Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscope

The best explanation she has is that it feels like she's falling through a kaleidoscope, she explains from the corner, knees pulled tightly to her chest

I gently ask for an explanation, if she can. She breathes deeply and whispers, at first slowly but then faster and faster.

The emotions and thoughts explode in balls of vibrant colors, changing and rotating at a nauseating peace. Flashes of memory and ribbons of guilt wrap themselves around her brain and her heart.

And she's falling through it, tangled within it. If she closes her eyes it only intensifies. If she wills it to stop, it only spins faster. The harder she fights it, the stronger it becomes, enmeshing her in hopelessness.

Her heart slams inside of her chest, and silent tears build up behind her eyes.

And then she's silent. Her voice box is crushed and placed into the recycling bin.

Adrift.

Old Flames Die If You Let Them

So last year I dated a guy for a couple of months. I really liked him. I really did. Then when I finally was ready to introduce him to Edith, that very day, the wheels came off the truck. I guess he decided it was time to lay down the law. We got in a big argument. Well, actually, it was pretty one-sided – it was mostly him telling me how wrong I was about a number of things. I tried to defend myself from time to time, but it was pointless. I finally got mad and left him standing on my back porch while I went to bed and went to sleep. The next day I told him to take a hike. And since then, I’ve been glad I didn’t hook up with a crazy jealous possessive person who is constantly going to think I’m having an affair. Been there, done that, no thanks.

The gist of his diatribe can be summarized in these basic points:

1.       I have too many friends in general

2.       I have far too many male friends – in fact, I should not have ANY male friends at ALL

3.       If I have male friends who are married, then I am causing those men to have emotional affairs

4.       If I had male friends when I was married, Tom had every right to go through my phone and check my emails and check on my whereabouts at all times

5.       And why do I feel a need to stay in touch with old flames? He asked me if it … how did he word it…. He asked me if it was essential to my self-esteem. I can’t remember how he worded it. I do know I wanted to gouge his ever-loving eyeballs out.

Recently I find myself in a new relationship. With a guy I really, really like. And I find myself circling back to this argument from my past. I was furious and indignant at the time. I was certain I was right, and he was wrong. But now all the sudden, dang nab it, I’m starting to see some truth in what he said. Not how he said it, mind you. But point number 5 has been taking me for a beating today.

Why DO I stay friends with ex-boyfriends or love interests or whatever you want to call them? What benefit do I gain? What am I doing and why am I doing it? I could argue I liked them as people then, they aren’t bad people, why throw the baby out with the bath water? We can be friends. But can we, really? Once a line has been crossed physically, can one truly retreat? Or is it like a safety net, to catch you if ever you should fall? I started wondering this morning, and wondering hard – an intense self-examination – of what exactly I am doing and what my motives are. I have plenty of friends. I really do. If I retain these old interests as friends – am I truly giving myself over in a new relationship? Are they bed post notches, or charms, or validation that I’m an okay person, or safety nets? And even worse, if they are married, or in relationship – what am I doing? What is anyone gaining? Is there really any true benefit to these relationships? I kept coming up with a big resounding NO. It was a convicting NO. I argued with it – I mean, one friend I’ve been friends with since I was 12 – am I just to throw that away? I think, maybe, yes. Yes, I am.

6 miles of running gives you a lot of time to think. Let’s switch subjects kind of – but they interrelate. Stay with me.

I married the first man I had sex with. Why? I think because he was the first person I had sex with. I think sex clouded my vision. I think sex made my emotions override my intellect. And the more people told me I was doing the wrong thing, the more I knew I was doing the wrong thing, but the more intent I became on doing it. I had my pride in the way, I had my emotions in the way, I had my righteousness at stake, I couldn’t re-attain my virginity, and in the end, I spun out. I spun out bad. And then, I lost sight of my preciousness. My self-worth became caught up in my sexual attractiveness and in my sexual performance. I looked at attraction as a challenge to prove my own worth. I sought to overcome all the years where I felt I couldn’t offer what men wanted. I offered. And over time it went from a gift to a commodity. A second marriage where I wasn’t cherished - failed. At some point that’s all I knew how to be cherished for, but it doesn’t last. I found myself in a downward spiral, unable to achieve what my heart desired. Loathing myself. Unable to establish any sort of boundary – realizing I really had never had any. Not really.

