inside it gets worse and worse. So she told me that she saw a game where a robot cut off a guy's head, and now she imagines it's coming after her. (That was sure a relief!)

I held her, and we talked a bit about when I was scared when I was little, and we talked about fighting it with fun thoughts, possibly by reading a book. Then I said something about reality, and said, "There's not really any robot coming after you." Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped and she started sobbing; she dropped down to her pillow and pulled the cover over her head, so all I could see were her eyes, looking out at me in terror.

I remember thinking during the move "The Sixth Sense" how I cannot think of anything more horrible than for a child to be subjected to scary and nasty things. And now here was Ellie, terrified by an idea that something is coming for her; I don't think I'll ever forget the look in those eyes, pleading for help while fear gripped her deep down.

I rubbed her back a minute, and I talked about good thoughts that might replace the evil ones. She talked with me, and finally came out of the covers and showed me the book she's reading, and she lit up as she described what was going on in it. She really turned around quickly, and she actually seemed content as I left her reading her book, so the bad thoughts must have been far gone.

It's a good feeling to help with something like that.