Is this a fresh start?

Dear Hildegaard

Photo by Nick Sarro on Unsplash

Dear Hildegaard,

So much has happened in your life these past few weeks. While you have maintained your joy and wonder, I can see you reeling from time to time, melting down from the change of it all. Change doesn’t have to be negative to produce hard emotions. Charge is, in itself, a hard thing. Even if the change is for the better. 

I remember reading a list once of all the life events that can cause a trauma-response in people. I wasn’t surprised to see things like divorce or the death of a loved one listed, but I was surprised to see things like moving. It’s not that moving isn’t a ton of stress, but it never struck me as traumatic. And yet…

Losing even one, small part of our routine is still a loss. And for you, routine is a main source of comfort. This is true for all toddlers. It is the foundation that frees you to play, sing, and love with reckless abandon. You have not lost a family member or a home, but have gained a baby brother. This is something you wanted. A good, beautiful - even miraculous - thing. And yet, it has meant loss. 

When I am nursing Richard, you can’t play as wildly on the couch as you once did. You don’t get to sit on my lap whenever you want to now. We missed your last two tumbling classes because I was in labor, then in the hospital again with your brother. When you say: You be this dinosaur, thrusting a hard toy my way, sometimes I am able to play with one hand, while other times I have to say: I would love to, when I am done feeding your brother. Change. Loss. The ground, shaking a bit beneath your feet. 

It has all meant some of the sweetest moments of my life - watching you pet your brother’s soft baby hair - or say with concern: Mom, I think baby Richard needs a hug! But it has also meant more meltdowns, complicated conversations, and lots of hard bedtimes. Your patience is still just a concept - a hope - and mine is chipped and worn from lack of sleep. Which brings me to a phrase I have started using: fresh starts. 

I began using this phrase a few months ago. For me, it means the ability to dust off my sins after repentance and get back up on my feet. It means I don’t have to wait until tomorrow to change. A grumpy morning doesn’t have to mean a grumpy day. A careless word doesn’t have to mean a snowball fight of more careless words. Just because you threw your lunch on the floor in anger and had to go to the corner doesn’t mean you will spend the rest of the day in the corner. Doesn’t mean that we are mad at you. You can have a fresh start. 

Recently, after discussing a hard bedtime the night before, you said something that made me stop, mid-dish, with soap suds dripping down my arms. You said:

I know I was naughty before, but there are fresh starts.

You have not only been listening, you have been hearing and understanding. And while you have sometimes tried to use the phrase to get out of consequences (because: duh, you’re smart) I know you understand what it means. The problem is, I’m not sure I always do. 

Are there really fresh starts? I want all the grace in the world – all the mercy God can give me – but when it comes to others, I just want them to do the right thing the first time. Or at least the second. Fresh starts are easy to receive, but difficult to hand out.

Even as a parent, it can be hard for me to breathe past one of your (totally normal and developmentally expected) meltdowns and go back to playing dinosaurs with you, as though I am not emotionally drained and physically exhausted. And when it comes to the adults in my life, sometimes, I want to hold onto an offense longer than fresh starts allow. I know that what I am teaching you is not just for toddlers. It’s for me, too.

And so it was that when the new FatCat book (Who Is Our King?) arrived in the mail last week and we sat down to read it, you noticed something on Jesus’ hands. What is that? you asked, pointing to the nails. I paused. How do you share the gospel with a two year old? How could I explain the reason Jesus allowed someone to hammer metal through his wrists? It all felt too gory, too heavy, for someone so young. 

Finally, I said:

Jesus died…so that we could have fresh starts.

And your face lit up.