It's a rare morning in summer. Rare because there is a breeze, and the sun isn't broiling my skin (yet). My husband is mowing the yard, and I am spending time with the kids on the driveway, pulling them in the wagon, helping the littlest play on her brother's ride-on firetruck. Because my daughter is occupying her brother's toy, I decide to pull out his tricycle so he will have something to ride on as well.
There's a history with this tricycle. It's still shiny and almost new, with a minimal layer of dust and only a tiny bit of rust. That's because since we gave it to our son at Christmas two years ago he has ridden on it a grand total of, say, 5, maybe 6 times. The art of pedaling has up to this point eluded him, and he doesn't seem interested enough in riding it to apply himself to learning how to do it. My husband and I have the base line opinion of: It's okay. Riding toys just aren't his thing. He would rather run anyway. All of those things are true. But what is also true is that it bugs me, A LOT, that my son still doesn't, still won't ride the tricycle. So every now and then I get the brilliant idea to drag the thing out of the garage, plunk his butt in it, and give him a lesson in how to ride a tricycle. It usually ends in frustration and tears. This morning was no different.
In the moment, when he was sitting there, grasping the handle bars, whining, protesting and crying, I told myself the problem was with him. That he just needed to suck it up and try harder. Tears don't get you anywhere, I said. He whined some more. I got angrier. By some miracle he finally managed to ride a few more feet and I decided that was enough for today. He hadn't learned anything about riding a tricycle, but he had learned plenty about his mother.
On the one hand, my son certainly needs to learn to keep trying something, even when it is hard, especially when it is hard. He needs to know that there is value just in the trying, whether he succeeds or not. And he definitely needs to experience the pleasure that comes with overcoming a difficulty, solving a problem, learning a task.
But those weren't the lessons I was teaching him this morning. By acting harshly and speaking angrily, I was teaching him that success is all that matters. I was teaching that lesson at the cost of his tears, of his joy, of his desire to try something new. He will probably never ride that tricycle, unless I tell him to, because every association he has with it is bad. But the tricycle isn't really the point at all. The point, the problem, really, is that I am so caught up with my own frustration, my own desire for him to do this one thing, that I completely lose sight of the fact that he's a little boy who needs encouragement, and patience, and love. He needs to see me smiling, helping, motivating, not scowling and belittling.
I kind of hate that tricycle, because it seems like such a lighting rod for some of the worst acts of motherhood that I commit. A big part of me would like to throw it in the trash can and be done with it. But that wouldn't teach my son to persevere. And it definitely wouldn't get rid of the real problems, which are my own pride and selfishness, my unkindness and anger. If only it were so easy as throwing them in the trash can and being done with them.
This is a moment when I have to preach the gospel to myself again, and hope that next time I will remember it first, and respond with grace to my son. I need to remind myself that Jesus died because of my pride, selfishness, unkindness, and anger, so that I can be free of them. No single effort on my part can effectively kill those ugly sins that spring so easily from my heart. But Jesus is my Savior and so again today, I know that He has saved me from those things. And He will continue to save me from those sins, because I am His.
After I told my son he could stop riding the tricycle I hugged him. I told him I loved him. And I apologized to him. I wish I could undo all the unkindness that came before, but by God's grace I was able to make it right after the fact. Maybe next time I will remember to skip all the ugly and go straight to grace.
-Ashley
