We have likely all seen a young child, our own or that of another embarrassed parent, throw a tantrum.
The child’s desire for independence and struggle to impose control on a world they have little influence over meets a parent’s “no” to buying a certain action figure or bag of candy at the grocery store and everything loses focus. Emotions are overwhelming. Clenched fists are banging; feet are stomping; throat is screaming.
“Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
That verse from the Gospel of Matthew is a little easier to swallow when our children are fast sleep, saying their pleases and thank-yous, or smiling at grandma like little angels. But parents of little ones know these peaceful states don’t last long.
Soon the same kids are interrupting you every minute as you try to get dinner on the table and asking for help to do things they can clearly do on their own. Climbing onto your lap and jumping off in reckless ways that leave both of you bruised. Whining incessantly at bedtime and doing everything but staying in bed. Yelling “MOM!” from another room just for you to find out there was no emergency.
What’s that Lord? You want those children to come to you?
What’s more, you want the sane, reasonable adults in the room to become more like them?
In a recent period of anxiety I realized that I am spiritually, actually, a lot more like a young child than I’ve been willing to admit.
I, too, beg Jesus for his attention. I call out his name, with nothing else to say; finding comfort just in knowing that he hears me. I ask for help in situations I can probably very well handle alone. I wake up from restless sleep and call for him, hoping for a sense of his peace to lull me back to sleep.
I start a prayer dozens of times and struggle with finding the right words, get distracted, return to it later, get frustrated with my jumbled thoughts, and say “amen” trusting he understands me better than I know myself.
Have I thrown spiritual tantrums? Absolutely. Haven’t we all cried out to God, asking “Why?!”
How blessed are we that we have a God who loves children! In the face of all our attention-seeking juvenile behaviours, he loves us! He desires us! He doesn’t shrug us off or hide in his bedroom hoping for five minutes’ peace. He listens to every plea and responds in love, every time.
This thought inspires me to think of my own parenthood and how I can respond to my child’s bids for attention with love, gentleness, and a lot more patience.
Recently, a friend of mine was going through a challenging time, finding out she is pregnant with her fifth baby while still caring for four young children at home. She shared a reflection on 1 Corinthians, where Paul asks God to take away the thorn in his side, and the reply is: “My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
Grace isn’t just a gift from God, she reflected. It’s a character trait. It’s part of God’s personality. His grace carries us when we feel too weak to do it ourselves – just as the strength of a parent shines when their child’s young legs are too tired to keep walking.
Grace is part of who he is, and we are given the challenge to become more like him, offering ourselves, offering grace, to the weaker ones around us.
Paul continues: “So then, I will boast most gladly about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may reside in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, with insults, with troubles, with persecutions and difficulties for the sake of Christ, for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.”
This reflection also gives me the courage, audacity, and trust to continue being a child of God. I am free to let go of my pretences of having my life together and my desire to control a world that is out of my hands.
I can raise my arms and scream on this rollercoaster that I’m on, knowing Jesus is with me and delights in spending time with children.
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