It was a weekday afternoon and I was braving the pre-Christmas rush at Sam’s Club with my four boys. I didn’t think I looked *that bad* and my kids were being unusually well behaved, all things considered. But by the time I was headed to the check out, I had already racked up about five of the “Wow, what a brave mom YOU are!” comments, er…compliments, so maybe my shirt was on backwards or something. When I was almost at the check out, an older woman stopped me to say more of the same, and I got ready with my habitual smile, nod and “Hands full of good things!” line that gets me out of those situations speedily.
“No,” she said, looking concerned. “I just really don’t know how you are going to pay for them.”
Well, er, this is awkward, I thought. I mean, we are both standing in this huge warehouse with a vast amount of food surrounding us and I am obviously planning on buying whatever had accumulated in my big-as-a-small-elephant-cart. I gently explained that yes, things may get a little tough at points, but according to my worldview and belief in a Father God, my children are promised to never go hungry.
“Well, I guess” she sighed, “but don’t you want more for your kids than just to be able to eat?”
There was some more to the conversation, which escalated in intensity until I had to bow out and drag a few climbing kids out of stacks of very expensive speakers and electronics. But the question she posed has been popping in my mind since then. It seems like a petty question when one sees the poverty among displaced peoples or children in famine-stricken areas. I am sure all of those mothers would be happy for their kids to “just be able to eat,” but I do, for the present time in our country, have the luxury of looking past the daily physical needs and think about what I wish for my kids…
I wish that my four boys would grow up brave.
To be able to know their fears and work through them, rather than try to squash fear out of their minds with denial. I want them to know their convictions through and through, rather than holding onto what seems to matter to the majority, or their family or cultural history. I wish they would grow to examine reasonably and logically what they believe, even if not all of their beliefs can be known fully. I wish for my kids to have a thoughtful kindness towards others; to be able to recognize the lonely, the downtrodden or sad spirits and have a desire to lift them up. Self-discipline — oh, how I want them to learn this at an early age! To push through the hard tasks, to not give up when the temptation is there, and to not settle in what seems comfortable. I hope my boys learn that humility is a quiet and great strength of character. To be able to do good for others without attention-seeking motives, and to not mind if their self-sacrifice goes unrecognized.
This is what I wish for when I sit down and think about the topic.
Oftentimes I have a fleeting desire to see them have more — more opportunities to expand their athletic abilities, more outlets to dig into their minds and explore this planet, or more chances to just have fun doing something that we can’t afford. But when I sit back and think of what truly matters to me and how I hope they grow, the expensive and the flashy “mores” fall away and I am able to see that what I wish for my kids is learned through the daily, little, monotonous choices that we try to set before them as parents.
Bravery is earned by facing the bedtime fears, learning about the realities of life (war/death/suffering), and having to walk up to someone and say hello.
Reasoning is fostered by not answering all the questions and (trying!) to not freak out when they struggle to understand, as well as allowing them to see what others believe and think about life.
Kindness…well, we get plenty of lessons in kindness, with four rough and tumble boys! There are daily/hourly opportunities to practice thoughtfulness towards others.
Perseverance is the daily struggle through schoolwork, eating meals that aren’t pizza, cleaning the room and learning to write one’s name.
Humility is hard. I know they see it through their father who goes to work, without complaining and willingly. I hope they see it through me, despite my snide remarks to myself under my breath when I have HAD IT. I pray they catch it from the other adults with whom we have chosen to surround them.
