When I try getting our three-year-old grandson to sleep, I remove distraction and play soothing music: He especially loves piano concertos. Eventually, the music fades into the background as he no longer notices the soft runs and crescendos. His eyes grow heavy, and then he’s out. The music doesn’t matter anymore.
I’ll admit, I felt like piano concertos in the years of hustle and bustle rearing and homeschooling four very loud and active kiddos. I put all my hard work and thought and prayer into the nuggets of wisdom I shared routinely. When younger, they hung on my every word, as though I held all authority and wisdom, but as they aged, my voice faded into the background. All the practical advice I pained over no longer mattered as their eyes glossed over, and I became background noise, the white noise of life they had put in the distance.
I wondered if they knew how often I prayed for them or when they left home, if they realized how often I thought of them and wished good for them.
Something happened, though, as they aged and moved out of the house. Suddenly Mom became important again. Random phone calls and texts check in on me to see how I’m doing or just to remind me they love me.
The dynamics of child rearing resemble those of music. We have those quiet moments, those tender lilts on the couch cuddling and reading a book, the crashing of symbols in conflict, the calming decrescendo of heartfelt apologies, and the running helter skelter up and down the keyboard and the stairs of our little farmhouse. The movements of life ebb and flow, some quiet and relaxing, some rigorous and breakneck paced.
Wisdom says we embrace the entire score God composed around us.
…and that’s the view from My Front Porch.