It is supposed to be at the end of the day, but I took some time this morning to do the first one. Today's guided examen is called, "Was I Present or Absent?" It's not even noon, but I decided to think about my day so far.
As so often happens when I'm asked to think about opposite things (highs and lows, present or absent, etc.), I quickly discovered that my "absent" moment and my "present" one were two sides of the same coin. And as also often happens, it had to do with an interaction with my children.
First of all, my kids are so incredible, and getting more awesome by the day. But, they are toddlers, so there are inevitable moments of Really Big Emotions that they lack the language to articulate. At my best (or you might say, when I'm present), I take the time to help them articulate it, to work with them to hear those emotions and work through them.
This morning, I was not at my best.
I had finally, finally, gotten the kids out of the house and to the car. Isaac dutifully let me clean off his snowy feet and put him in the car. Grace was about to start crawling in, then announced, "I need Pink Lady." (Pink Lady is her beloved pink blankie.) I told her I was in a hurry, and she would be just fine without Pink Lady.
Cue tantrum.
I sighed. I told her she was fine, that she had survived without Pink Lady at daycare more times than not. I spoke gently. I warned I was going to get mad. I crouched down and explained to her why I needed her to get in the car ("I have a big day at work today, and I need to get there so I can focus and prepare."). I gave her options. I counted to three. I plopped her screaming body in her car seat, slammed the door, and sat in the front seat, saying, "We will sit here until you calm down! I'm not going to see you again today. Do you really want the last thing you say to me today to be that you don't like me anymore?"
Funny, none of that helped her calm down. (Does it ever? Would it help me? Nope and nope.)
Looking back, I was absent. Or rather, I was present only in my own needs. Because doesn't it take so much more effort to be present in someone else's needs? I was completely absent to my sweet, kind, loving three-year-old, who dearly wanted the comfort of her good friend, Pink Lady.
With another sigh, I got out of the car and opened her door. "Grace, what's going on?" I asked. With tear soaked eyes, she looked at me and said, "I want Pink Lady." Isaac looked over earnestly from his seat and said, "And I want White Lady." (His blankie.) I asked Grace, if I get Pink Lady, will you start to strap your car seat? Yes, she said.
I fetched their respective blankies. And when I returned, Grace had, sure enough, strapped herself in as best she could. She explained, "I did the top, but the bottom is too hard for me." My heart melted a little. She is such a good girl.
When I dropped off my two happy kids and their blankies, I felt that I had, indeed, been fully present with them - finally. My heart ached as I said goodbye, knowing I won't see them again until they are peacefully sleeping tonight.
Being present takes so much energy, energy I seldom want to spend when I'm wrapped up in my own stuff. I wonder how many beautiful moments I have missed by being absent? How can I better remember that every time I do take the effort to be present, I do not regret it, and in fact that I am better for it?
This will be some work and focus for me this Lent. God, you are always present with us. Help me to remember that when I am present not only to myself but also to others, that I will see your presence there, too. Amen.
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