Her love for stuffed animals and all things fluffy continues to run deep.
I have a little side project I’ve been working on for the past seven years. It’s a compilation of “lessons” on marriage and motherhood to give Emma when she’s grown. If you happen to know her, maybe don’t mention it — but I realize that by posting this to the world wide web, I’m potentially giving a major spoiler.
But anyway, one side benefit to this project is that I occasionally scroll back to see what I’ve been inspired to tell Emma over the years. Thought I’d share this one from way back in the “vault”…
Lesson #8: Believe in What Matters
November 11, 2014
My dearest Emma,
There was a moment this week that was kind of a big deal for you. I knew it was coming, and I think your daddy did too—only he’s been in denial about it for quite some time.
It all started with what has become a pretty standard bedtime routine lately. You were up on your loft bed, which was piled high with way too many fluffy blankets and an oversized army of stuffed animals. In your best “get out of bed free” move, you claimed absolute fear of going to bed and asked if you could come sleep with us. Per usual, I reminded you that there was nothing to be scared of, and that no, you needed to stay in your own bed. And also per usual, you reiterated your fears of all the things that could go wrong if you stayed in your bed.
“Emma,” I said, “You have nothing to fear. God is right here with you, and you need to put your trust in Him.”
Then you asked the question that all of us have asked at least a time or two.
“But how do we know He’s real?”
Oh Emma. If there is one lesson that I hope you always remember, I hope it is what I shared with you that night. As I told you then, and I’ll tell you now, you will discover many things over the years are not real. God is not one of those things. He’s has proven His presence in my life—over and over and over again. I pray and trust He’ll do the same for you.
Well, of course, that set off the next line of questioning. “Mommy, is Santa real?”
Oy. Wanting to be honest with you, but also mindful of the fact that your father (wrongfully) suspects I’ve been trying to sway you to grow past this belief, I answered your question with a question. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think he is,” you stated matter-of-factly. And then after a pause, “Where do all the presents come from?”
Again, I took the elusive, least-incriminating approach. “What do you think?”
“I think you and daddy put them out.”
“Hmm…Well, I’d say you’re a pretty smart girl,” I said.
Putting two and two together…. “Wait a second. What about the cookies?”
Laughing, I answered, “They’re always very good.” You giggled along.
“Are you upset Emma?” I asked, concerned that your world would be crushed. “We never intended to hurt you. It’s just a fun game of pretend we’ve enjoyed playing.”
Without hesitation, you assured me you weren’t bothered. “I like it too,” you said.
So I shifted into defense mode, “I better go get your dad for this.” I sprinted downstairs to get your daddy, but didn’t tell him exactly what was up. I wanted him to hear directly from you, to experience your discovery himself. It was the marital equivalent of waiting until my lawyer was in the room.
“Daddy,” I told him upon returning to your bedside, “Emma seems to have decided there’s no Santa.”
Immediately, I saw the panic flash through his eyes. After his cross-examination about whatever in the world would make you think that way, he threw out his last ditch defensive move — stalling. “Well, you don’t have to decide tonight. Why don’t you take some time to think about this?”
Always the pleaser, you agreed to do so. He left the room dejected.
When I finally went downstairs, I found a very distraught version of daddy in the fan cave. “You put her up to this, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“But you’ve wanted her to stop believing for a while now.”
“No I haven’t.”
(And so on and so forth.)
Finally, in exasperation I said, “Robert, Emma is completely fine with this. You’re the one who’s having trouble with her not believing.”
With as much fear as I’ve ever seen in his eyes, he turned to me. “It’s just all happening too fast! I’m not ready for this. I don’t want her to lose her innocence. There are 12 YEAR OLDS having BABIES!!!”
In a rare moment of restraint, I knew better than to laugh. In his mind, the clock of your childhood was ticking away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
And you know what … I get it.
A couple of nights later, you and I went on a little trip to the mall. Earlier that day, you’d cracked open your piggy bank to discover you’d built up a whopping $49.26. In spite of my advice to use it to buy something “really nice,” you elected to blow your wealth on more stuffed animals and another fluffy blanket. (At least this one had a glow-in-the dark panda head to set it apart.)
Walking out to the parking lot, you were holding my hand tightly and babbling on and on about how excited you were to show your new stash of fluffiness to daddy. While I tried to listen, my mind was wandering back to the fear I’d seen in his eyes.
And you know what? If he were there in the parking lot, he’d have seen the same look in mine. I wondered… How much longer do I have to hold your hand? How much longer do I have to take you on stuffed animal runs? How much longer will you beg me to spend time with you?
The clock is ticking, and I can’t do a single darn thing to stop it.
It was a sobering moment, and a moment of clarity.
And so with however long I have your attention, I want to teach you how to believe in what’s real. Our love for you is real. Our faith in you is real. Our belief that you will change the world is real.
And no matter what else may lose your faith, don’t ever doubt this for a moment… Our God is absolutely, undeniably real. He will reveal that truth to you, whenever you truly seek Him. What’s more, He wants to walk this life with you, your hand held tightly within His.
That, my dear Emma, is something you can always believe in.