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Tea Time Tuesday: Not too long ago, while in Oxford, I found myself piled high with deadlines and commitments. Moving out of our flat meant details of packing, cleaning, organizing—and throwing our stuff into a “borrowed” apartment that dear friends had offered us for a temporary place. I needed to go to Sarah’s to spend more time with her and the new baby Elanor. I had publishing deadlines and my Bible study of women there.
But, the Lord nudged my heart—you need to make space for Joel. You never know when you will have time with him in Oxford again. And so, I texted him and said, “I have a small place in my day where I would love to see you. Can you get free?”
We met at a lovely coffee shop and chose a table by the window that looked out on an old church where we had been many times. Fairy lights covered the window (I love fairy lights). For an hour we had one of those precious moments in time where you share stories, thoughts, friendship and it all clicks and sparkles and makes sweet memories. The lives of students passed by in a constant stream while we chatted. Then, as we were leaving, we decided to walk back by Christ Church Meadow, one of our favorite walking places. With a slight rain tapping on our heads, we strolled along the stream and marveled at all the golden leaves.
I may not remember the messes I didn’t get to sort or organize that busy day while I was with him. But I will never forget these golden memories I made with my oldest son one afternoon in Oxford. Our friendship was even further validated and cherished. Choosing to make time for our precious ones amidst the “busy” of life is worth pure gold.
But, I have observed, miraculously, that I am still the chosen confidante, the chosen secret bearer, the mentor of my precious children. When you have a discipling-mentorship perspective in life, there is always a moment when wisdom, encouragement, truth needs to be passed on, when messages are needed in hearts weary from living in a taxing world. But I consider it a real privilege to still be a mentor in my adult children’s lives as all of them have big decisions, big arenas with great consequences.
Yet, our “closeness” and my right to be a voice in their minds came about by being intentionally available, present, personally responsive to them when they were little. The right to speak into our children’s lives comes over years of being available.
I learned it from Jesus, who spent 3 years to win the hearts of his own disciples.
I remember a time when this was especially brought home to me some years ago.
Half past ten in the evening found me downstairs, dragging my weary body on a tour of my four children's bedrooms to say good night. I had been up since four that morning, and all I could think of was my own bed and how I longed for sleep. Nathan's room was my last stop, and I hoped for a quick good-night so I could finally be through with this stress-filled day.
It was the Christmas season in a new home. All four of my children were lonely, missing the familiarity of friends and the flurry of activity that normally comes with the Christmas bustle. But thirteen-year-old Nathan, in his extroverted, adolescent-hormone-filled body, had been hit the hardest. Though he has a heart of gold and was trying hard to use self-control, he had a puppy-dog look in his blue eyes that begged for attention. To be honest, I didn't think I had it in me. I felt drained and wrung out just trying to keep all four children happy and cared for in their restless need for more than I had to give.
I sat on Nathan's bed, prayed a quick good-night prayer, said a hasty “see you in the morning, honey,” and bolted for the door in hopes of making a quick retreat to my room. After all, I had fulfilled my obligation as a good mom to “tuck in” all of my children.
Then Nathan's pleading voice quietly taunted me. “Don’t you even have a few minutes that we can talk?” I mustered my own self-control, sat back down on his bed, and tried hard not to show my desire to leave as quickly as possible. “What do you want to talk about?” I queried. “Oh, nothing. I just wanted someone to be with.” “How about I scratch your back?” He turned over on his bed, and I slowly began to “soft tickle” his back, a phrase coined by our family when Sarah was a little girl. As I began this labor of love, questions, thoughts, ideas, and dreams started pouring out of Nathan's mouth. The longer I scratched his freckled back, the more he seemed to relax.
“I hope someone will ask me to do a magic show at a birthday party soon, Mom. Do you think anyone will see the fliers I put up? What are we going to do tomorrow? Do you think we can have an open house for all the neighbors on Sunday? When do you think we can take a trip back to Colorado? Mom, don’t you think Kelsey is a good dog? She doesn't mean to be so wild; she's just a puppy. Sort of like me, I guess. What do you think we should get Joel for Christmas? Do you really think I'm a good writer?”
One thought spilled into another as the minutes ticked away. And I could feel my irritation gradually draining away too. I couldn't help thinking how blessed I was to have a teenage child who wanted to share the company of his frumpy mother.
When the spilling out of Nathan's heart seemed to be slowing down, I did one final flurry of scratching his back and then pulled down his T-shirt to close this time of sweet fellowship, which would be in my memory forever.
“Thanks for taking the time, Mom,” Nathan said as he gently reached up to kiss my cheek. “It meant a lot to me.”
It's hard for all of us—especially in the hurry and flurry of the Christmas season—to take time to stop and listen to our children. But I've realized that's the most important thing of all. If I want my children to be open to hearing the messages I have for them, I must listen to the ones they have for me. How can you take time to listen to the hearts of the precious ones in your own walls this Advent season?
