Bring Them In

Whenever I bring home a new baby, it’s always especially important to me to make the younger children in our family feel like this baby is theirs too.  I never ever want to get angry with them or punish them for being curious about the new little one, because I want them to love the baby as much as I do. It is of course, very easy in our desire to protect this new little one, to keep the smallest ones away.  But I worry that will only create pain and resentment, because they are after all my babies too. So instead of keeping them apart, I choose to teach them how to be around the baby.  To touch their toes and not their hands and face.  To be gentle and not rough.  To sit beside Mommy while I nurse and not on top of me.  


Of course they are little ones, and sometimes get swept up in the moment. They’re not always perfect, but when I lead this way, I generally find that very little words are needed.  By being welcomed into this new situation with me, they naturally intuit that there is something sacred here.  By being allow into my relationship with the little one, they understand by the way I am loving the baby (and them) that this little one is precious, fragile, special.  Things that are impossible to communicate with words become clear in a relationship, if I allow love to lead me.


This past Friday we took our kids to adoration.  Our parish has First Friday adoration every month, and I try to bring the kids when I can. Conscious of their rambunctiousness, I generally wait until the last half hour, to give faithful adorers a few moments of silence before our brood comes in and changes the atmosphere. I knelt down in front of Jesus to pray, and no sooner did I silence my heart than my eight-year-old stood directly in front of me, blocking my view of the Lord.  


This kind of interruption is not uncommon with them. Often when I am talking with another person and one of them wants my attention, they will place themselves directly between me and that person, so that I can’t see them anymore.  I felt a frustration bubbling forth, and was about to get angry at said child for stealing a beautiful moment from me, when I was suddenly inspired to bring him in. Rather than discipline him, I put my arm around him and gently pulled him to my side.  “Do you see what I’m looking at?” I asked him.  

He looked up, and said, “yes, you’re looking at Jesus.”  


“Right,” I told him.  “Do you know why I’m looking at Jesus?”


“Because you’re praying?” he inquired.


“Because I’m loving Him,” I responded.  “And I’m letting Him love me.”


Instantly he understood the sacredness of this moment.  He gave me a big hug and snuggled up in front of me, facing the Lord.  I’m not entirely sure that he was praying himself, but he was definitely taking this moment in.  One by one each of my other children (littles and teens alike) proceeded to do the same thing. It was as if the Lord was sending them to me!  And each time I responded the same way.  Their hearts were moved by the simple act of seeing me loving Jesus. My daughter even asked me how I love Jesus, so I tried with a very few words to explain how I enter into adoration.  “I sit very still,” I told her. “And I look at Jesus, and I quiet my heart.  Lots of times, I can almost feel as if my heart is burning.”


“Wow,” she responded.


Wow indeed.  

For me, this experience of tenderness is not always intuitive.  And as I shared this moment with my children, I understood that it was an other-worldly grace given to me.  Jesus acting through me, giving me the grace to welcome my children before Him.


It is so intuitive with a new baby, but less so I think in these moments with the Sacraments, when there are other people around, and expectations, and it takes more faith to see what is before our eyes.  How often do I bring my kids to Mass and spend the entire time snapping at them, correcting them, being frustrated with them for distracting me (and everyone else), and interrupting our time with the Lord? And how much different would it be if I simply brought them in?  If I allowed them to see me loving Jesus, and led with that?  If I held back my words and allowed the love that flows from my relationship with Jesus to envelop them too, to communicate this sacred, holy moment?  They would understand, I am certain, far more than a few angry reprimands delivered in haste and frustration.  They would get it, and so would I.  That the only way to communicate a love beyond words is to let love do the talking.  To bring them in, and allow them to be touched in the same way that I am. 


Love is not meant to isolate us.  It is meant to be lived in a relationship.  And the genius of Jesus is that He forces us to be open to the other, as they are.  If we could communicate on our own, we would thing ourselves quite holy.  But He doesn’t leave us there.  He strips us of our faculties, of our ability to fall back on words to get our kids to understand. And in so doing, He requires that we get in touch with Him.  Of course, the end result is more favorable for the kids. But for us, even more so.  Because it makes this encounter with Him necessary.  And when we meet Him in this way, and discover that He is the answer to our needs, we discover again what we always knew, but falls too quickly into the background as the demands of daily life swirl around us – that love truly is all we need.