out of the mouths of my babies

After I’d kissed and tucked him in, he sat up and said very sweetly, “Mom, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you smell bad at night. I don’t know why … I don’t want to hurt your feelings though.”

I gargled with mouthwash and put some perfume on. I went back into his room as he was falling asleep.  I asked three year old Collin if I was smelling better now. He smiled drowsily and said, “You do!  What did you do?  Put some make-up on?”

I recently came across an old journal loaded with these kind of humorous interchanges. I’m thankful I took the time to write them down.

When Brett was seven, we talked about an upcoming surgery. Due to persistent endometriosis, I was having a hysterectomy.  In child-friendly language, I explained what would happen during the operation. After listening, he said in his most upbeat and matter-of-fact way, “Then you’ll be a boy, right, Mom?”

That wasn’t the first time I confused him with delicate conversations. When he was three and we were expecting Collin, I read him the story Where Do Babies Come From by Angela Royston.

It is written for preschoolers, starting with a literal explanation of the birds and the bees. Next, it describes how a duck’s eggs are fertilized by the father.  Lastly, how a human mother and father join together to make a baby and that, in due time, the baby enters the world through the mom and her “special passageway.”

It was hot in Tampa the day after reading the book, and I brought him to a crowded theater for the latest kid’s movie. As the show was about to begin, Brett spotted a mom walking in, holding a baby.

It was quiet and at that particular moment, all became clear.

With his loudest voice, he said, “Mom, that baby came out of her mom’s butt just like I came out of your butt! Right, Mom?  Right?” Over the snickering around us, I whispered that we’d talk about it at home.

When Marina was three she loved dress up clothes, and her wardrobe changed as often as her moods. Once, after a time out in her room for talking back, she came down to the kitchen wearing a sparkly blue full- length dress.

“How about if we start lunch over,” I said to her. “We all get crabby sometimes … we’re rested now and new people.”  

“Yes,” she said. “Ok, Mom, I’m the fairy godmother, and you’re the evil princess.”

A couple weeks later, she was eating a popsicle and asked for a second one. When I said no, she said, “You can’t say that! You’re a nice mommy. You have to say, Sure!”

When Collin was three, he also was sent to his room. When I told him he could come out, he walked over with his hands together and head down. He prayed out loud, “God, help. My mom is really mad at me. Could you please help her to be nice. Thank you. Amen.”

Nothing like the prayer of your child to humble you right down to the floor.

When Brett was eight, he explained to Craig and I that his teeth are sensitive to cold, so he always chews on the side of his mouth.  He said, “I never use my front teeth. They’re only there for decoration.”

Brett was only six when the Columbine school shooting occurred. We shielded him from news concerning what happened, knowing he’d be afraid of school. Of course, he still heard about it from other kids at recess and on the bus.

One day he and his best friend were playing outside with Collin.  They came in and said, “If a bad guy came into our yard, Jeff and I would let him shoot us instead of Collin because he’s younger and he should get to live longer.”

I had no words.

Marina and I had and still do have sweet conversations in the car.  When she was four, she said, “Mommy, I don’t ever want to grow up. I want to be your little, little baby girl forever.”

Another time, when she was two and we were driving, she pointed to a church in the distance. “See that cross on top, Mom?  God loves us. Jesus loves us.”

He most certainly does, baby girl.

And when Collin was two years and four months old, we told him a story about his brother, his dad, and I. We explained he wasn’t there, because he hadn’t been born yet. He said, “Yeah, that’s when I was with God.  That’s when I was married to God and now I’m back.”

Oh, do I believe it with all my heart.

God has sent down to us the most precious gifts—our children.

I’ll laugh and cry and fume and rejoice and smile and yell and cherish every moment.

Mark 9:37    “Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes my Father who sent me.”

Blessed Lord, open our ears to hear what Thou speakest and our eyes to see as Thou seest.  Give us hearts to beat in sympathy with Thine at the sight of every little child; and above all, our Lord, to understand and experience how surely and how blessedly Thou fulfilest Thy promise, “Whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.”

-Andrew Murray, 19th century South African writer, teacher and pastor