The
soft sound of little feet thumping on the sandy beach is pleasing to my ears.
The laughter. . . the excitement. The sun is just starting to set but we made
it here in time and they are SO excited! They are running now, yards in front
of us. I can hear their squeals of delight as their loud voices call out. . .
“over here! I’ve found one!” and
“AW! It got away!” “There’s another one!”
He
squeezes my hand and we exchange a playful glance as we watch our 2 year old
try to catch up. Little legs toddling, long hair flying all wild and yelling at
the top of his lungs, “I got one too!
I got one too!” We are on a
hunt for tadpoles tonight. The
kids have done their research, they’ve set up a tadpole habitat or hatibat as
Levi calls it in a big glass fish bowl at home. They’ve figured out how to prepare lettuce for it and how to
catch bugs for it and they have collectively agreed that they will name it
“Sam”. This is the last step
in bringing their “new pet” home – finding him.
We
hunt around the edges of the pond trying to find and catch a tadpole and the
kids are suddenly silent while in their serious searching mode. The noise level rises with excitement
as Abby spies one and we are able to scoop him up in our little jar. Then we just stand there admiring this
tiny little wiggly being. “We
found him just in time huh Mom?” I
nod and smile at Hudson as he motions to the setting sun and the ushering in of
the twilight hours. I can see my
husband hunkered down on the beach showing our 2 year old something that he
finds absolutely fascinating and I see the resemblance in them as they both
crouch down on that beach together and point to that still, quiet water in
admiration. I remember going to the swamp with my granddad and I remember
collecting tadpoles and bringing them home, raising them into little frogs and
then returning to the swamp to set them free. I mostly remember how special I felt that he wanted to share his special place and his time with me. Today we are not at the same swamp, in fact not even the same country but
somehow this tadpole excursion has taken me across the span of time and ocean
to a time and season when I was 4 or 5 and my granddad took me out in the
spring for those long nature walks. I remember walking home with the water sloshing over the sides and that's just how my heart felt too. . . all filled up and sloshing over with love for the special time spent- just my grandpa and me. The bucket was filled with water and tadpoles but my heart was filled with joy. Somehow the time he gave me put a knowledge in my heart of how valuable I was to him and has spoken to me years later of my intrinsic worth.
Abby must have seen them too and she
looks out in front of us and notices the ripples in the water. There are little minnows jumping at the
twilight bugs that have begun to move over the water and with each and every
jump there is a ripple that begins tiny and radiates out beyond to eventually
reach the entire pond in some way.
We can see with our eyes what a tiny movement on a still pond can do. .
. creating ripples well beyond the tiny movement that began it. I have just come back from a women’s conference
a few hours before where we talked and cried and prayed a lot about the ripples
in our lives, those that came from intentional and unintentional places, people
and wounds. I walked away feeling
free and feeling hopeful for my own children and the future that they have
ahead of them. Desirous that even
my tiny movements in parenting would make ripples of joy and wellbeing and
grace in their lives and the lives of their future children too.
The
kids are marveling in where each minnow is jumping and watching the ripples
from each one and I’m standing there on what presently seems a bit like holy
ground, praying for them, praying against strongholds that have held on in my
family line through the generations. . .praying for us in the choices we make
as husband and wife, as parents, as people and how our choices have a ripple
effect on our children and our future grandchildren.
We
get our fill of tadpoles, and minnows and skipping rocks on the water and we make
our way around the pond to the other side. In the process of the night, the kids have learned the
Chinese name for tadpole and are excited to use it with the very few people
still left in the area. Hudson begins to play with a boy about his age and the
grandparents engage us in friendly and lively conversation. They think 3 children is amazing and
that I’m far too young to have 3 children but how blessed I am and then they
say it. They say it loud and
directly and my sweet 7 year old, whose Chinese in some areas is more fluent
than my own, understands every word.
“Boys are so much better than girls. You are doubly blessed because you
have 2 boys.” I feel the hot rush
to my cheeks, I feel the protective mama bear begin to rise up and
instantaneously I think. . . “Ripples”.
You are sending ripples that just may wound my beautiful child’s
heart. Knowing that Abby values
our opinion more than anyone else’s at this tender age of 7, I say with direct
boldness. . . “Girls are a blessing and boys are a blessing. God creates each one and finds each one
beautiful and unique and perfect in his sight. I praise God for my daughter, whose very life, whose very
being has brought me greater joy than any earthly success ever could.” She nods her head at me but I’m not
looking at her anymore. I am looking at my 7 year old girl and I see the pride shine
in her eyes as she hears me validate her worth and her specialness to me. She
hugs me and holds me close for a minute, her toothless grin all grinning up at
me and I think again. . . "ripples." I just dropped a tiny stone in the pond, hoping that this ripple will have an
impact in my children's lives greater than the impact of the world around them. And today. . . this IS my
prayer.
