Our youngest burned her arm on a pizza pan the other day. Nothing requiring a hospital visit, but a burn significant enough to have me bringing an aloe plant to our weekend trip in Michigan, and an aching mama’s heart for the precious skin of our little one. As a parent you may know this. An almost sickening feeling that accompanies knowing you could have done better. I almost despise myself, as strong a word as that may seem, for letting her get anywhere near that pan. Though I find my discouragement comes more so in my inability to react. As she placed her arm on the pan, I was expecting her little body to simply jerk away quickly, and yet it took a second, perhaps two, for her to do so. Her body was most likely already telling her brain that something was not right, yet it took her beyond the initial sense of pain to let her body react in a way that would protect her from incrementally increasing harm. My brain must have been reacting similarly, as I did not yank her away from the pan upon her touching it, as though I expected her to do that on her own, knowing I would then be there to tend to her pain. Still, seeing that my reaction was delayed has been of deep discouragement to me in the passing days since the incident. I feel almost tormented by my immediate inability to pull her out of harms way.
Granted, I have been made aware of my slow ability to react in past circumstances, and they too have troubled me. I can recall my being a high school student, invited to a banquet of some sort. As you can tell, my memory was not the facet of my being honored, but I can recall at least being grateful for the invitation. My parents attended with me, graced with fellow students and parents that we had not yet been acquainted, but I assume it was a lovely evening. As you are perhaps catching on, I cannot recall very much of the night. That is except for the moment at the end of the evening. Guests standing around the tables now covered in empty coffee cups and half eaten dessert, saying a few farewells to newfound friends. My parents were engaged in a pleasant chat, when I noticed that the candle lit centerpiece that had been burning steadily all night was now burning so low that the wreath encircling it caught on fire.
All I could do was stare. And point. And eventually let audible words come out of my mouth, to the effect of “the wreath is on fire.” Until someone turned around and promptly poured a glass of water on the little flame.
I wondered why my first response was not to do the same. There were several water glasses within my reach. It troubled me, and has honestly troubled me ever since.
Several years later, I by no means giving thought to that unfortunate impression of myself, standing on a corner in the city of Chicago. The moment happened all too quickly. A woman began with one foot her walk across the white lined crosswalk, and in that very same moment a large bus rolled directly towards her for his usual stop without an ounce of hesitation. Yet all in one breath, a stranger grabbed the woman’s jacket and pulled her back onto the curb. We all then proceeded to cross the city cement, yet our hearts beating a bit more rapidly at what we had just witnessed. Or rather, in recognizing what we did not.
My now astutely keen awareness of the essentialness of a prompt response seemed only reinforced by another moment of shortcoming. Jordan and I were chatting separately with coworkers after a large staff meeting, while Eve played with a few friends. We heard a loud smack, and both turned our gaze to recognize it was our daughter whose following cries were heard. Yet I, in spite of my apparent mothering instinct, failed to rush to her rescue. Jordan ran first, and my eyes followed as he did. I cannot say what kept me from sprinting to her aid, and I was indeed there by her side, but only after Jordan had scooped her up. Thankfully no more than a little cut on her lip, and yet I found myself troubled in a very familiar way. Except this time with a more astute disappointment in myself. To watch a wreath centerpiece aflame is one thing, and still another to watch someone heroically pull a stranger out of the pathway of a bus, but to not respond with immediacy to my own child… Surely I assumed that what did not yet pour out of me naturally would turn second nature when my own children are involved. Yet I found that not to be so. Sadie’s arm up against a scorching pan only reminded me of a familiarly troubling shortcoming. I do not know how I could love Sadie anymore, and yet the exuberant love that I have for her did not appropriately adjust my rooted inability to pour water on a burning wreath.
I have found myself thinking rather extensively as of late about our children’s future. The ways in which they will be influenced, the culture they are inevitably needing to discover, even the geography that will shape their interests, but more specifically, the propensity for people to have a profound impact on the way in which their character is molded. We have considered, as parents, ways that we will need to “stand in the gap” for our children. Recognizing that we build the foundation in our home, but the framework is very susceptible to outside influence. We do not want to live in fear of what may present itself as contrary to our beliefs and values, which, mind you, stand rather counter culturally, but we also want to be the gateway, knowing that this ultimate privilege we have of wisdom being the reinforcing framework is a rather short window in the span of one’s life.
