My Girl

Just when I think I am getting the hang of this parenting thing, I’m thrown for a loop. It has always seemed that way. When I get used to my children doing one thing or being one way, they throw me a curveball. The end (or beginning) of a phase, stage or whatever you want to call it catches me off guard. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not.

Six months ago (to the day) when my daughter Sophie turned 8, she began showing her individualism and need for independence. She no longer wanted to wear the cute clothes from Matilda Jane and Jelly the Pug. The ruffly pant sets from Zulily are no more. “They look like they’re for babies.” Sigh… Every Sunday now when I pick out her clothes, she would rather wear something different. Not too long ago, she loved everything I bought for her. Not anymore.

It made me sad when she reluctantly told me she wasn’t crazy about “My Little Pony” anymore. I say “reluctantly” because she knew how I would feel. She and I used to love watching it together. I knew all those cute little ponies by name! She no longer plays with dolls except her “American Girl” dolls. No Barbies or princesses either. In fact, when cleaning out her toys, she decided to give most of them away.

I guess I thought we would go on enjoying these things together for years to come, but she has her own set of likes and dislikes, and I am learning that I cannot force her to stay little forever. I am realizing that she is developing into her own “person” and she no longer agrees with all my opinions. She has always been my little side-kick, so it’s tough to watch her separating herself from me. In my mind, I know it is a good thing. She is learning to be confident in her own thoughts and decisions. I know it’s not healthy to force my own personal tastes on her. She needs to be able to stretch her wings and not rely on me to make every decision for her. However, my heart hasn’t quite caught up yet.

She still shows that she needs me, though and wants to cuddle every night. So I am heeding the words of so many moms before me, I am making the most of these opportunities. She had a headache last night so I lay in bed with her and held her until she fell asleep. No matter how big or independent she gets, she will always be my baby. I’ll admit that the future of navigating through tween and teen years with my girl somewhat intimidates me. I want to hold on tight. God grant me the wisdom to know when to hold on and when to relinquish the reigns (and the ability to do so).

Through the Eyes of a Child

I wasn’t sure how to begin this post, but I was so touched by my daughter’s heart, I wanted to make sure I wrote it down. There has been much tension between races, specifically between black and white in the U.S., for as long as I can remember. The subject has been in the news a lot lately and all over social media. Living in the South, we seem to be stereotyped as prejudice. Truth is many of us southerners despise racism as much as anyone else. 

In our home, we try to follow God’s example given to us in the Bible. God looks on the heart, not the outward appearance (1 Samuel 16: 7). God does not show favoritism, and He tells us not to either (Acts 10:34, James 2:1)). Jesus died to save us all. (John 3:16) No one race is better than another. Romans 12:3 tells us “Do not think of yourself more highly than you should.” In fact, James 2:9 lays it out pretty plainly, “But if you show prejudice, you are committing sin and are convicted by the law as violators.” We have never made race an issue in our family, except to point out that God loves us all and made each of us special in our own way. I honestly don’t remember our kids ever having made a big deal out of someone having a different skin color than them. 

Wednesday night, it was storming while we were at church. My daughter, Sophie, was supposed to go with her dad, brother and some other volunteers to a retirement home to visit with the residents. Because of the storm, she was scared and she begged not to go. Instead, she “helped” in the nursery where our choir members’ children were being cared for. When I picked her up after practice, she was gushing about how sweet the babies were. She described one baby who loved to cuddle with her, simply as having brown hair. She couldn’t remember his name. 

When we were in the car pulling away, an African American family walked out the door, a mom and her two little boys. “There he is!” she exclaimed. “He’s so cute and he’s soo sweet!” I smiled and completely agreed. I thought it was precious that she didn’t point out the color of his skin to describe him. Though there would be nothing wrong with that because he is as God made him. I know she saw his skin color was different than hers and the other children in the room, but that didn't make him any different from the other babies. She rocked and cuddled this sweet little baby with “brown hair.”

Children are not born prejudice; they are made that way (directly or indirectly) by parents, grandparents or the environment around them. We can teach them to dislike others because they are different, or we can teach them to show respect and compassion and care for others no matter what they look like.