you should be wilder.

 

Here we are again – arriving at a quiet park among the mild-mannered children dressed in pastels and their doting Wash Park mothers at their sides.  And then there’s us.  We make an entrance as the kids precariously perch themselves atop the metal merry-go-round (or whatever you choose to call it) and spin at break-neck speeds.  Right away, this is what they are drawn to – the most dangerous piece of equipment here.  (Kudos to that!)  Clearly this playground was built decades ago – you would never see such a thing in our world of safety and cushy childhoods.  It would be instantly deemed unsafe by a multitude of overprotective parents.  But this old park, filled with even older trees, has a character all its own.  We like to call it fun.

Strict boundaries and snobby HDFS classes don’t carry much weight in this space.  The instincts that come with early childhood training would not allow for risk, and I wouldn’t in a school setting, but this is home and the kids deserve freedom.  “We” consists of three rough-and-tumble boys and an eight year old little girl.  If they get hurt, they won’t do it again.  They are resilient.  I’m all about controlled chaos, and they’re all about rambunctious behavior.  We are a wild bunch.    

We know how to have fun.  We play hard.  What starts out as a game of catch between CarGo and I manages, without fail, to transform into a game of baby baseball with all of the neighborhood kids.  “We” quickly goes from four to ten in a matter of minutes.  “You’re welcome for watching your kids for you…”  But really, I don’t mind.  I’ll take it as a compliment.  We have an energy that the rest are drawn to. 

We head home only to initiate another favorite pastime.  The kids hurry to the alley for the best part of the day – racing around at top speed on their bicycles as the dog darts closely after, and I stand at the sidelines acting as cheerleader.  (I knew those years in poms would come in handy somewhere!)

And so continues our “Summer Part Two.”

It’s so fun to come back, instead of chasing after the babies to make sure they don’t die on my watch, to step back and let boys be boys.  They are no longer aggressive and traumatized, now they are simply wrestling as play.  Now the baby is speaking clear and understandable phrases and is learning the concept of “gentle.”  I don’t need to worry.  I can take a step back and breathe this time.  I trust them all more now and the boundaries expand. 

We run and run and run in the heat of the day.  All so very lively!  And then they sleep.  The harder we play the longer they rest.  It takes a lot of work to separately wear out four small children, and I think I’m more exhausted than they are.  They go down easy.  Then come the guaranteed two hours of silence.

I could tell you all about Bowlby’s Attachment Theory or Piaget’s Stages of Cognitive Development, but the only thing I’m banking on with them is love.  It’s the only thing that still counts and it’s what makes every second an investment.  It’s a privilege to have a front row seat in seeing the fruits of Christ’s love unfold in them in the ways that they have healed and changed since I saw them last. 

I used to be lucky to even get a hug from the littlest one.  I would praise God every single time he felt strong enough to trust.  The baby who used to have the most terrible attachment problems already on the first day says “Bye, Caitie.  I love you,” in his cutest little babble.

Oh, my heart.  They are so precious to me.

It’s nice not getting kicked in the face while changing the diaper of this beyond-fussy baby.  It’s nice not having to break up fist fights every other second.  It’s nice not to be in a constant state of heart attack when one of the babies toddled a little too close to the edge of the staircase.  In its place, I now get to sit and let the big two read the words of story books to me while I help them sound out the harder ones.  Or help dress the little two in their favorite duck costumes and laugh as they waddle around the house. 

I’m finally seeing the seeds of growth and healing that I prayed over them every single day, while pushing the double stroller with an extra kid hanging onto each arm, on our way to this very same old park.  It was my Sun Stand Still prayer and God is faithful!  So much has changed in a year!  This feels so good!

 

I’m not saying everything’s perfect.  Some things will take years to work through.  Injustice isn’t easy to fight.  And so we fight harder.  If I wasn’t here to fight, I would be wasting my time.

I’m still praying for miracles.

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