I remember driving home from somewhere I should not have been, feeling completely washed out. Destroyed. Hating myself for what I was doing. Unwilling to surrender – unable to stop the merry-go-round. The air was still – I almost felt high. High on hopelessness – do you know what I mean? And a song came on the radio – on a CD I had listened to 100 times – but I’d never heard this song. “Don’t say goodbye, don’t say hello. We’re just standing on the surface….Don’t say alright, don’t say I know, I promise it’s not worth it. I want to know who you are, even if you’re falling apart. Reach in and touch your scars and all the shame you’ve kept in your heart. ‘Cause it’s not enough, it’s not enough, just to say that you’re okay. I need your hurt, I need your pain, it’s not love any other way. Let’s not pretend, Stop your parade, trying to convince me that you’re alright and everything’s okay. Yet, do you even know me? …..” I must have hit repeat on the CD player 50 times. That wasn’t the end, but I was nearing the brink.

I decided 2 years 5 months and 3 days ago (not that anyone is counting) that pre-marital sex was an issue for me and I was not going to participate in it anymore. This was no easy decision – I’m not one of those women who hate sex anyway. Some women do, I know, so this decision might have been an easy one for them. But I love it. I would even say it was (is?) an addiction for me. And it wasn’t that I just woke up one day and said, “Gee, I think having sex outside of marriage is detrimental. I’m not going to do it anymore.” No, this was a knock down drag out wrestling match with God that went on for an extended period of time. And I finally surrendered – or maybe I just lost the wrestling match. There had to be something better in store. There had to be.

In 2011 dating after divorce with an agenda of no pre-marital sex doesn’t really make you too popular with the men. So in one sense it felt like I was cutting my own throat, but the repercussions of what I was doing were even harsher. I wasn’t going to make it. Out of desperation, I submitted. And it wasn’t easy. It isn’t easy. And I honestly am pretty sure I’m still not doing it on my own accord.

Anyway, I flashed back to high school. I didn’t believe in premarital sex. There were two boys I really, really liked, who basically were not interested in me because I would not “put out.” Well, they were interested, but they were more interested in the girls who would. And it hurt me. It hurt my self-worth. You’d think I felt I was better, meeting a higher standard or something like that, but I felt the opposite. I felt rejected. I felt like a child and they were seeking women. And I am still friends with these two, now men, to this day. Both married. WHY IS THAT? What am I accomplishing? I thought today to myself how I am still friends with these two, and I wonder how much of a relationship exists between them and the ones they were interested in at the time… So maybe I did accomplish something. Maybe our relationships did last longer, but to what end? What am I seeking? What am I proving?

I got convicted today. I got convicted of letting the charms go off the charm bracelet, because they are filthy rags, really. It’s not an easy decision. As I walked through Facebook unfriending…. Well, it’s a process, let me tell you. Some of it was easy, some of it not so easy. Some I feel I owe an explanation, even knowing they won’t understand the explanation more than likely. And also thinking they probably don’t even really care. I think it’s more my issue.

I’m afraid they’ll think me a religious zealot. Well, maybe I am.

But if I am to present myself as a holy sacrifice, I’m going to have to let it go. And that’s my end goal – to present myself as a holy sacrifice. Which I would have scoffed at just a few years ago – me? A holy sacrifice? But yes, me, a holy sacrifice. And hopefully, if God wills, not just that, but also a restored woman of virtue to a godly man who treasures her. To offer up to him this holy sacrifice. And have it be sacred, like it was meant to be, in the beginning. To have sex have intense incredible worth – but not self-worth. Not be something to prove, but again be something truly treasured to give.

Yeah, so the guy that told me I shouldn’t keep old boyfriends around? He’s right; therefore, I unfriended him on Facebook today (of course after thanking him for his insight). I’m not completely ungrateful.

