An epiphany I had yesterday as I'm getting frustrated doing Beckahms hair before school for the umpteenth time, and as I'm trying to put Amari—who's endlessly fidgeting—down for a nap: our eyes are our little ones window to the world. It's through our eyes they learn what love is, tolerance, compassion, self-esteem, light-heartedness, kindness, respect, confidence....
As they grow and venture into this great big world I pray that they will choose to associate with good friends who make good choices,and not mimic the behavior(s) of those making poor choices. Yet, what kind of behavior are the mimicking from me—the person they are around nearly 24 hours a day for the first 4 years of their life?
Parenting is the hardest job I've ever added to my resume simply because it causes me to take a step back and self-reflect—on a daily basis— how my habits, my example, my attitude, my behavior, affects my children—whether positively or negatively.
Parenthood is also one of the greatest jobs I've ever added to my resume because it's the job that pushes me to change, to grow, at such an accelerated rate—sometimes from 0-60 in a matter of minutes (literally).
When my child looks into my eyes do they see the world as an annoying, frustrating, sad, anger-ridden, unfulfilling, busy and stressful place? Or do they learn that the world is kind, patient, tolerant of their mistakes, humorous, forgiving, and full of unconditional love?
Sometimes (okay let's be real, most the time), it's hard to remember that the saying "treat someone the way you would like to be treated" applies to children just as well as adults. Would I then want someone rushing me around all of the time? Would I want someone so busy and stressed to get from one place to the next that there's no time or place to experience the "in betweens?" Would I want someone always taking away my freedom, and not allowing me to make mistakes so I can learn the power of choice and consequence? Would I want someone being so guarded and fearful of allowing me to venture out and explore this world by myself, on my own time, at my own beat? Would I want someone that makes me feel like I'm an annoyance? Like my voice doesn't matter? Like there are bigger, more important things to be doing in this great big world than being "stuck" with being in the presence of me? Would I want someone to tell me (reassure me rather) that my fears, my frustrations do not matter?
As Amaris wiggles started to dissipate and as he calmly, quietly searched my eyes before drifting to sleep, I knew this epiphany was teaching me that sometimes the disconnects between us and our children happen (much like us with our Father in Heaven when we forget to get on our knees) because the window is foggy—we've forgotten to clear away the smudges and the smears, to take moments like these to be present with our children, to connect with them, to let them know we believe in them, we love them, that no matter how small they are that they DO matter. Sometimes we need to pause to make the window a little more clear, more visible: to be the correct reflection of the world we want our children to see, to BELIEVE, to KNOW.
