Annie
“And it’s a bunch!”
Parents have opportunities in life that are unparalleled. You know as well as I that our kids can catch us flat-footed at any time. My dad has stated more than once over the years, “There’s no manual that comes with kids when they’re born.”
In some ways I agree with that statement, but will certainly offer up that, manual or no manual, there are those moments for which we are dismally unprepared. It’s hard enough at times to know what to do, but when your kid does something so audacious that all you want to do is laugh, it makes disciplining them nearly impossible.
Such was the case in the fall of 1986 . We had just recently moved to the Columbia River Gorge area. We were busy settling into the new home, the new job, and the new church. We had spent the last four years working in a small church on the coast of Washington state. That was the only church experience Annie had known. Our new church was larger in comparison. Regardless, Annie was undaunted.
One fine Sunday morning we went downstairs to the church basement and picked Annie up from Sunday School/Children’s Church like usual. She was her bubbly self and wanted to show us what she had found in her classroom. To our surprise Annie proudly presented us with a pile of money.
“Where did you get that?” Marm asked her.
“I found it in my classroom,” was her honest reply.
“Where in your classroom did you find it?” Marm persisted.
“It was in a little box-shaped like a church,” she piped happily.
Our daughter had just pilfered the Sunday School class offering and was pleased as punch about it.
Marm and I exchanged quick looks and whispers asking ourselves, “What are we supposed to do now?”
We determined that it wasn’t a huge deal since it was done in complete innocence. Yet, it was important enough to be addressed, after all she did rip-off the class offering. Having quickly decided how to handle it we chatted with our pastor and brought him into the loop. He agreed to talk with Annie about what she had done.
There we were standing in his office. Annie was in front of us with her back to us, and couldn’t see our faces. The pastor was facing Annie and we could see his face clearly as he talked with her.
Pastor Greg very gently explained, “You know Annie, it isn’t right to take things just because we see them. The things we see belong to other people and it’s important that we leave those things where we found them.” He further explained ,”God loves us and doesn’t want us to do that to other people because it’s stealing, and stealing is wrong.” I thought it was going quite well, then he asked her, “Annie, did you take the money out of the little church box in your Sunday School classroom?”
Annie was simply beaming as she stated excitedly, “Yes, I did… and it’s a bunch!”
Marm and I sharply caught our breath at this point stifling our cries of surprise. We pursed our lips together so hard it hurt and were visibly shaking as we kept ourselves from laughing out loud. I was starting to sweat from the effort.
Poor Pastor Greg could see us clearly from where he stood and was helpless to do anything since he had to maintain that touch of seriousness so needed to make his point. Seeing him pretending not to be affected by her answer made it all the worse for us as we tried to hold it together. By now, tears were streaming down our faces and our hands covered our mouths.
Once he was done and Annie had handed over the contraband we all hugged each other and laughed hysterically. “Can you believe she said that,” was all we could say to each other.
Where do our kids come up with this stuff? I’m at a complete loss. On the flip side, it does serve as a good reminder for me. Don’t take things so seriously that I forget to laugh at life a little.
“And it’s a bunch!” What a line.
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Out of the Mouth of Babes
I’ve found that “truth” is often spoken from the least likely of people and can catch me off guard. It causes me to pause, or in some instances takes my breath away completely. None-the-less it is still the “truth”. I remember vividly one such moment in our family adventure that rocked my world.
It was a normal Sunday morning when the three older kids were little. I was a part-time associate pastor on staff at our local church at the time. My responsibilities there were varied and shall we say, plentiful. My internal pressure to have it together and be on time was a constant nag. A great stress creator.
We were all getting ready to go to church like usual. The pitch was fevered. The rush was apparent. It was that typical Sunday morning frenzy. So much energy being spent in getting all of us ready. After all it was the “big” event. The chaos was palpable. There were only 5 of us at the time, but it might as well have been 50. Trying to get us all moving in the same direction in a timely manner was like herding cats. It was never going to happen.
I know I’m not the only one to experience this ritual. So many of you reading this know exactly what I am talking about. You could write this post yourself. And here’s the kicker. As those dedicated to the religious it is almost our God given duty to blame this chaos on Satan himself.
“The devil just wants to mess up our day! God has great things for us and Satan is mad about it.” can be a commonly offered rational for the mayhem. Never mind that my internal pressure is building because I have an over exaggerated religious sense of obligation hanging over me. After all, we are staff so we have to get this together. People will be watching!
So, all the while as we are “herding the cats” there is a sharpness in my voice, frustrated stares in my eyes, impatience in my posture, all giving off a definite sense that the kids are the problem here. They should know better by now. We go to church every Sunday! This isn’t new!