Applying Rehoboam (Of All People). Or Not.

Guess what? You are not going to believe this. Edith is three months away from her sixth birthday. And it ain't over, folks. It ain't over. No fat lady singing over here, even though we thought she was.

I'm still in the stage where I can't tell you the whole story and make cute little funny jokes about it and make you laugh. I'm devastated right now. I'm sure I will get to that point in time, so maybe I'll just save the story for you for then. But I still felt like sharing something. Even though I don't have all the answers!!!

2 Chronicles 12:5-8

"Then the prophet Shemaiah came to Rehoboam and to the leaders of Judah who had assembled in Jerusalem for fear of Shishak, and he said to them, “This is what the LORD says, ‘You have abandoned me; therefore, I now abandon you to Shishak.’”

The leaders of Israel and the king humbled themselves and said, “The LORD is just.”

When the LORD saw that they humbled themselves, this word of the LORD came to Shemaiah: “Since they have humbled themselves, I will not destroy them but will soon give them deliverance. My wrath will not be poured out on Jerusalem through Shishak. They will, however, become subject to him, so that they may learn the difference between serving me and serving the kings of other lands.”"

Have you ever made a threat, which is a promise, as a parent, that you didn’t want to keep? I just recently did that. Like today. Now I feel like I’m the one getting punished, and I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take the whole thing back – most of all I wish I could take her original actions back. So at first, I thought this passage might give me an out - certainly if God can change His mind, I can do so, too! But my child has not humbled herself. At all. So even though I see that God changed His mind on punishment based on their reactions, I can’t justify it my case, unfortunately. I’m going to have to follow through.  

She’s only five, and she seems numbed to the punishment. I remember refusing to cry when I got spanked, because I didn’t want to give whoever was spanking me the satisfaction of knowing it hurt me. Was I only five when I was so defiant? My daughter refused to cry during a spanking as young as four. I mean, to the point where I'm not even sure if spanking is effective. Instead of spanking on this go around, we took privileges away. Which for her, she probably doesn't even see those things as privileges - to her it's just everyday life. She leads a pretty fun, blessed life. And we just took a lot of it away for the next week.

I doubt myself. Is she too young for the punishment and cannot absorb it? Or she’s numb to it? Is she numb to us being upset? What’s going on in her little brain? Her tummy hurt. Is she internalizing it? I keep punishing until I see an outward sign of remorse or sorrow or regret or humility, but I see very little. I saw a little, at taking away AWANA. So I’m taking away from her the extracurricular activity she loves the most, where she learns about God. GREAT. Aren’t I a complete jack ass!

And back to the scripture, even though God changed his mind, He still punished them. That’s a key point too.  He lessened the punishment because they showed humility. Sigh. I never thought God changed His mind. Makes Him seem less…..omniscient. More like a human parent. But a good parent. Despite His grace, they continued in their wickedness. This was not the great turnaround of Rehoboam; however, he was credited as having some good in him.

My child, on the other hand…. Sigh. She has so much good in her, but not a lot of humility! I guess they are dead ringer opposites, my Edith and this Rehoboam. Back to the drawing board.

PS Usually I don't write a post until I have all the answers. Hope you'll forgive me for this little indiscretion.

Praise Ye Jah. Moving Beyond Mere Coincidence.

I just popped out of bed because I can't let this go. I'm afraid if I just fall asleep and think I'll get to it another time, it will be gone. And it's too important. I've been crying out in my prayers for God to give me a stronger sense of faith. I need faith.  I just prayed last night, "Lord, give me faith.” And while I listened, my mind drifted and I remembered when we were kids we had to memorize Hebrews 11 (yes, the entire thing - it was hell). Hebrews 11 is a chapter on faith. Two verses stuck with me. First, Hebrews 11:2, because it was thankfully short and easy to memorize, and was kind of a running joke between us school mates. Second, Hebrews 11:1, since it was the first verse: "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." I was thinking last night as I was lying there, what does that really mean? I tried to create a metaphor in my everyday life – like wood is the substance of buildings, or shingles is the substance of a roof, or hotdogs are the substance of dinner (yeah, we live on a budget). How is faith the substance of things hoped for? If I have faith, does that mean I’ll get what I hope for? Anyway, this is not directly why I dragged myself out of bed. I digress. I apologize.

