The Toy Rapture: How I Waged War on Ingratitude Among my Little Tribe Today

This morning I whispered a prayer, “Lord, please help me to be patient with my children.  I don’t want to parent out of anger but out of love—all day.”  Today was the day—I was going to lean into God.

The war began at breakfast (of course).  Not a war against my children but the one for their hearts.  The bacon wasn’t crispy enough, she complained.  The ice in her juice hurt her teeth.  There were no “thank yous,” no “pleases.”  Demands smacked hard.  When I would normally sling biting tones back about being grateful, today I just whispered my prayers.  The Lord is so gracious to give wisdom when we ask for it. 

 

As my girls ate (or didn’t eat) their breakfast, I walked back to my girls’ bedroom and started to pack up dolls, doll furniture, play kitchen stuff…what felt like nearly every toy that China or Wal-Mart has to offer…and quietly carried the boxes to the attic. 

Then the pleas of my eldest began, “What are you doing?  Why are you doing this?” 

“I will explain it to you in a few minutes.”

I really wanted to rattle off the facts--how privileged they are, that they are in less than five percent of the world’s population of children who have this kind of stuff, this kind of food, this life of ridiculous lagniappe, that there are starving children in the two-thirds world who would love to trade places with them.  But I held all that in.  None of that would resonate with little round faces who just had almost all of their possessions hauled off. 

So I took a deep breath and for once in my life didn’t say anything sarcastic.

I just sat Indian style on the floor of the big empty bedroom and said, “This morning I realized that I’ve messed up.”  I recounted their words to me at breakfast and then quietly said, “I want you to learn to be thankful, and the one who is supposed to teach you that is me.  I haven’t done that great of a job, so this is just a little project we’re going to try for at least a week to see if it helps you to appreciate what you have, to take care of your stuff, and to say “please” and “thank you” to your mama and folks who do things for you.”

To my amazement, there’s been no weeping and gnashing of teeth since our “Come to Jesus” meeting.  Instead, we’ve walked around a little more light-hearted today.  We took our “read-aloud” book outside and sat on the quilt in the shade this morning.  They played with the grass, made a card out of grass and construction paper and put it in the mailbox.  They found that an empty toy box has all sorts of fun uses, like climbing in it for a boat.  And some long lost toys that didn’t get snatched up in the toy rapture were rediscovered.  

 

The conversation has been hilarious:  “Mama, I like this little thing we’re doing.  I don’t have to pick up so much.”  “Hey, when company comes, we can just pick up our two things and have it all looking good.”  “Mama, thanks for cleaning all the furniture out of this doll house; I’ve been needing to dust it!”  “You know what?  We have so much more time without all the stuff!”  …and that from the mouth of a five-year-old.

Time.  That illusive thing that we crave while it slips through our fingers.  If I’m not careful, my time with them will be gone before I’ve had a chance to teach them all these things I’m dying for them to understand.  If I waste it, chances are they will just grow into entitled adults—just larger versions of the five-year-old who complains about her hot breakfast.  I’ve seen an adult like that a few times…in the mirror, and it’s a war for her heart too.