Beloved Faces

Emmaus is trilingual. He is fluent in Amharic, English and Zion. Yesterday, he and his little brother chatted away nap time (to my dismay) on subjects of which I understand precious little. The nuance of Zion's speech is a bit like Pig Latin: always drop the first letter; discard one or two in the middle, and in the end add something, like a giggle, a grunt, a hug or a punch.

My own words and actions can sometimes come back to haunt me. Malachi knows I love caramel, in all forms, as I have expressed to him. On Tuesday of last week, he made scrambled eggs for me and everyone else in the house under 8! Six large plates containing wet, jiggly mounds of pale yellow, filled the table. (There is a cow and a flock of chickens somewhere we should thank.) The kitchen was in shambles, but all was in order on the table. I obediently delved into my plate to discover an odd sweet taste mixed into my eggs. Malachi beamed, "Did you get it Mom? I hid a very special treat in your lunch!" The taste of the hidden caramel had permeated every ounce of my eggs! I dutifully downed the mound to the last bite, glad to be gifted in the skill of eating anything. Since my thoughtful little chef watched my every bite, there was no other choice.

Not long ago Salome' sat on a little chair pulled up to the coffee table. On this pretend desk she placed books, discarded envelopes and junk mail, pens, a purse and her prized possession, a broken cell phone. In the midst of a rather stern conversation with her dolly, the cell phone rang (in her pretend world), as she answered her voice changed completely. She was no longer a cross Mommy. No, she instantly became joyful, using a voice as sweet as honey! She had entered the false world on the other side of technology.

I am thankful and often humbled by the me my children see. There is nothing hidden in word or action from their keen eyes. Their discernments and interpretations are true. If I dare to believe I am the best mother I can be, I must die to the self I think I am and embrace the refining fire of who I want to become! As I see humor in each day, a little laughter reminds me of the replenishing fuel of God's grace and mercy. It is my job to be honest and transparent in the midst of my joys and trials, in language and action, to the beloved faces I see daily and the ones technology hides from my view.