When I picked Edith up from school today, some other mom said, "Tomorrow's Friday!" and this guy who works there said, "Hallelujah!" Of course Edith says, "Mom, what does 'hallejujah' mean?" And I explained, off the cuff, that "Hallelujah" means "Praise to God!" We practiced the pronunciation a few times. I sang her the song, "Praise ye the Lord! Hallelujah!" And that was that. We moved on to other things, like Dora episodes, what’s for dinner and how many bites do I have to take before I can get a snack, garage organization, and bike riding without training wheels. I didn’t really give it another thought.

After I'd put Edith to bed, I sat down to do my Bible study homework. Another task in a busy day. I kind of really didn't even have a good attitude about it, I'll be frank. I mentally counted off how many more weeks of this study we have and with relief noted we are past the halfway point. Anyway, we are going over the Psalms of Ascent. In order to keep this blog short, so I can go back to bed, I’m going to refrain from delving into a dissertation of what that means. But today’s Psalm of focus was 130. And in the alternate version of the psalm instead of calling God “Lord” like in most versions, they used the ICC version which uses the names “Yahweh,” “Adonai,” and “Yah.” Are you asleep yet? PS, Adonia is in an Amy Grant song. But that’s another digression. Focus. Focus.

Here’s where it got me. And He got me good. I’m going to quote directly from the Beth Moore study now.

 “The Hebrew reference less familiar to English students is ‘Yah,’ also spelled ‘Jah.’ This shortened form of the covenant name ‘Yahweh’: is employed many times in the Hebrew Old Testament. You say it every time you use the word, Hallelujah, meaning ‘Praise ye Jah.’…JAH is a shortened form of Jehovah….Pronounced ‘yӓ,’this name signifies, He is, and can be made to correspond to I AM, just as Jehovah corresponds to the fuller expression I AM THAT I AM.”
 
Whoa….WHOA! Are you following me? Do you have Goosebumps? At least my off the cuff translation of Hallelujah was pretty accurate (insert pat on back). But God explained it to me not four hours later much MORE accurately. And all at the same time, he answered my prayers, by clearly stating, “I AM.” No way that’s a mere coincidence. No way.

Hallelujah. J

Restoration - A Rhyme

We are going to post a little poetry today, which has very little (all right, nothing) to do with Edith. And has everything to do with a really cool dream I had about 3 months ago. Enjoy!

                   RESTORATION

The builder looked at the old church with care

Skillfully eyeing the structure, the wear

She saw it was rotten as if from within

But she wasn't perplexed, in fact, she was confident in

Her ability to make this wonderful structure like new.

Methodically she inspected each board for true

With patience and love, a desire to not only repair

But to perfect the great building was her humble prayer

She skillfully, tenderly replaced all of the rotten

So if one had not seen it, it was completely forgotten.

Next the builder designed and put systems in place

To ensure that the work would never again be debased

By wear, by weather, by leaks, or by light

It had to be perfect, it had to be right

For this was God's house, God's church for His people

The builder had pure awe, from the pews to the steeple

Here is where the dream beautifully shifted

The builder was somehow supernaturally lifted

Out of the builder role and into that of the structure.

God took her hand in His, gently He loved her,

The Lord the Creator of all space and time

In this moment held her, ignoring her grime,

Yes, He saw she was rotten, He saw her disgrace,

Yet He tenderly touched her, then set her in place.

Then He stepped back to admire His best

I could hear His whisper on the cusps of His breath

He cupped His hands to His mouth and tenderly blew

He said, "Child, I knew you before the first cell of you grew

And I've loved you and held you your entire life through

Yes, you took care when you restored this church

But do you know what to Me has value? Has worth?

How much more, my child, will I restore you

How much more will I work in your heart to renew

For you are my church, my dear, my beloved, my child

Not these timbers and beams, not these walls, not these spires

And I see your beauty that I've wonderfully made.

