Do you ever stop and ask yourself, “Is anyone even listening to me?”
Please tell me you do.
As a teacher and as a mom, I ask myself this question at least once a day.
It usually involves a situation like this:
“Hey, Bud, didn’t I just ask you to sit down?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then why are you still wandering around my room?”
Or a little something like this:
“Didn’t I just tell you to get off your brother?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then why are you sitting on his head?”
In times like these, I wonder if I’ve lapsed into Chinese without knowing it. Or maybe Spanish. Or maybe the words got stuck inside my head and never even made it out of my mouth to begin with. Maybe I just imagined speaking out loud because surely, surely, my sweet students and children wouldn’t disregard my directions so completely.
I often get so frustrated, I want to throw in the towel and stop asking anyone to do anything. What’s the point if everyone is just going to ignore me, right?
Wrong.
A few years ago, a friend shared her family’s tradition of praying in the car on the way to school. She made it seem like a treasured, idyllic way to start the day. It made good sense to me since everybody would be fresh and (trapped) in one place, so I thought we’d give it a try. I pictured us like the von Trapps, matching clothes and smiling faces, enjoying a special time of bonding and togetherness.
It was not.
Jackson, my people-pleasing first born, was more than happy to join in the prayers, but Reeves? Reeves was not interested in the least. In fact, instead of praying, he barked.
Like a dog.
The entire time.
Needless to say, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind. I felt like an epic failure. I mean, seriously, what kind of mom can’t get her five year old to pray? My only consolation to this disheartening turn of events was that if God could understand the Holy Spirit’s groans in Romans 8:26, maybe He could understand Reeves’ barks too.
His barking continued for a few days, until finally, at my wits end, I told Reeves he didn’t have to pray, but he did have to be respectfully quiet.
That helped–a little. Instead of barking, Reeves switched to a low growl for a few days, and after that, he just sat in silence, staring out the window while Jackson and I said our prayers. I honestly didn’t even think he was listening to us.
So imagine my surprise one morning a few months later when we were almost to school, and I heard Reeves say, “Mom, we need to pray.”
I was so shocked, I almost ran off the road. The child who I thought wasn’t paying me any attention had actually been internalizing everything we were doing . . . and he wanted to keep doing it. I was blown away.
These days, if we make it to the baseball field without praying, Reeves is the one who reminds us we need to get started since we’re almost to school. His prayers are simple and heartfelt, and in those moments, I’m thankful I didn’t throw in the towel. In those moments, I’m reminded of 2 Chronicles 15:7, when the Spirit of God tells Asa: But as for you, be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded.
That’s the tricky thing about parenting . . . and teaching . . . and living life in general, really—we never know what people are listening to, what they’re picking up on, what words are making their way from the ears to the heart.
So let this be a word of encouragement for you today. Keep on keepin’ on, friend. Keep saying those prayers, keep speaking those truths, keep sowing those seeds. After all, we never know what will end up taking root and changing someone’s heart.
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