Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Why It's Good for My Kids to Get Sick Once in a While

I take some guilty pleasure in when my daughter is sick.

It's a terrible thing to say, I know; and I didn't realize it until this week. But it's true: despite the germs and the vomit and the scrambled schedule to stay home with her, I do find joy looking into those helpless, miserable eyes on sick days.

This realization was a process beginning on Sunday morning. I woke up a little later than usual, so instead of my customary trip to the gas station to get the Sunday paper and subsequent perusal of its myriad stories, I chose to forego it in favor of the opportunity to sit in our rocking chair and read to the girls. A morning full of good books and good snuggles beckoned. There was only one problem: neither of my girls wanted to read with me.

I offered. I waited a few minutes and offered again. I sat in the chair and displayed several of their favorite titles, attempting to entice them. They were otherwise detained. "Don't take it personally," my wife encouraged. But how could I take it any other way? One of the few "Dad" skills I have to offer, that of literacy coordinator, was being rejected as unnecessary.

With a pout and some grumbling, I pulled out Time magazine and tried not to mourn their independence.

In the middle of church, my 4 year old said she felt sick and went to the bathroom to throw up. She didn't throw up. At the end of the service, she went back to the bathroom. She didn't throw up. We got into the car, and then she threw up. I'm pretty sure she aimed for all the cracks in the upholstery to maximize the damage.

We got home, and the clean up began. Suddenly miserable and feeble, she needed her clothes changed and washed, she needed to be tucked in on the couch, and she needed a stuffed animal to clutch. I needed to eat lunch; instead I lost my appetite mopping up the car. That was pretty much the day.

How could I possibly find joy in that? Easy - suddenly Miss Independent could think of nothing she wanted more than to bury her head into my shoulder, listen to me tell her it was going to be okay, and let me read books to her.

I don't root for my children to experience pain and sickness. I feel bad for them when they do. But I don't feel sorry at all that it is an opportunity to remind them that I can be counted on, that I will protect and care for them, and that there are days when they just can't go it alone. It's not that they don't know all of those are true; it's just nice for them to feel that truth on rare occasions as well.

I get the feeling that God knows something of this as well. Wanting the best for us, I'm certain He realizes that there are times we don't want Him to read to us and we would much rather play whatever we feel like. There are times in which, despite the fact that we know better, we behave as if we think we can accomplish anything on our own, arrogantly celebrating our self-reliance.

I've been spiritually ill at times lately. I've metaphorically vomited all over a lot of cars, all as a result of the dual problem of catching the contagious comfort flu and shoveling sugary dessert after sugary dessert into my soul without any calories of substance. I've attempted to "battle through" the illness on my own, waiting passively to get better. But when I get sicker and sicker, fatigued and helpless, it is then I crawl on my Father's lap and ask Him to tell me it's going to be okay. And He does.

I know God doesn't want to have to baby me for long, just as I want my children to continue to grow to be independent in many aspects of their lives. I'm certain some of the messes I've made in illness have been rather foul to clean up. But I also feel He must smile knowing that it is in this state of disrepair that I often best understand our relationship.

My daughter is well again, running high octane through the house, conquering her pre-K kingdom, boldly proclaiming herself to be the queen of the universe. But she isn't too healthy to linger a few extra moments in a hug, or in a snuggle, or in my lap with a book. And that's the perfect kind of healthy for me.

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