I see a woman who is triumphant and brave.

What I cherish above all is you.

The you that I made. The you that I always knew."

Oh, how at that moment, I peacefully slept,

And then upon waking, I openly wept.

This builder heard. This child knew.

His words will echo to me my entire life through:

"My child, my child! How much more will I restore you?"

The World May Never Know

I never did wrap up the biting saga. I started this blog as an outlet, because I felt like I was going to lose my ever loving mind over Edith's biting. I didn't know what caused it, I had no control to stop it, I could not find any advice that seemed to work. It was senseless. It set our world up on end. And so I blogged, to vent. And when it stopped, I stopped. But it occurs to me that by some unforeseen miracle, someday there might be a mother (or father) who perchance may stumble upon my blog, and think to themselves, "Yes! Yes! Yes! Exactly! That's my kid! Help me!" And if I do not wrap it up, I may leave this poor soul completely hanging, just like I was. And that would be cruel. So whoever you are, dear, I am going to put a wrap on this for you. The bow may be crooked and unkempt, but all the same, it's still my gift to you. Are your ready? Are you ready for The Magic Answer? Sit down. Take a deep breath. Relax. You may want to call a friend or your mother for emotional support. Here it is:

                                         I have no freaking clue why Edith stopped biting.

I am evilly giggling to myself. Is evilly a word? It is now.

We did switch her daycare. Here's how it went down. We went and looked at that other, more expensive place. It was sterile, kind of like a state hospital or something. Yes, there were only four kids in Edith's would-be-class. But after some investigation we learned that the only reason the class size was smaller was because of a current lack of demand. It was a new school, but based on the prices, I did kind of suppress my urge to teach them the supply and demand curve of Economics 101. But I held back. After that daycare, I went and visited a Christian one downtown. It was nice. Small (on purpose) class sizes. But the lady giving us the tour said that the four year olds were currently learning how to recognize the first letter of their name and they hoped by age five, they would be able to write their name. Edith was already doing that, and I still held firmly to my crazy and prideful notion that Edith needed to be challenged. Also, that daycare lacked before and after school care, and as Edith approaches school years, that's important.

I went right down the road from our house and visited a fairly new daycare. I liked the location, but I already knew I didn't like the place. Someone told me it was a sterile environment - and while I like cleanliness, I don't like sterile. But nonetheless, I gave it a shot. The director gave me a tour. It's a new daycare. Yes, she had room in the four year old classroom. I told her the issues we were having. After all, I didn't want to bring Edith over and have her gnaw on a whole bunch of kids without them knowing I had a carnivore! I kind of thought Summer (that is her real name) would say, "Oh, goodness! We don't need that here!" But she didn't. She didn't even blink. She said what they do there is they will move a biter up to the next age level. They may even move them up two age levels if necessary. There was a novel idea!!!!! She also educated me some - she said that daycares generally had two philosophies. One is that young children learn best in free play. The other is that young children learn best in structure. Edith's current daycare believes in free play. Summer's center was more structured - to prepare the kiddo's for Kindergarten. She openly admitted she felt it somewhat depended on the child which type of environment was better for them. I took the spot.

It was a Monday. February 13th, to be exact. I called Tom on the way to pick up Edith. I told him I was ready to make the switch. He agreed. I walked into Edith's school just as Jasmine was walking out. Dang it! I asked if I could walk her out. She sensed it was important and came back. I told her we had decided to take Edith to another school. I tried to say it nicely. I told her we just felt a change in environment might be the best thing. See, I'm pretty nonconfrontational - I didn't breathe a word that I was suspecting the teachers lacked classroom control. Or that the new school was going to put Edith in the Fours WHERE SHE BELONGED. I was sweet. And Jasmine says in a syrupy sweet sticky oozing voice, "I just don't understand it. In all my years I have never seen a child as angry as Edith. She's just so angry! I wish I could help the poor little dear with all that anger!"

