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The stress of the season
The stress of the season
Anyone else have WAY too much to do?
Wrapping presents for the family today, I got an e-mail from a friend I met here. Got me to thinking about my kids.
My oldest son is 9 and he's beginning to doubt the santa story. We've gone through this with the tooth fairy, and so far dodged the bullet. As they're growing you try, as a parent, to shield them from harm. Look both ways before you cross the street, watch out for strangers, but be polite and respectful to grown-ups. Be joyful and try to see the magic that surrounds you in life, but don't get lost in it.
The kindness of others. We've taught them to try to think of how our actions effect other people, and how wonderful it feels to do something nice for someone else with no expectation of reciprocation. So I know he'll understand the spirit of santa claus even if the myth isn't literally true. But I dread that day. It's like losing the joy of hearing all the children in a theater clapping to resurrect tinkerbell. It's losing the belief in magic.
As my children grow, they're becoming their own people. Guided by us, but separate. Which brings me to my favorite poem (story?). It's by Khalil Gibran again. He was a Lebanese philosopher/poet who lived the beginning of the 20th century. I'll quote him often, so bear with me:
"And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said,
Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which you children as living arrows are sent forth.
The Archer sees the mark on the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness:
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, So He loves also the bow that is stable."
I get choked up every time I read that, and it fills me with joy and hope for my children, and for all children. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday, and may the blessings of the season be with you and yours.
Let your bending be for gladness.