Archives for May 2006

Years ago my cousin sent me a card that was from the “Deep Thoughts” series of skits on Saturday Night Live. It said:

“If you define cowardice as running, kicking and screaming at the first sign of danger, then yes, Mr. Brave Man, I am a coward.”

That cracked me up.

It came to mind as Paul and I were hauling an old pool cover from behind the garden shed where it had been abandoned by our home’s former owners. I leaped through the air, shrieking, at the sight of several small, gray creatures we soon identified as moles. Safely on a piece of cement I tried to calm down under Paul’s rolling eyes.

Between incoherent mumbling I offered my defense, “Look I know it is irrational but that is the nature of fear…they were wiggling and they startled me!”

Mr. Brave Man just shook his head.

“Wood you like me to tell you a stowey, my liddo spidah?”

Her little spider happens to be my left hand. She and it have long conversations and a really lovely relationship when it is not needed to hold up a book for me or some other such thing.

“Yes,” said her little spider.

“Once oh-pon a time dere were ten pwinsesses: Kin, Bin, Tin, Feed, Meed and Weed. And dey were having a lot of fun. AMEN!”

A moment of reverent silence for someone who CAN flit around a template and NOT turn it into mush: my friend Sherry.

(I would link to her blog – Portrait of the Artist – but she would have to do it for me.)

https://alisonhodgson.com/2006/05/974/

I turned to see the little girl flying through the air and land heavily on the upside down tower of a plastic dollhouse. It hurt to see. I grabbed her just as she started to cry.

“What happened?” I asked, petting and gently jiggling her.

“See pussed me!” was the answering wail.

I turned to see a phalanx of pre-school girls in pretty dresses. Scanning them, my eyes rested on the one in the center with her fists clenched at her side, a belligerent look on her little red face. She was dressed like a mini Catholic school girl: blue plaid skirt, a crisp white blouse, black cardigan, white knee socks, little black riding boots.

My heart sank; I ironed that crisp white blouse. The school girl was mine.

“See pussded me fust!” Was her fierce defense.

I pointed to the closest chair and she quietly sat, elbows resting on the table, her chin cupped in her hands. Still holding the offended I sat down beside the offender. The phalanx repositioned themselves around us.

“Did you push Eden, first?” I asked my weeping charge.

I had to repeat the question several times. Loud crying was the only response.

Eden sat, stony and silent.

Finally one of the watchers spoke, “She pushed her first.”

“Maddie pushed Eden first?”

My informant nodded.

“Did you push Eden?” I asked again.

The crying stopped. A slight nod was the only acknowledgement.

“Eden would you ask Maddie to forgive you for pushing her?”

“I sorry fo pussing you. Woodju fogive me?”

“Yess.”

“Now, Maddie, will you ask Eden to forgive you?”

“You fogive me?”

“I fogive you.”

They hugged and it was done.

I picture my daughter’s fierce little face, her arms rigid, fists clenched at her side, standing her ground, waiting for me to see her, to know her sin – defiant and yet scared too, wondering what I will do. I am glad I didn’t rush in, but waited and listened. I am glad I didn’t make it about me, but kept it about her and the other little girl. I am glad I encouraged her to lead with repentance although she was the first offended.

So many times I have stood, my own fists clenched crying out some variation on “See pussded me FUST!” to justify my own sin, and yet I know that repentance and forgiveness are the opening door to healing and freedom.

Sunday, while taking care of my girl, helping her navigate the entanglement of sin, listening and acknowledging her wound too, some door deep within me was opened, a pain I couldn’t even feel was released. My arms relaxed, my fists unclenched, my face softened and something was gone, done.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2006/05/975/

Carrying The Bean upstairs at church this morning she pointed at a patch of sunlight on the ground,

“Oh no! Duh Pah tih koes!” she shouted.

“What’s that?”

“Dus Pahtihkoes!”

And then I put it together: dust particles.

Christopher has been waging a one boy war against them the last couple of weeks since the return of the sun alerted him to their existence. I hadn’t realized that he had enlisted Eden in his army.

“We need dah kill dem.”

Isn’t that great? Crazy and violent – what every mother hopes for in her children.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2006/05/976/