Another Thought Provoking Read

I borrowed a book from my friend Laurie, that has been quite an interesting read.  It's called, When Your Child is 6 to 12 by John M. Drescher.

I have to admit, this parenting thing can be quite daunting, anyone else agree?  When we were in Fresno, there was a campaign called First Five, which stressed the importance of the first five years of your child's life.  I don't know why, but panic set in as in my head it screamed, "You have only five years to impress on your kids! Don't waste time, hurry, hurry before they are lost forever!".  Okay, maybe it was a little less dramatic than that....

So when Laurie loaned me this book, it was like a sigh of relief, "Whew, I've got a few more years than I previously thought!".  I need to relax, I know.

It was a good read in the fact that it talked about creating connections with your child at this age, the things they need and crave, and things that we as parents are so prone to doing.  It really spoke to me.  I would highly recommend it.  It's definitely given me much to think about, but also in talking with Laurie and other parents, remembering that it totally takes a village to raise a child. Not only  many hands, but often we as parents need a word of advice, encouragement and insight.  That's what I gained from this read.

This section of the book I want to share with you.  It's actually from another book that John wrote, Seven Things That children Need.  This was a life giving section of the book. 

Read and be inspired.

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[John says] some years ago I found these parables.
I took a little child's hand in mine.  The child and I were to walk together for a while.  I was to lead the child to the Father.  It was a task that overcame me, so awful was the responsibility.  I talked to the little child only of the Father.  I painted the sternness of the Father's face, were the child to displease Him.  We walked under tall trees.  I said the Father had power to send them crashing down, struck by His thunderbolt.  We walked in the sunshine.  I told the child of the greatness of the Father who made the burning, blazing, sun.

And one twilight we met the Father.  The child hid behind me; the child was afraid; the child would not look up at the loving face.  The child remembered my picture and would not put a hand in the Father's hand.  I was between the child and the Father.  I wondered.  I had been so conscientious, so serious.

**

I took the little child's hand in mine.  I was to lead the child to the Father.  I felt burdened by the multitude of things I was to teach.  We did not ramble.  We hastened on from spot to spot.  At one moment we compared the leaves of the trees; in the next we examined a bird's nest.  While the child was questioning me about it, I hurried the child away to chase a butterfly.  If the child happened to fall asleep, I wakened the child lest my little one should miss something I wished my child to see.  We spoke of the Father often and rapidly.  I poured into the child's ears all the stories the child ought to know.  But we were interrupted often by the wind blowing, of which we must speak; by the coming out of the stars, which we must need study; by the gurgling brook, which we must trace its source.

And then in the twilight we met the Father.  The child merely glanced at Him.  The Father stretched out His hand, but the child was not interested enough to take it.  Feverish spots burned on the child's cheeks.  Dropping exhausted to the ground, the child fell asleep.  Again, I was between the child and the Father.  I wondered.  I had taught my child so many things.

**

I took a little child's hand in mine to lead the child to the Father.  My heart was full of gratitude for the glad privilege.  We walked slowly.  I suited my steps to the short steps of the child.  We spoke of things the child noticed.

Sometimes we picked the Father's flowers, stroked their soft petals and loved their bright colours.  Often we told stories of the Father.  I told them to the child, and the child told them to me.  We told them, the child and I, over and over again.  Sometimes we stopped to rest, leaning against the Father's trees, letting His air cool our brows and never speaking.

And then in the twilight we met the Father.  The child's eyes shone.  The child looked up lovingly, trustingly, eagerly, into the Father's face, and the child put a hand into the Father's hand.  I was, for the moment, forgotten.  I was content.