Kids & Parenting

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Though My Hair Be Board-Straight

Isaiah 35:6 Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert.

How timely is the Word of God! A cool and refreshing drink for my thirsty soul! Friends, my attempts to glorify God through the gift of writing may not be anything to "write home about." But how can I keep the streams contained, especially those that come to me in the desert and/or wilderness? So I want to share with you a comforting drink that I received while feeling, lately, as though I've been trudging my way through a desert place.

My three children, now twenty-three, twenty-one, and seventeen, were very sweet natured babies. Two of them, however, were very sick babies. Tabitha, my middle child and youngest daughter, was very healthy. Seven months ago, she gave birth to a son, Alonzo. He, like his mother, is very healthy. He's also quite spoiled. Another story, but a word of warning for young and/or new mothers -- spoiled babies are not happy babies!

When my babies were sickly and couldn't express themselves except with tears, I held them to my chest and sang to them to offer them a little comfort. I did occasionally rock my children when they weren't sick, but not so much that they demanded it. I held them and played with them occasionally, but not so much that they demanded it. Alonzo, on the other hand, demands it, no thanks to his mother. Now that she is back in the rat race, guess who takes care of her baby during the day. Grandma!

It's hard to overlook the fact that he's spoiled. But the joy of watching him develop certainly overrides the backache of toting around twenty-one pounds of "chunky monkey." I have never seen a baby make faces like he did when he was a newborn. In a few seconds, he went from mad-face, to sad-face, to surprised-face, to scared-face, to excited-face, and then started all over again. It was amazing to watch him. Now, he's wide-eyed and at awe of everything around him. That, he surely gets from his mother. Hopefully, he won't learn the way she did that jalepeno peppers are not green candy, however pretty they may be under grandma's kitchen table, and the springs that pull screen doors shut will pierce all the way through a child's lip.

Tabitha was not only set apart from her siblings in that she was healthy. She was also the only golden-haired, very fair complected child I had. We were two dark-haired parents with two dark-haired, olive complected, scrawny children. And then there was Tabby, a tubby child that could easily have won a Shirley Temple look alike contest. Her hair has grown somewhat darker over the years, now a medium brown with gold highlights, but it's still kinky curly. Alonzo's father is not only dark-haired, but he's also dark-skinned. But Alonzo is a carbon copy of his mother, all the way down to that laugh from somewhere deep, deep below his belly. And when he cries, the entire neighborhood is aware of his unhappiness. He's so expressive!

I try not to spoil him worse than his mother already has, but it is difficult not to. I'm not known for having the healthiest of lower backs, so I sit in a rocker with him when he refuses to nap. Never thought I'd fit into that roll of ol' granny in a rocker. But Alonzo has had his ways of forcing it on me. Nevertheless, I sing to him while we rock, hoping to appease him so that he'll stop furiously fighting his sleep, sort of like I sang to my babies and rocked them when they were sickly ... and on a rare occasion when I didn't think they'd wind up expecting it out of me afterward. And for the most part, it works, though he's not sick at all, just terribly spoiled.

The new age word is "you can't hold them too much." I'm telling you, that is a lie! Alonzo is seven months old and still can't crawl. My babies walked at eight months old. Hold them and love them and sing to them and play with them. And then, put those babies down!!!! They'll respond by being independent while still secure in your love for them! I sure wish Tabitha had taken that advice. But lo and behold, she did not. Now, I suffer the conseqences.

A few days ago, after repeated singing/rocking sessions over the last few months, I sat down in my rocker and held Alonzo to my chest. To my very pleasant surprise, he began to sing what I assume was the 'Lullaby' song: "Aaaaah, aah, aaaah, aaaaaaaah." It was the sweetest voice, a plea that whispered, "Grandma, sing to me!" I thought my heart would swell completely out of my chest. I looked down at the top of his head, the only place that's just beginning to show signs of softly curled locks. Then he looked up at me, the pleading settled into the wonder-filled eyes so like his mother's, and I was lost in my love for him, just as I was lost in my love for her. I wondered if there is anything else in creation that compares to the love of a grandmother for her grandchildren or of a mother for her children. Oh, but there is! There is, even if some of us happen to be spoiled rotten and oftentimes too stubborn to enter into His rest.

Alonzo hasn't learned to form words. But he sang to me with all that he knew and it touched my heart. I often wonder if my Father tires of hearing my pitiful attempts to sing, if He tires of my need to be held. I have a lot of gifts that He graciously chose for me. Singing is not one of them. But how could He tire of hearing me sing? After all, the very desire to sing is hereditary for me. I get it from my Abba Father. What I see as a sad and feeble attempt to come up with just the right words, just the right tune, failing miserably in my own eyes, is to Him a joy song. He sang over me first, holding me so close in His bosom. And I so love the sound of His song that I long to hear it over and over and over again, and even to have the Words written on my mind and my heart that I might learn His song. So I lay my head on the warm chest that is always open to me, curling up in arms that never tire of holding me close, and I plead. I plead the way Alonzo and his mother laugh, from somewhere deeper than my belly:

"Awe, Daddy, I'm in awe of You. Sing over me. Please, sing over me."
© Joyce Pool

Zephaniah 3:17 The LORD thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing.

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