Often a photograph will pop up on my phone, showing me a memory. Sometimes I must put on my glasses and examine the picture to recall where, when, and with whom I was doing what. Other times, I can see the outline and know the exact moment. Today, the picture delivered to my phone transported me beyond memory and straight to the moment that occurred almost 10 years ago with my daughter.
My daughter is a spunky fusion between me, her dad, and herself. She has a dollop of my spiritual, creative side, a heaping of her dad’s resolute, organized side, and a double scoop of her own empathetic and funny side. All that combined has created one heck of a flavorful personality — one heck of a young woman. When the picture was taken, she was almost 10 years old. Little did I know that a decade later, I would still be able to hear her laughter captured from the exact moment the photograph was taken.
When I still had some control over my daughter’s wardrobe, I often dressed her in outfits that resembled more of a flower child than a suburban child. This was the case the day the picture was taken at Academy. Earlier that morning, she and I had fun putting flower “tattoos” on one another (stickers) and drawing smiley faces on our wrists. We carried our playful mood into the afternoon when we happened upon an aisle of seasonal toys at Academy: beach buckets, ring toss, bubbles, and hula hoops. I double dared her to hula hoop with me in the aisle. Her response was… well, so her.
“That one,” she said. “I want that one.” She pointed to a pink hula hoop. Within moments, she and I were doing our best to see who could hula hoop the longest. Neither of us lasted long, but the memory and the sound of her laughter stayed with me. I wonder if she remembers that moment. Does she recall the sound of our laughter? Does she remember me putting up the hula hoops, scooping her into my arms, and telling her over and over, eye-to-eye, how much I loved her as I tickled her face with kisses?
Parent-to-child relationships are a mix of soul-filling joy and gut-wrenching heartache. When children are young, there are moments when all you want is a break from their constant need for attention – just to take a bath in peace. Then come the teen years when you feel you may have a breakdown if they are out past their curfew and have not called. Soon to follow is a surreal timeframe when you realize you’ve taken the last picture of your child when they lived under your roof. The pictures that follow will be when they come to visit.
Visit — what a crazy word to pair with parenting. When you become a parent, there is no such thing as visiting hours… you are a parent 24/7. You are available to your children, despite the hour or circumstance. Even when inconvenient, you know you would make the same choice, again and again, to be available if you knew your child needed you… no matter their age.
And yet, as our children age, so do we. We stay behind, watching the natural progression of our children move on and out, making their own lives, taking aspects of us with them in their personalities and hearts. Apart from us, in their dealings and doings, they may respond with a learned reaction, thinking that is just what Mom would say, or Dad would have handled that the same way. They may even tell their friends, spouse, and children about the time when (fill in the blank). So many memories. We hope our children remember the best times we shared and tuck them nearby like love notes to revisit when life has them feeling a bit down.
Time changes the appearances of both parents and children, but it does not alter the size or condition of a parent’s love. I love my children as much today as I have every day of their entire lives, and I know I will say the same for the rest of my life. As a Christian parent, I also know I’m not the one who loved my children first. God began to love on them long before I even knew of their existence. And I hope with every breath in me that I have given them a stable and faith-filled foundation (despite my faults and failures) that inspires them to discover and take root in Christ. I pray they realize Christ is the most important and personal relationship of their lives — the lives they live today and for eternity.
Even when we give our children a firm foundation, there are parts in almost every parent’s timeline of heartache. This may look like watching a child suffer from an addiction or illness. Perhaps it is seeing the collateral damage of divorce or the death of a loved one and how it affects one or all of our children. It could also be a wedge of differing opinions, philosophies, toxic associations, or a web of manipulation and half-truths that creates a distance you could never have imagined. Ever.
Yet, this unimaginable separation and heartache is not only possible but a reality for many moms and dads. Some parents are currently suffering the loss of closeness and understanding with a child — missing their hugs or the conversations that end with “I love you” — or conversations at all.
There is a delicate process in giving adult children space while also creating boundaries that do not leave us open like a wound. We are left to trust that in the pockets of our child’s pain, no matter how deep, they have tucked our love with them. And whether our children admit it or not, they know that we are here to receive them, to scoop them up in our arms, and tell them over and over, eye-to-eye, how much we love them, replacing their tears and fears with kisses.
“‘But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him’” (Luke 15:20).
Until such time, parents continue to pray and wait upon the Lord, trusting the One who loved first will show them the way, the truth, and the life. After all, our children belong to Christ more than us. And perhaps one day, they will come home… even if but for a brief visit. They will return knowing they belong, are welcome, and are deeply and forever loved.
Tiffany Kaye Chartier
SGLY, dear reader.
(Smile, God Loves You.)
Tiffany Kaye Chartier, Author 