Dear Hildegaard

Sinning boldly and counting to four

Dear Hildegaard,

Just when I was starting to feel like a good mom - even a great mom - you slapped me across the face in front of the entire church congregation. So hard that my glasses flew off. 

I don’t bring this up to shame you. Not at all. You are quite developmentally normal for a two-year old. And, I’m pretty sure that by the time you are old enough to read this, it will make you giggle to picture the scene. I think maybe God is trying to keep me humble. Maybe you are trying to keep me humble, too. And my humiliation over the incident probably reveals – no, definitely reveals – that I care too much about what others think.

When you’re a pastor’s wife, people watch you. I know because I was a pastor’s kid before I was a pastor’s wife. I have always been watched. I have always been scrutinized. This has often included heaps of patience and love, but it has also included criticism and the feeling that I cannot fail. At least, not like others do. And, goodness, not publicly! I know my parents and siblings have felt similarly, and sometimes, it has provided motivation to seek goodness, kindness, and self-control. Other times, it pushes us to merely hide our faults. Or to live in such a way as to please others, rather than aiming to please God, who sees deeply into our hearts.

Before you were born, your Dad and I discussed, at length, what it would be like to raise a “pastor’s kid” (PKs are what they called us back in my day). We talked about how we never wanted to make you feel like you had to perform, or that the Church was your final judge. We didn’t want to burden and embitter you against the faith, but rather present it as the marvelous gift that it is, and the Church as your home. We wanted you to feel free to be that fearfully and wonderfully made girl you were predestined to be, not as a prop or a pedestal, but as a child of God. We asked each other, and the Holy Spirit, how to accomplish this.

And we are still asking. I see how God has answered our prayers when you run up onto the stage at church during worship practice, twirling and singing along with the band, exclaiming, “yay!” at the end of each song. You remind those faithful, but likely tired, servants of Christ that what they are doing matters. I see it when you give each of our college students an air kiss after Bible study. I see it when you run in Miss Ellen’s arms. And I see it when you try out the drum set after church.

I see you living in freedom - even the freedom to make mistakes in front of everyone - while I still struggle. I am supposed to model this freedom for you, but you are instead modeling it for me. Martin Luther once said, “Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly.” When you had a meltdown during communion and slapped me across the face, you were sinning boldly. You later repented thoroughly, but in private, where no one else could see your precious heart. I wished everyone who saw you slap me could have heard you say, “I so sorry, Mama, I so sorry,” and seen the way you took my hand and cradled your own cheek with it. You are the most precious soul, Hildegaard. Fiery, but loving. Intense, but sincere. 

We are working on teaching you how to handle your emotions, including anger. We are working on helping you name your feelings: anger, sadness, joy, fear, without hurting yourself or others. This morning we sang with Daniel Tiger, “When you feel so mad, so mad you could roar, take a deep breath, and count to four!” and you preferred the roaring part to the counting part, but we will get there. And it doesn’t matter so much what others see and think. With patience, and the help of the Holy Spirit, we will all grow and better reflect the Imago Dei, and God’s forgiveness for His children always runs with the fierceness of a river after snow melts.

Know that you are also teaching me, on our good days and even on our hard days, beloved. And I thank God for you.