Let them Love
There is no denying it. My little boy is in love with his music teacher.
We have to listen to all the songs from her class over and over (and over). We talk about her at the dinner table. We march around the room and sing at the top of our lungs. And we even do all the dance motions…just like she does.
It gets worse.
My other little man is head over heals for a pastor at our church. Every time we are in the building, which is a lot lately, we simply must stop by her office to visit. (I mean, the woman has a blow up frog on her desk. This love affair is legit. There is no stopping it.)
And while they don’t always say (or even really understand) the word, love, I see it in their eyes. I hear it in their voice when they speak the name of their beloved:
“This song is a Ms. Becky song, Mommy.”
“Mommy, we say Hi to Pastor Sherry today?”
And there’s more. These are not their only loves, as of late. My little boys, at two-and-a-half, are growing quite fond of a number of special people in their lives. An aunt (okay, all the aunts), certain close playmates, a friend’s mother, and don’t even get me started on their Daddy crush.
I watch as they beam, smiles encompassing their little faces, and look upon these special people who grace our lives. It’s almost as if, for a few brief moments, they don’t even need me.
I mean, can you even imagine?
Can you even imagine how in those moments, my heart feels…full. Peaceful. Hopeful.
Just full. My heart feels full when I see my children loving someone else.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’m ready for my children not to need me. (Despite the fact that my husband often finds me with one foot out the door by the time he gets home from work, temporarily and immediately ready for them not to need me for every. single. thing for every. single. moment of the day.) But I am comfortable in knowing that they do, in fact, need me. That they do, in fact, love me.
And I am comfortable enough to cherish the moments when I see them not needing just me in order to know love.
Even though they are just two, I am aware that there will come a day when I will not be able to be there for them every. single. minute. The thought of this both delights and terrifies me.
First, it was the blanket and puppy which snuggled them in their beds. Comfort. Warmth. Love. Even in the absence of my physical presence.
Soon, it will be the teacher who will guide them in the classroom. Inspiration. Boundaries. Love. Even in the absence of my physical presence.
Later, let it be the partner who will love them for all their days. Companionship. Intimacy. Love. Even in the absence of my physical presence.
Always, there has been the God who has chosen them for me and me for them. Grace. Mercy. Love. Even in the absence of His physical presence.
So I celebrate. I give thanks for those glimpses of their hearts filling. With me. Without me.
For isn’t that what we truly want for our children? To know love. When we are present and when we are not? To go out into the world (one day) away from us with hearts full and open and able to give and receive?
It is what I want for them, what I hope for them, above all else. And if it means that not every twinkle in their eye is for me only, so be it. I know the twinkle is there and will shine brighter if not smothered.
Please, Lord, let me never smother but always fan the flames. Let them Love.