I have a child who loves rocks. It is impossible for her to collect enough of them; she is entirely insatiable in this regard. When she was very little she would ask permission to take rocks from the street and was always thrilled when I said yes. She carries within her soul a deep delight that rocks are free. She collects rocks like God will one day say, “Wait!! How are all these children getting free rocks? Who is giving them away? Quickly, our rock supply is dwindling, start charging for them!” She is utterly astonished that more people do not take advantage of this natural resource.
I have come to love this part of my daughter though at times her passion for petrology drives me absolutely crazy. When I do a load of laundry, I will inevitably find pebbles left in the bottom of the machine. My car is filled with stones as is my purse. Some women clean their purses to get rid of excess paper. I clean my purse so that I don’t accidentally kill someone with the twenty pound sedimentary satchel hanging from my body. I have nearly lost toes as rock fragments are launched from my vacuum cleaner. All of my most noble efforts to support, yet contain, her rock collections have failed.
As a Christian homeschooling mother, I am supposed to have a never ending reserve of enthusiasm and goodwill towards my children’s love for all things science. I am supposed to seize every opportunity to praise their interest and sense of discovery. I confess though, that this spring, the only thing I have wanted to seize is my daughter’s pretty neck as she has left a geological evidence trail everywhere she went. I was reaching my breaking point. Either the rocks or my daughter had to go; I was no longer sure which.
Things hit a crescendo this summer when we suddenly had to pack up our home. “He” was leading us in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake, and we had ended up in a most unexpected and upsetting valley. (Twenty third Psalm: make sure you read the fine print.) Family life was intensely stressful as we sought to pack belongs as quickly as possible. As I turned my attention to the outside patio I was utterly astonished to find countless flower pots and bags filled with rocks: lots of rocks. I devised a strategy of sorting the high density treasure. Ones that showed any sign of beauty were kept. Plain and ugly rocks became lining for the drainage ditch. (I confess I am a shallow and pathetic creature.) But as I was sorting, I soon created a pile at my feet which became the “I-hate-you-because-you-are-heavy-but-you-are-too-nice-to-throw-away-because-there-is-a-really-strong-likelihood-my-daughter-will-remember-you-one-day-and-start-crying-because-you-are-lost” pile. I sighed. One step forward, fourteen backward.
I worked for as long as I was able and then turned my attention to other matters. But every time I looked outside and caught sight of my unhewn stone altar I wondered what on earth I was going to do with the pile. Would I be an evil parent and throw away the treasure my little scientist had spent hours gathering? Was I in fact, that mean spirited? Could I hide the fact that I was that mean spirited from my child? Would she find out? At the end of the week, I came up with a plan of desperation. I would sweep the stones into the gravel driveway so that I could get rid of them. That way, I could rid myself of the plutonic pests without actually throwing them away. It was a legalistic plan based on semantics but I could live with it. Besides, I could not make myself pack another container of rocks even if it meant my daughter’s career as a scientist would be crushed. I just couldn’t. That evening, I took a garden brush and swept the career of my future scientist into the driveway. I felt guilty for a full forty minutes.
Moving day came and we sent the children outside so as not to be trampled by adults moving furniture. They scattered across the yard and played outside as children will. While moving an uncharacteristically heavy box, undoubtedly filled with science textbooks, I noticed my daughter grab a large plastic bag off the kitchen counter. “Child of mine, do not pick up collect more junk or I will trade you for many hamsters! “ “I won’t,” was the only reply I heard. When the loading was done, I noticed that same child drag a rather large bag into the back of my van. “Darling,” I growled. “What are you doing?” She ran to the car and threw her arms around me, blond hair curls flying and eyes sparkling. “Mummy, you wouldn’t believe it! I found some ones just like the ones that were at the beach. I found some more treasures! “ She grabbed my hand and brought me to the car. “See,” she said. “Aren’t they beautiful?” And with great joy she opened her bag, which contained the very same stones I had swept away not days before. I screamed. She mistook my abject horror for excitement and was happy that I was as thrilled as she was that she had found the missing twin stones. Several evil responses jumped into my mouth and were fortunately decapitated by my tongue. “Oh Jesus help me!!” was the only prayer I could muster. I was confronted with a blonde cherub who was intent on driving me crazy. I wanted to scream and throw her entire rock collection into the depths of the sea. But how could you be angry with a child who was honestly thrilled with finding her rocks not only once but twice?
In that moment, I realized I was a high stress parent who was content to crush my child if it meant not having to deal with another stone. It was a depressing thought. I was not like the good parents in the home school magazines. Those mothers made oatmeal for their children for breakfast and then used the leftovers to make paper-mâché solar systems in the afternoon. I was an inferior facsimile, worse than that; I was content to be a substandard teacher. I needed help and I desperately needed not to hurt her precious, peculiar, rock hounding heart. “Darling,” I said, breathing deeply, “Only you could have found rocks like those ones. I think you must have a special gift that Jesus gave you. I think that you are unlike any other child I have ever had.”
She looked at me like I was the best mother in the world. She squeezed my hand and said, “I know, I am so lucky.” She stood on tiptoe, kissed my cheek and danced across the yard. “I can’t wait to see what kind of rocks we find when we move!!” I was biting the inside of my cheek hard, and I smiled weakly,”Neither can I Bunny. Honestly, neither can I.”
And I almost meant it.
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