I was shocked. I'm pretty sure I already told you how well I deal with things like this. I said nothing, except a meek, "Okay." I said, "What do we need to do to make this happen?" But in reality, my heart hurt. Edith isn't angry. Edith is about the most happy go lucky kid I've ever seen in my entire life. Later it occurred to me that Jasmine may have said this in self defense or retaliation. Because I was removing Edith, even though I didn't say it, the message to her was that her school and ultimately her leadership in that school had failed us, and thus I put Jasmine on the defense. Which is all true. And maybe because Tom and I had divorced when Edith was two, it was just an easy thing for her to fall back on and blame and say that Edith was an angry child. I don't know. What I do know is, it hurt. And it was not necessary, even if it was true, which it wasn't. And it was not fair. Did I mention, it hurt?

So I went to get Edith. She had received a red face. Again. She'd tried to bite. Again. I didn't even care anymore. I just wanted this two week notice to be over. I got Edith in the car and buckled her in. I got in the front seat, started the car, and turned around. I said, "Edith, your dad and I have made a decision. We are going to take you out of this school and put you in another school." Edith asked, "Will they put me in the fours?" "Yes." I will never forget the look on her face - it was one of shear joy and relief. She clapped! Her feelings had been so hurt that they would not put her in the fours. Part of me wondered again, were we doing the right thing? Was she just getting her way? But what was done was done. And something had to be done. And this was what we were doing. It was too late to turn back. There was not place to turn back to, even had we wanted to.

February 13th was the last time that Edith tried to (or successfully did) bite. That two weeks was hell. I hated going to pick her up each day. I felt we were living in a silent war zone. I dodged Sweet Pea's parents. I scanned the parking lot for their car, then rushed in, and rushed out with my sweet Edith. I felt embarassed. I felt not wanted. Not loved. Rejected. Like a failure. Not understood. But they treated Edith well - there was no retribution aimed at her. It was awkward, but it was tolerable. And eventually, the two weeks passed.

Sometimes when we drive by her old school, Edith is sad. She misses her friends. She really, really misses Sweet Pea. I have told her that for now, Sweet Pea and her cannot be friends. She asked why and I told her. I told her that Sweet Pea's parents are upset with her for biting their baby and they don't want her to be around them. It breaks her heart. She is so sorry. She offered to call them and apologize. She's offered this many times. I legitimately feel for her, and I know she is very, very sorry, and I know she's outgrown it. It makes me sad for her. For us. I've thought of writing Sweat Pea's parents a letter. But I haven't. I try to remove my feelings from it and do what's best for Edith, but somehow I don't think an apology is going to change anything. I even thought of sending them a link to this blog. But I've probably said things here that would make things worse. Edith hasn't made a new close friend like Sweet Pea was at her new school, even though she's been there for six months. But we've made other close friends and really overall, she's very happy. And she doesn't get spanked often. And she's still learning Spanish. And maybe, just maybe, I didn't need those friends after all.

He's Not Mad at You and He's Not Disappointed

To all my phantom fans: Edith no longer bites. She's even remiss that she did once bite. And she'd like to call Sweat Pea's parents and apologize, but I haven't let her. Anyway, if you need details, contact me. I'd be more than happy to fill you in.

Yesterday, Edith got kicked out of ballet class. I don't know if I've mentioned it before or not, but at four (and a HALF) now, Edith rarely shuts up. That's the plainest way to put it, even if "shut up" is a bad word. She talks, and inquires, and exclaims, and whispers, and questions, and announces, and explains, and pontificates, and sings. So last night in ballet, her "coach" (madam, right?) reprimanded her for not listening. I could only see the entire transaction through sound proof glass, but that was my takeaway. And she was not just reprimanded once. At some point, the poor thing's feelings got hurt. And it went from hurt feelings to pouting to a full fledged fit to a wonderful preschool melt down in pretty short order. I mean, I'm talking less than 60 seconds. Then The Boot. She was ejected to Mommy. No bueno, guys.

