My heap of conviction for the day...

The following is an excerpt from a book I am reading, Grace-Based Parenting by Tim Kimmel.
_________________

I was sitting in a hotel restaurant in Portland, Oregon. It was a Sunday morning. I was catching a plane around noon, which afforded me the luxury of enjoying a leisurely breakfast. This restaurant offered an all-inclusive breakfast buffet, with a lower price for kids.

A mom arrived with her two children: an infant and a boy approximately four years old. I noticed the boy right away. His face was filled with excitement, and his mouth was running a mile a minute as they circled the buffet line so that Mom could see the options. His mother held the infant while the boy followed along. He could barely contain his excitement. He saw the fruit, the varieties of cereal, the pancakes and waffles, and the station where the chef made omelets to your specifications. Then I watched his eyes pop out of his head as he studied the trays full of breakfast “desserts”—blueberry muffins, bear claws, and assorted Danish.

The hostess seated Mom and her two kids at the table directly across from me. The waitress filled their water glasses and asked if she could bring any coffee for the mother or juice for the kids. She asked if they were going to have the breakfast buffet.

“My husband will be down in a few minutes,” the mother replied. “He and I are going to have the buffet. You can bring a bowl of cornflakes and some milk for my boy.”

“Mom, no! I want to have the buffet, too!” the boy instantly responded. It was obvious that this boy had already mapped out his plan on how he was going to attack this buffet.

“You can’t eat all that food. Most of it is just sugar. Forget it,” the mom curtly said.

“But Mom, I like that kind of food, that’s what I was hoping for. Please?” he pleaded.

“Forget it; you’re not having the buffet, so hush up.” She turned her back on the boy and started to tend to her infant.

“Ma’am, for just a dollar and a half more than the cornflakes, he could have the buffet,” the waitress offered. She could see how anxious the boy was.

“No thanks. He doesn’t need all of that food.” The look on her face was a clear look of dismissal to the waitress.

As the mother preoccupied herself with her baby, I watched this young boy who had been so filled with excitement start to quietly turn into himself. And then the tears started. His anticipation and excitement had been stilted. I give the boy credit. He didn’t cry out loud. He didn’t argue, fuss, or make a scene. He just sat there and quietly hurt.

Dad arrived with the newspaper under his arm, sized up the situation, sat down in his chair and asked the boy why he was crying.

“I wanted to have the buffet, but Mom doesn’t want me to.”

He turned to his wife. “What’s up? Why can’t he have the buffet?”

She gave him the same practical and nutritional arguments she’d given the boy a few minutes earlier.

“Look, we’re on vacation,” Dad said. “He’s never had an opportunity to do this before. The difference in cost is chump change. We can easily afford it. And as far as waste goes, what we don’t eat they are most likely going to throw away.”

There was a brief back-and-forth discussion before the mother gave in and agreed to let the boy have the buffet. His countenance immediately reverted back to that excited little boy who had made the initial review of the food stations. Within a minute, son and father were off to attack the buffet.

I had so much fun watching this boy go from station to station to get a little bit of everything. He saw people toast their bagels, so he did it too. He could barely reach the toaster, but an older lady took joy in helping him work it. He got pancakes and a waffle and piled syrup and whipped cream on them. I loved the way he got in the omelet line, waited his turn, and then told the chef what he wanted, which was a little bit of everything. His final trips out were to the dessert station. I say trips because he made two. Before he was done, he had a sampling of each of the little desserts that had been laid out.

Meanwhile, Mom was feeding the baby, and Dad had taken a position at the table where he could spread out the Sunday paper. When the boy got all that he had been looking forward to having, he commenced to work his way through his breakfast feast. I was completely enjoying watching this little boy getting to experience this rare treat.

That’s when Mom finally finished all feeding responsibilities of her infant and turned to study the various plates of food in front of her son.

And then she started.

“Why did you get both pancakes and waffles? And what’s with all the whipped cream? You’re just going to get that all over your clothes. And what’s this on your bagel? Cream cheese? You’ve never had that before. Did you have any idea of what you were putting on this thing?”

She got her husband’s attention. “Look at all of this. He even got an omelet.”

She turned her attention back to the boy. “Why on earth did you order an omelet?” she demanded. “There’s no way you can eat all of that.” Pointing to the desserts, she said, “You get one, count ‘em, one of these desserts. Pick the one you want because I’m going to take the other ones back. Why do you need a dessert anyway? It’s breakfast, for crying out loud.”

As she went through her diatribe, I watched the boy’s countenance fall. This time it looked like a combination of helplessness and hopelessness. He tried to eat everything on the assorted plates, but his mother reminded him several times how foolish he had been for getting so much stuff. As promised, she took all but one of the desserts away from him and then berated her husband for not listening to her. Once she had adequately spoiled everyone’s meal with guilt and condescension, she stood up and passed through the buffet line for herself. I just sat there and watched a little boy slowly eating his waffles, whipped cream coming out from the corners of his mouth, with tears streaming down his young face. By the time his mom got back, all the joy had drained from him.

Now I can hear what some are saying.

Waste.

Nutrition.

Sugar.

Kids can’t get everything they want.

And don’t forget she had a little baby. She’s tired. You don’t know what that boy had been like earlier that morning. Maybe he had pushed her buttons to the brink. And it doesn’t sound like her husband is much help.

My questions are these: Was it worth it? Is that the way God treats us? Does God tease us with good things, insult us for being excited about them, and then scold us for trying to enjoy them?
Eventually this little boy will grow up and become a young man heading out on his own. I don’t doubt that he’ll feel that his mother loved him, but unless she changes the way she’s operating, he has little chance of leaving home with “secure” love—the kind of love that has registered on his heart that his parents enjoy him just the way he is.

Kids inside homes where nonmoral issues are elevated to a level of big problems don’t get to experience the kind of acceptance that makes a heart feel securely loved. Instead they live with a barrage of nitpicking criticism, receiving put-downs because they are curious, anxious, excited, helpless, carefree, or absent-minded.

When we receive our children as they are, we reflect the kind of love that God has for them. It’s the kind of love that will carry them through the good times and the bad times for the rest of their lives.
_________________

Too often I am the mom in the story. But I want to be full of grace like God.