The heart of a child

Every so often, a parent gets lucky enough to see the true heart of her child. It may come during a conversation about God, or after the death of a pet, or in this case, about a half hour after bedtime, when the world is dark and the house is still and the conscience of a boy has had a chance to go to work.

As I sat on the couch last night, curled up with the remote control and some peace and quiet, I had no idea what was brewing in the back room. And just as Comedy Central was about to deliver some much needed relief, I heard footsteps padding along the cold, tile floor. It was Cooper. He had somehow managed to work his way into the living room undetected by dad, and was standing directly in front of me with a heaving chest and a face full of tears.

What on earth? Don’t tell me he just got body slammed or that he peed the bed or that someone is suddenly scared of the dark? Lately, these two boys have had a million and one reasons not to go to bed when they’re told. But this time I was in for a shock.

“What’s the matter, kiddo?”
A weeping, wailing five year old stood at my feet to take his medicine. “Momma, I have to tell you something, but I don’t want to,” he bawled. I could see this was serious, so I turned off the TV and waited, my own heart pounding in my chest. “It’s ok, buddy. Tell me what happened.”

And so he began. “One time (sniff, sniff), when we were at a ballgame (sob, sob), there was a race car laying there…(dramatic pause)…and I took it home with me.” And the flood gates of repentance burst open.

Caught a little off guard, I sat and held him for a time. He continued to cry as I tried to piece this thing together with a few questions. “Was someone else playing with it? Did you see someone lay it down? Where was I when all of this happened?” And that’s when I realized, this child had found an abandoned toy on the bleachers at a baseball game and put it in his pocket. And he’s been worrying about it ever since.

His confession was told as if it had only happened yesterday, and the emotion behind it was no less raw. I tried to comfort him a bit, but also offered some knowledge which was apparent he did not have at the time. “OK, son, there’s this thing…called the Lost and Found…” I explained it all to him. He seemed to understand, but just as he started to breathe more easily, he looked up at me with those big, brown eyes and said, “So, Momma, did I steal?”

I knew in his heart of hearts, this must have been what was really eating at his conscience. But I had to tell him the truth. “I guess in a way it was stealing, Cooper, because it wasn’t your toy to take. But now you understand what to do when you find something, and you won’t ever have to make this mistake again.” After a few unrestrained, soul-cleansing sobs, his body finally relaxed.

“Have you been worrying about this ever since it happened?” I asked. Yes, he conceded with a nod.
“Don’t you feel so much better after telling me the truth?” He confirmed with more tears and the kind of hug a mother never forgets.

After the tension of the moment had diminished and his fear had somewhat subsided, we had a little conversation with God. We credited Him for our daily blessings. We apologized for our mistakes. And we thanked Him endlessly for the honesty and bravery of this little boy.

And as I carried my son to bed, I felt myself holding him a little closer, hugging him a little tighter, and sitting by his side a little longer, saying a prayer of my own, and treasuring the glimpse I’d just been given into the heart of my child.

And that’s All in a day’s work!