It Worked

Reading a marvelous blog post on The Bell of the Wanderer last night, I immediately thought of Bunny.

When this beloved oldest grandchild of mine was three, she sometimes had trouble with tantrums. Anger would overtake her and cause all of the manifestations we can associate with that age: crying, kicking, screaming, flailing, stomping, hurling herself backwards onto the floor.

One day when something didn't suit Bunny, we endured a painful stretch of minutes filled with 'all of the above.'  Finally, (after exhausting what I thought of as my options) I leaned in close and said, softly, 'Sweetie, you don't have to do this.'

The answer was a definitive 'YES I DO!!!'  Bunny stuck out her lip and emphatically crossed her arms.

'But you know, you can stop whenever you want.' 

'No I CAN'T!!!' (shouted). 

'Then you can ask Jesus to help you.'  I waited.

Still angry, still crying, still stomping, Bunny yelled through clenched teeth:  'Jesus - HELP ME!!"

I was surprised.  I realized I hadn't expected her to do it.. not really.  It hit me that Bunny probably wanted help as much as I wanted her to have it.

I looked into that precious tear-streaked face and knew.  In spite of anger, in spite of her age and immaturity, this little one meant exactly what she was saying. 

It was only a few seconds before Bunny looked up at me and smiled.

Her words came in a whisper.

'It worked.'

© 2013 Nancy Shuman.  All Rights Reserved. thebreadboxletters.blogspot.com


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It does work.  Indeed it does.  And to read a grown up version of how beautifully, click here to visit 'Bell of the Wanderer,' and read 'I Met Him in a Foxhole.'  You'll be glad you took time to do so. 

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup Blitz

Bunny is Six

Bunny is six.  My oldest grandchild, born one and a half minutes ago (it seems to me), born so petite that she needed preemie clothes, is now a tooth-losing, word-spelling, bike riding, pony-loving, story-writing little lady of six.  And what a lady she's becoming.  A lover of tiaras, tutus, flowers, glitter, princesses, tea parties, and all things purple and pink.

More importantly, she's learning to mix honesty with kindness.  A spontaneous gift-opening-response of "oh, this isn't the doll I wanted" is followed by a swift "but thank you, GaGa - I like her hair!"

Most importantly, Bunny is learning to follow Jesus.  Seeing cartoon bullies in a movie recently, she assessed the situation by pronouncing gravely: "they don't know God."

I will admit, at this milestone in Bunny's life, to experiencing more than a trace of nostalgia.  She has a charming curly-haired brother and a sister whose smile lights up a room, and about each one I am utterly and hopelessly ... well, gaga.  But Bunny was the one who turned me into a grandma, and then gave me "my name" when "Grammy" proved too much for a tiny tot to say. 

I feel winds tickling the edges of our horizons.  School will be at home, at least for now, and Bunny's social life is still mostly family and church and ballet class and swim lessons....

But with that little puff of breath aimed at six birthday candles, I could swear the back of my neck felt, for just the briefest moment, a tiny prickle of change.

Bunny is six.

"When we learn to see life through the eyes of a child, that is when we become truly wise."  (Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta) 

(painting of La Fillette aux canard by Alfred Stevens, 1881)

I sorry

Some breadbox finds are uncovered at the moment I need them.  Like this one, written by me several years ago.  I rediscovered it just as I was realizing I’ve been much too complacent about gifts God has given me: 

    “A few days ago I was putting a bowl of soup on my two year old granddaughter's high chair tray and she (having decided that she wanted nothing to eat) yelled ‘NO!!’  She slammed the bowl off onto the floor.  Then I knelt and proceeded to silently clean up the mess as she sat there in silence.  It took me several trips up and down to get more towels.  I worked matter-of-factly.  She sat very, very STILL.  She tried giving a little giggle, and I did not respond or look up.  Then she said, very meekly, ‘I sorry.’  I stood up and kissed her swiftly on the forehead and said ‘I forgive you.’  She watched me very soberly as I got her down, and we went on about our evening as always and all was well. 

    I keep thinking of that very sweet ‘I sorry,’ and it touches my heart.”

As I read this, I can almost imagine my heavenly Father saying, when I come to Him in repentance:  “I forgive you.  I have heard your ‘I sorry.’  And it touches My Heart.”