"Mommy, are we going anywhere today?""I'm not sure, why?"
"If we're going to stay here then I'm going to wear my Minecraft shirt."
"Why does it matter if we're here or out?" I ask.
My daughter stands before me, her blonde hair disheveled because she refuses to allow a brush anywhere near it, claiming to "like it hanging in my face;" her brow furrows in frustration and her lips form a pout. I see that tears are beginning to form in her eyes. "Because people will laugh at me." She throws herself dramatically onto her bed.
"Annie," I say gently and pull her to a sitting position. I cup her sweet face into my hands. "Do you like your Minecraft shirt?" She responds with a vigorous nod then says, "I love it! Do you like it, Mommy?"
I pray for wisdom and say, "It doesn't matter what Mommy or anyone else thinks about your shirt, Pumpkin. If you like it, that should be enough, and yes, I love it. If I didn't think it was absolutely adorable, I wouldn't have purchased it."
She wrinkles her nose, not quite sure she believes me then asks, "Why do they only make Minecraft shirts in boys? I'm a girl. If people find out I'm wearing a boy's shirt, they'll make fun of me."
I look at my girl. The boxy blue shirt, a size too large because it was the only size that remained but we had to have it, hangs on her frame. The amorphous Steve and his square pig run from a green creeper. A wears pink pants to assure people she is not a "boy with long hair." I assure her that no one would mistake her for a boy then give her a big hug and make one last attempt to reassure my daughter's confidence.
I wonder, as I leave her room, if I've done anything to make her feel self-conscious about her adorable, quirky lists of likes and dislikes. Parenting is so overwhelmingly hard. We are all flawed, and parenting, while often bringing out the best in us, also tends to magnify our own faults and insecurities. Do I project my insecurities onto my daughter? When I discovered I was having a girl, I don't recall any particular preconceived notions about what it should be like to rear her? I imagined pink, but I didn't necessarily envision a tutu. Honestly, when I daydreamed about my little ones, we were usually snuggled around a book, but I wonder if I subconsciously attempt to steer her toward activities that are safe, status quo, and appealing to me? As parents, it is our responsibility to nurture the dreams God has placed within our children's hearts, but if those dreams are so foreign and beyond my own comfort zone, do I somehow compensate by sending my girl the message that they are unacceptable?
Mine and A's conversation has preoccupied my thoughts for days, forcing this thinker to analyze and re-analyze every syllable because there are some parenting moments I don't want to flub and besides all things concerning her faith in Christ, this is another big one I don't want to mess up, so I'm asking for a do-over. Sweet A, here is what I want to say, and this all goes for your amazing brother, too.
You are beyond what I ever imagined a daughter and son would be. Whatever I dreamed, you have exceeded that dream exponentially. You are exactly who God made you to be and His grace frees you to be you. No exceptions. He didn't place dreams in your heart to be crushed by the opinion of everyone else. He handpicked you for your particular earthly mission, and no one else will fulfill it quite like you are called to do.
My precious little ones, if you live your life based on what others think of you, you will die by it as well, a small, imperceptible daily death of all that makes you unique, those qualities meant to make you shine will slowly succumb to the starvation of not being nurtured because you're so afraid of what everyone else is thinking. It's a crushing way to live. Slowly, those things that ignite passion within you are snuffed by the worry of what others think. Every time you concern yourself with the opinion of others, it is like someone pulls a feather from your wings, and when the day arrives for you to spread your wings and fly, you'll be missing so many of those feathers uniquely designed for you to soar, that you won't be able to take flight.