Come on people. Get it together! This was my state of mind at the time.
Well, in spite of everything to the contrary, we did eventually aim ourselves in the same direction. We headed out the door and up the steps to the mini-van. We’re all getting ourselves situated; strapping in the kids to various car seats and boosters. Snugging down the seat belts and making sure we had accounted for everyone. Martha and I took our seats and did the same. As I started the van I turned and said to the kids over my shoulder,
“Smile everybody.”
And out from the back seat came the reply from our dear sweet Annie,
“Why Daddy? We aren’t at church yet.”
And… there it was in all its unadulterated glory.
In that one simple honest question the truth had been unearthed. The lie had been unmasked. It felt like I was just sucker punched in the gut. I was teaching my children to be religious. Simply put, what things look like are more important than the truth. Ouch! Having people think we had it together was more important than how I actually was treating my own family. If there was ever a good time to swear, that would have been it.
Truth is truth plain and simple. Its source doesn’t change it, even when it comes from out of the mouth of babes.
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Real People Trapped in Little Bodies
Reflection can be a powerful tool. Being born in the late 50’s my grammar school years, as they were called back then, were in the decade of the 60’s. This was the era of the original “Hot Wheels Cars” and full size “G.I. Joes”. Real metal “Tonka” trucks ruled the world. Cartoons like Yogi Bear, The Bugs Bunny Road Runner Hour and Space Ghost were some of the choice Saturday morning TV offerings. It was also the era of “children are to be seen and not heard.”
It’s ironic how as children we’ll “pick things up” without even realizing we did it. Often its not until later in life we begin to see what we picked up and are confronted by it, sometimes rather starkly. It was here in one such moment that the wisdom of the 60’s crashed headlong into the heart of Jesus.
Annie, our first-born, was three-ish. This made Aaron our second born infant-ish. We were out on a family excursion with the intent to buy Annie a new pair of shoes. Now this was nothing new or unusual, we had bought shoes for the kids before. What made this outing different was that Annie was involved in picking them out for herself. A fact I truly became aware of only too late.
Annie and Marm (Martha’s nickname given to her by her nephew when he was little) were having a ball. They were jabbering together about this shoe and that one while moving freely up and down the aisle. Boxes littered the floor. Most had one shoe teetering sideways within while the other one was laying where it had been dropped some 2 to 3 feet away. This was shopping at its finest for Annie. She was having a blast.
I too was shopping, but with much less enthusiasm. I was thinking more along the line of finding an appropriately sturdy pair and then going home rather soon. She was, after all, only 3 so it really didn’t matter too much which pair we bought. This should be simple. I walked over to the girls with Aaron in tow in the stroller and showed the ladies my offering. Annie wrinkled up her nose without hesitation. These definitely were not for her. I was insistent about my choice and foisted them on them both rather sternly.
“ These are good shoes,” I insisted. “ They will wear well and are a nice brown color too.” This all seemed more than reasonable to me. I was having a hard time understanding all of the fuss.
“They’re ugly!”, Annie stated flatly, “and I don’t like them.”
I looked at Marm for the obvious support I thought she should lend me, but was startled by the look I saw in her eyes. Now I was really confused and was becoming more frustrated. I was thinking to myself that this isn’t that hard to do. Just pick out a pair, show them to Annie, she’ll be grateful and like them, and we all go home.
I expressed these sentiments to the both of them and was once again met with resistance. Annie wanted a different pair she had selected herself. In fact she was actually trying to decide between two different pairs she had picked out. By now I was getting hot around the ears. I thought we had come to buy shoes, not shop for them.
I certainly wasn’t thinking that Annie actually had an opinion about them herself. And, as painful as it is to say, that what she wanted was as important as what I wanted. I was turning the outing into a misery. I was crushing the joy out of my daughter. I could see it in her face, and I was lost as to what to do next. My default setting from the sixties was failing me badly.
It was here that Marm pulled me aside and gave me that look a wife gives to her husband when he’s being dumb. Then, thankfully, she brought me up to speed. Even though my daughter was only three at the time, she certainly had opinions and desires like everyone else. “Everyone else” meaning adults. Those opinions and desires MATTER. Sadly, I had left no room for Annie to be Annie. No room for her to make her own choices. I wanted what I wanted plain and simple. I wanted her to be seen but not heard.
It wasn’t that I didn’t know better at the time, and honestly, it didn’t take too long for me to remember that this was not the heart of Jesus when it came to kids. Jesus told the adults of his day to let the children come to him and to stop hindering them. In other words; back off people, the kids count too. The lesson learned that night was simple, and it laid the groundwork for a statement that Marm and I use often in regard to children. They are indeed … “real people trapped in little bodies.”
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Curls & Capes 