In other words, we will be parents to the end of our days, but we will only be the gatekeepers for a short eighteen years. Such a gift is worth being troubled by, as much as it is a joy.
Yet I have found myself rather humbled in these last few days. For while I have mulled around in my mind the many circumstances and individuals that will require our standing in the gap for the sake of our children, I have been reminded that there are some weaknesses I have to which the gap too needs to be filled. Our girls’ influence cannot come exclusively from Jordan and myself, or they might fall prey to the areas in which we are weak.
When I was Eve’s age, I can recall being at the beach with some family friends. My brother was casting a line off of the dock into the cool lake waters. Perhaps I wanted a better look, but a friend of my Dad’s asked me to step back, noting I was a bit too close to where my brother’s line would fall. Yet in one throbbing instant, the fishing wire came flying, and the corner of my eye caught its snare, hooking immediately through the bridge of my nose. My little world went dark, but eventually I heard the story from the open eyes of those watching. As it would have it, the same gentlemen who asked me to step back also grabbed the fishing line as soon as it made its catch. Had he not responded as swiftly, I wonder if perhaps my face would look a bit different than it does now. If the gentlemen was anything like me, his hand would not have left his side, and the story would have been told much differently. The ending not holding nearly the same sigh of relief.
Isn’t that the very beauty of standing in the gap? To protect another from harm. Our little ones are worthy of exuberantly far more as they perceive and receive the world around them. Yet, as a parent, to see only myself as a gatekeeper is to diminish the value of a friend’s strength. To say that what our children need is the sole ability of our family unit to diminish outside, contrary influence, is to then simply expose them to pitfalls which we have yet to grow in and will undoubtedly reveal.
To focus on our need as parents to stand in the gap for our children is to potentially forget that we need others to stand in the gaps we ourselves have the propensity of forging, and that inside our very own homes.
At some point in my teens year I wrote a song that reflected the characteristics of one commonly referred to as the Proverbs 31 woman. If you are unfamiliar with her, she is simply a beautiful portrayal of female strength in the ancient text of the Bible:
“Charm’s deceptive, beauty is fleeting. Women who serve the Lord are to be praised. Help me to be one of her standing. Strength, love, and dignity.”
I recall sharing this song with my mom and then asking her who she thought the song was about. She responded, and understandably so, herself. I of course felt bad, as though I had teed her up to receive a compliment, only to give high praise elsewhere. And I truly do find my mom to be an incredible example of strength and dignity. She has both stood in the gap and been a profound influence in cultivating the woman that I am today. Yet as I penned this new song, I was thinking of my grandmother. Grandma Lucrezio. Although I don’t recall theologically heavy conversations or deep discourse over the purpose of life, her influence was full of joy and centered deeply around her relationship with Jesus. She was consistent in my life, and though I don’t mean to say that passing relationships do not have their place, I believe strongly that relational investment over time is irreplaceable. She allowed me to see consistencies in her own faith, and even in the most trying of circumstances. She was a window into faith through a woman, and in a way that could not be attained through my mom. Not because her spiritual vigor was somehow better or more mature. Not in the slightest. But simply because it was different. Simply because they were different, and still I saw Jesus in each of them.
I began petitioning to God in prayer this evening in a way that I hadn’t thought to before. I began to seek out more than just the wisdom to stand in the gap, more than just people of influence in the journey of faith for our girls, but for the consistent presence of individuals who will cultivate a maturity in our children that my journey alone cannot.
Yes, we are the gatekeepers, but if we are not intentional, we are no more than the gate.
EXPOSITION: As a parent, you are a gatekeeper. We could dwell here for a while, for this is the first eighteen years of our children’s lives, and our wisdom and maturity is imperative. The strength of your nuclear family is [almost] everything. Except it’s not. Recognize that the influence of others is not only essential to reinforcing the foundation laid at home, but in establishing influence in areas that may not constitute your strengths.
RISE: Who are the people that you are seeking to help lay a strong foundation for your children? Are they consistent? Are you valuing their influence for more than maintaining what you have established?
DENOUEMENT: “If anyone causes one of these little ones – those who believe in me – to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.” (Okay, these words are super intense, but to understand their weight is to put our whole selves into upholding our children, even if at the cost of ourselves.)