Mommy isn't immune to this compulsion to concern myself with the perception of others. When I was in high school, let's just say I didn't always fit in. Perhaps it was a misguided point of view, but it was my comprehension of reality. Your mom could be a bit dramatic. I loved The Baby-sitters Club book series and wanted so much to be like the character Claudia, that like her, I stashed snacks all over mine and Aunt Amy's bedroom. Let's just say, mice like M&M's. Once, I was in an argument with friends and when one of them asked what was wrong, I actually responded, "Well, you're not exactly turning bread and water into tea and cakes." I mean, who says that? Your mom, that's who. I was a rather quirky kid who desperately wanted to fit in and by doing so, I probably missed out on adventures God had designed for my unique personality. I lived on the edge of being myself and trying to be like others, constantly bobbing from one side to the other. It's exhausting. I wish I'd lived more on the exhilarating edge of being who I was uniquely called to be.
Fortunately, your mom found friends who understood her quirks and loved me because of them, friends who didn't think it was at all strange to call each other every afternoon when Jeopardy came on and compete via phone. It didn't bother them that Mommy was obsessed with Harry Connick, Jr. and Ernest Hemingway. As a matter of fact, your mom frightened a boy away on a first date by talking all night about Hemingway and his indelible imprint on American literature. Um, let's say I never heard from him again. See, that's how I knew your daddy was a keeper. After listening to me drone on and on about Holden Caufield one night, he surprised me with new release of J.D. Salinger's biography. For years, I believed my idiosyncrasies meant there was something wrong with me, but I have learned that those things about which I'm passionate make me who I am. Those dreams that seemed weird to everyone else were God's unique gifting in my life. Once I embraced myself just as I am, I began to live with freedom and joy.
I hope you both learn this lesson long before Mommy did. A and C, don't waste time trying to fit in. Don't spend your life hiding who you are in an attempt to be "normal" to not stand out. Sweeties, God created you to shine for Christ, to boldly live in a way that points the world to Him. He commands you not to conform to the patterns of this world. You have permission to be who God created you to be. Annie, I love that you never leave the house without a stuffed animal and want to be both a vet and an astronaut. I love that you toss the instructions to your Legos and spend hours building your way. I love that you grasp Minecraft and attempt to pull your clueless Mommy into that fun, virtual world. Connor, I love that you can correctly pronounce the names of every dinosaur ever discovered and know the periods in which they lived. Every time you say Cretaceous, I want to forever freeze your adorableness in that moment. Your knowledge of NASCAR astounds me, and though the thought of you becoming a race car driver terrifies me, I will be the loudest cheerleader in the stands. The opportunity to discover your gifts and talents alongside you and to nurture those into maturity is one of the greatest gifts I've ever received.
May I never crush your dreams with my folly. May I never inadvertently discredit your passion with seeming disinterest. May my own fear and selfishness never attempt to prevent you from living your own life fearlessly. May I not slip into the easy snare like the parents of a dear student, who shared her wonderful dreams for a career in international business with me then looked at me sadly and exclaimed, "But, Mrs. Johnson, I can't! My father wants me to be a lawyer, and it would break his heart if I did anything else." While I'm sure her father had never actually said that to her in words, something in his body language and tone had spoken it clearly. And I'll tell you, as I told her, your dreams are yours to live. God places His passion and gift in your life for a reason, and as parents, we cannot recapture lost dreams through the lives of our children.
May I instead be like the parents of Katie Davis, who when their daughter left the comforts of the first world to go to Africa and raise a house full of orphans, opened their grasp and released their daughter, entrusting her to an all-wise, all-loving God. May I be like the parents of Amelia Earhart and Sally Ride and Sandra Day O'Connor, who saw dreams not as male and female but as attainable for their little girls. May I be like the parents of John Wesley, Neil Armstrong, and Thomas Edison, who taught their children to remain true to who God created them to be. My sweet children, you are amazing. You are loved. I will always love and accept you as you are. Jesus loves you as you are right now. No hoops to jump through, no tasks to achieve, but the beauty of His love is that it empowers you to go beyond where you are into places you never imagined. Never forget when you stand against the flow that you are loved. God loves you so much that He sacrificed His son for you. Let that kind of love give you the boldness to live your life fearlessly.
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