Saturday, February 2, 2013

A Piece of Me

When they were babies, I'd gain a glimpse at my contribution to their traits--the brown eyes, curl in his hair, the dimple in his chin. I sat and stared at my newborns in awe of the Creator's great blessing that was unique to me in so many ways.
Now, as they grow older, I cringe at some of the other traits they've also inherited from their very fallible mother. The worrying, the fear, the antagonizing of younger siblings (yes, I was that annoying child in the back seat on road trips that just couldn't leave her sister alone).
My oldest is certainly me when it comes to emoting. He can't help it sometimes, and I know EXACTLY how he feels.
My third son is the one who just freezes up when life is too much...he'll collapse wherever he is and curl on the floor like a limp noodle. Not that I do this, but man, I feel like doing it sometimes!
And my baby girl, well, she is drama. And she is a girl. Need I say more?

I wanted to share mostly about my second son. From the time he was two, he has been quite the jokester...the clown...the witty one. NOTHING like me. And this was almost to a fault. I remember eating out with some friends when he was this age, and he just couldn't leave his friend alone, so she got up and said, "I don't want to sit next to him!"
It broke my heart.

Not because I could blame her for not wanting to be messed with, but because my baby sat there with big blue eyes (again, nothing like me), and a questioning stare, wondering why his best friend who he was giving a squeeze just a little too tight, so abruptly abandoned him? I saw him get what he deserved, really, but his little face has a way of making you feel sorry for the little culprit!

A week ago, when my now-eight-year-old boy came to the car with a pout, declaring he had a bad day, I asked him what was wrong. Perhaps someone picked on him, or he got in trouble with the teacher. He explained to me how his heart hurt when a "special needs" boy in his class got laughed at by a group of kids.

My mama's heart swelled, and my memory jostled, knowing that this was more than just a teachable moment for him.

When I was a child, I witnessed the same thing, and I have the diary entries to prove how much it hurt my heart. I am not trying to pat myself on the back for being a compassionate person, but to see my son have the exact same reaction as me, assured me that God knew why He poured His grace on me and gave me the privilege to mother. (Believe me, some days I wonder, "What was He thinking??") This small similarity between me and my son gave me a smidge of validity that I could resonate with more than the less desirable qualities I've passed on!

I thank God for letting this one thing come full circle, aside from my drama and my flaws so obviously passed down to my children. I thank Him for that memory long ago, and that even if I made no difference in the life of the child who I had stuck up for, that at least I could share and mother my son with advice that came from a heart cut out of the same mold.

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