The God of Small Things

Nathaniel is eighteen and a half months old. I can tell he is maturing. His mental development seems to have skyrocketed in the past couple of months. I realize that he and I can engage in a lot more activities than we ever did before. I feel like it is such a privilege to be able to be the one to introduce the world to him.

Though I told myself Nathaniel would not be allowed to drink juice until he turned two, the other day, I cheated. Maybe it was out of boredom, or maybe I just felt like spoiling him for a moment. I filled one of his sippy cups with a quarter cup of Tropicana, and then diluted it with water. “Here, Nathaniel,” I say, handing it to him. He shakes his head, believing the cup is filled with what it is typically filled with—water. “Try it,” I insist. “It’s not what you think it is. It’s juice.” I shove the spout into his mouth and he takes a quick sip, probably to prove to me that he really does not want water. But after the first sip, he looks at me and a gigantic smile—no, more like a bright glow—appears on his face. It was like he was thinking, “What’s this magical-tasting liquid?” The subsequent sips were followed by the same glow. His glow was contagious. A glimpse of his relishing in something so simple just made my day. (I just have to make sure I don’t give him juice again for a little while and he’ll soon forget about its existence.)

To get to observe how he reacts to different objects, to instil excitement in him, to watch him slowly begin to take in the world around him... It’s like watching a movie in slow-motion and having the pleasure to savour the details. Spiritually, it has brought me to a place of deeper worship. Seeing a toddler take joy in the simple things in life reminds me of the need to do the same—and of course, being able to enjoy the simple things with Nathaniel just doubles the joy.

Nathaniel is developing in other ways too. His emotions have become much more complex. Oftentimes, because he is still not able to fully communicate his thoughts and feelings to me, nor I able to explain the complexities of a given situation to him, he becomes frustrated—and so do I.

It happened twice in the past two weeks—and never had I witnessed it before. Usually, whenever Nathaniel is experiencing any adverse emotion (be it fear, insecurity, hunger, fatigue, etc.), my embrace, kiss, and voice of consolation would be entirely sufficient. This was the case even if the circumstance was that I was the one who caused the adverse emotion (i.e. scolding him for unacceptable behaviour). Even in a reprimand, his instinct was to run to me for comfort, for he wanted me to express a loving voice to him again. And once I did, the moment was over. Moving on.

Not so recently. The first time was because he had napped for only thirty minutes and woken up to cry for me to get him (he normally naps for almost two hours). At the thirty-minute mark, I did what I normally do—ignore his crying and hope that he goes back to sleep. This time, however, he just kept on crying. After twenty minutes, I decided the napping was not going to happen and so I went in to get him. Boy was he upset with me. Rather than opening his arms and wanting me to hold him, he, I believe consciously, stood on the opposite side of the crib, his back facing me, and refused to let me touch him. When I did, he evaded me even more—with emphatic actions, and I would say, even a look of betrayal on his face. The next thirty minutes was my wavering from ignoring him to consoling him—not knowing which was the wiser action. But soon, I realized, neither worked. Eventually, he cooled down on his own, and just like that, he was back to being happy Nathaniel again. After the incident, I was left flabbergasted and exasperated. What was that? (Passive aggression in an eighteen-month-old?)

The second time was today. And I have to say, I still do not know what set him off. One minute, we were reading stories together and he was having lots of fun making sounds that corresponded to the all-too-familiar pages, and the next minute, he just lost it (he must have been motioning for something and I hadn't been paying attention). Thinking that the best way for him to learn not to go off like that was to ignore him, I went over to the keyboard in the same room and started playing music, pretending that there was no wailing baby in the room. This got him even more upset. The wailing grew louder. I began to think, Okay, he just wants my attention, so I am purposely not going to give it to him. I turned to my wailing son, and said sternly, “Stop.” He didn’t, of course. So I returned to playing music on the keyboard. In a matter of minutes, my son was on the floor, tears streaming down his face, booger from his nose. I looked at him, sympathetically. I asked myself, What is the right thing to do?

Sometimes, I forget to hand over to God the “small” things. I forget that in these moments when I find it impossible to discern what the right action should be, I can ask Him for wisdom. But I need to. I need to remind myself to see the bigger vision, and that is that I am raising Nathaniel for the purpose of bringing God the glory.

And so, with my desperate, wailing son in the background, I whisper a quick prayer in my head. God, help me here. And then it came to me—almost instantly. I looked at Nathaniel, and I said to him, “I love you, Nathaniel. Even when you get mad, I love you. No matter how you are, I will always love you.”

In a matter of seconds, Nathaniel’s crying began to die down. He walked up to me, and for the first time in what seemed like unending minutes, he let me embrace him. Inside, I was in tears. I had been sitting on the floor with my back to the couch, and my son had walked up to me and laid his head on my belly. He began to suck his fingers (something he does when he really needs to soothe himself). His eyes were closed, and for a second, I thought he was about to fall asleep. But he was not tired at all. He just wanted to be with me. Just wanted to know that I loved him.

Motherhood humbles you. Because in the everyday routine, things seem so simple. But for the routine task, sometimes there are variations. One parental strategy might work one day, but not the next. Nathaniel could love his vegetables one day, and hate it the next. He could sleep through his naps for a whole month, and have a few days where he refuses to. He could behave his best in public, save for that one day when, for some reason, he does not. With a toddler in my hands now, I have learned that so much of motherhood is about instinct, trial and error, self-discipline, and above all, relying on the grace of God.

Without God as my guide and strength, in my present tired and exasperated state, I would feel dazed, disoriented, doubtful of my own abilities as a mother. But with God, I have hope—because I am not relying on my own wisdom, my own sinful ways, and my own inexperience and ignorance. I have His sacred Word. I have the power of prayer. And I have the Spirit in me moving me in directions that I did not even know I needed to go. And for that I give my God my utmost praise. For that, I say, Amen.