I took her to a seculded area. She was sobbing. Obviously the first thing to do was to calm her down. I told her she needed to stop crying so we could talk about it. Easy for me to say, right? When the sobs subsided to momentary hiccups of grief, I asked her what had happened. "I - I - I - waaaaas - waaaaaasn't - l - l - l - list - en - en - en - n - n - ing!" she sobbed. That was the first admission I understood. So me, the ever cool parent in crisis, gently explained that Miss Kipper has 9 students in class, and if Edith does not listen, the other 8 cannot learn. And that's not being a good helper to Miss Kipper. "B - b - but she hurted m - my f - f - feelings!" she moaned, a little less distraught. And I stated that I understood that yes, it did hurt her feelings, but she was being disruptive, and it's not just about her in class. I knew she wanted to go back to class (and at $15 a class I did too!). We've never been kicked out of ballet, so I wasn't 100% certain that readmission was an option. I didn't read the fine print on the discipline rules. I was pretty sure it was, but not totally sure. So I suggested maybe Edith could apologize to Miss Kipper for not listening, and then ask if she could come back into class. But I was certain she had to stop crying first. So when she stopped crying, I gently guided her back into the studio.

Before one word was out, before two steps were taken, she was sobbing again. Inconsolably crying. I made an apologetic "OMG" smile to Miss Kipper and gently pulled Edith back out of the room and shut the door. This was not going well. Now we were the main attraction in the parent waiting area. I told Edith that she couldn't be crying when she apologized because Miss Kipper couldn't understand her. And I empathize - totally! I break out in tears in every situation - you name it - Happy, Sad, Angry, Hurt, Empathetic, Not Even Related To You And A Bug Died That Your Fourth Cousin Caught When He Was Nine - I have got tears. And I have to help Edith. So I tell her to try to take a deep breath. She just sobs louder. I'm at my wits end, and then it hits me.

"Edith," I say calmly, "I am not upset with you. I am not correcting you. I am not angry with you. I am trying to help you so that you can go back to class. You want to go back to class. So you have to stop crying. Sometimes, when I am upset and I need to stop crying, it helps me to take a deep breath." I wasn't sure how much of that sunk in, but over the course of a minute or two the sobbing subsided. I again told her she had to go in there and apologize for not listening, and ask Miss Kipper if she listened if she could come back to class. We practiced - I pretended I was Miss Kipper. I coached her that it had to be loud enough for Miss Kipper to hear. We practiced some more. I'm sure we were far more entertaining than the actual ballet class for our captive parental audience. But I was in tunnel mode - I didn't even see them, truth be told. We had $15 on the line here, folks.

Finally, I thought maybe we were ready. I put my hand on the door handle. And I looked at Edith and asked if she was ready. And that darling, she took four deliberate intense breaths. Just like I'd showed her. She had been listening! One breath. Two breaths. Three. And FOUR. "Okay, Mommy." I opened the door. It wasn't really audible. It wasn't completely with emotional control. But the apology was given, without sobbing, and she was welcomed back into class with open arms. And I was really, really, very proud of her.

This was a trivial event to most I'm sure. But what occurs to me is how Our Father corrects us - He corrects our behavior. I was not angry with Edith - I wasn't angry at all. I wasn't disappointed in her. But she thought I was - she thought everyone was. Nobody was. Not even Miss Kipper. She just had a class to teach. What I really was, in all truth, was invested. I wanted to help her. I wanted to help her grow, and show her some tricks I knew, and see her be successful. It was not the issues she identified - not listening and having her feelings hurt; it was the life skills she needs to learn - to admit when she is wrong and to ask for another chance. And to learn that it's really that simple most of the time. I wanted Miss Kipper to let her back into class, because I know Edith loves it. I wanted what Edith wanted. And I thought I knew how to help her get what she wanted, and I don't think she knew how on her own. And I was proud of her when she did it.

I've always kind of pictured God as full of reprimand, condemnation, and judgement. And it opened my eyes - this is so not the case. He is a Father, and He is with us, to guide us. To help us grow. To teach us a few tricks He's learned along the way. He's not mad at us. And He's not disappointed. In fact, He might just be proud....

So I will take a deep breath. One breath. Two breaths. Three. And FOUR.