The Tween Years

These really are such difficult years. Not just for your child but for yourself. It is not like you can reach back to your own childhood to recall how it was because the current generation is just so much different.

This weekend I witnessed my children teetering between the two worlds of childhood and more mature teen years. I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

We were at JAM and they were asked to write down the name of someone they hated. At first, they didn’t want any paper. When I asked them if they were sure they both said yes. I responded are you sure there is no one you hate both responding no there is no one I hate. I asked them if they understood what hate meant and was told Yes. I look at them both and my mind forms my own hatred for those who have hurt them. Both having endured some form of physical attack from someone either slightly older or of the same age. It is all still fresh in my mind and my thoughts bubble with anger. Just how do my children not feel this same way after all they were the one’s hurt.

For the sake of the project I suggested they at least write something in general like I hate mean people. But later when I asked how it was that they had no one they hated I was hit with a wave of shear surprise as I was informed that according to Jesus we are to love our enemies and prayer for those who mistreat you and forgive them or your heart will turn to stone. So according to my children they have forgiven those who have been mean to them or hurt them.

When do we lose this steadfast faith in Jesus? I thought I was a Christian. I try to follow the way of Christ. But somewhere deep deep down I know that I do not have the same love and trust in our Lord as my children do. I know there are times I question him, who doesn’t. I recall times where I gave up on Him but gradually, I always found my way back. My relationship with Jesus reminds me of the saying “If you love something let it go. If it comes back it is yours if it doesn’t it never was”. I always come back to Jesus because I know his love for me is just like my love for my children. Forever…No Matter What.

We are driving home from JAM when my one child asks me “Whose name did you write down, Mom”? As I look at her in my rear-view mirror, I already see additional questions forming. I answer her with a lie. I wrote down that I hate mean people. Her response almost makes me wreck. That isn’t true Mom. Your writing was too short, and you had a tear in your eye. Who did you really write? We thankfully arrive home and before I can answer our Muffins attacks us with wagging tail and high jumps to say how happy she is to see us. Dogged that one. Or so I thought.

She wasn’t done with her inquiry but thankfully she awaits until later. She spent the next few hours searching for her watch that she is positive she had in her room. She does have some of my neatness qualities, so I assure her it is there. Can you help me look? Sure. As we are going through the things in her room, she reminds me again of her question, but this time tells me she saw my answer even though she was not supposed to. She didn’t mean to but just happened to look at me and saw what I wrote. And now she questions it. Mom why did you write down that you hated yourself?

I sit still gazing at her and my mind first screams at me for being honest at a child function. How stupid was that. But my thoughts changed and as I tried to explain she sits and listens intently. I don’t hate everything about myself there are just some things I hate. Again, her thoughts startle me. But God made you so if you don’t like all parts of yourself then you hate how God made you which means you hate God for creating you this way.

I, of course, do not hate God. Especially since he gave me a child that keeps my thoughts more in line with her ability to think and question far beyond her age. How I do wonder what Journey he has in store for these inquisitive souls.

I gave up the search for the watch. Or better yet I needed to find a few moments to rethink this conversation. I am 40+ years old. She is 12. At times I feel inferior to my own child and her knowledge and faith. I do not say this meaning it as a bad thing. On the contrary I am elated my children are continuing to grow, mature and keep their trust in Christ.

This mature conversation makes me feel somewhat melancholy at the knowledge that their childhood days are coming to an end. I grieve the lost time. I lament on the childish ways that will soon be un-noticeably gone before I realize it.

All of sudden down the steps she comes running with complete excitement. I found my watch. It was in my shoe cupboard. How did it get in there I ask? Joy, pure jubilation or maybe it is just motherly bliss, fills my heart as I hear her say…”It had to be Marshmallow”. He must have been missing me so he came back from the North Pole just to play a prank on me and remind me he is still watching me for Santa Claus. Can I write him and tell him to come visit for a few days? Of course, Marshmallow the Elf can come visit.

I thanked God that night for letting me have just a little more time with their youth before they fly free.