A toddler’s life is a life of transition. Just as soon as they have learned one skill, they are expected to learn more. Just as soon as they’ve decided on something, they are told they can’t have it or that they need to choose something else. As soon as one routine is established, they have different needs and the routine is changed again.
Consistency is key and yet very little feels consistent when life pulls in so many different directions. In a way, their life is a series of goodbyes leading them to learn more about themselves and the world.
Yet, there are hundreds of moments – sometimes all in the same day – where you are disappointing a toddler. You have thwarted their deepest desires to eat ice cream for lunch, to not let them run around outside naked, or to not being able to turn a blue bowl into a red bowl just because they want it to be that way.
Jesus is teaching me that – in many ways – I am a toddler. And that He loves me through it all.
A year ago, I told myself that I wouldn’t nanny any more after I graduated from college. I had been working with children for five years and I thought that it was the perfect time for a change. I planned to make a life for myself that revolved around writing and applying to graduate programs, and nannying did not fit into my worldview going forward.
Then everything changed. I graduated and instead of pulling myself into the world of full-time employment, I strung together a slew of part-time jobs – only one of which related to writing. I had to step outside the comforting stability found within the structures and friendships of college, transition away from the Christian community I belonged to, and move out of the home I had lived in for the last four years.
I used to think that I liked change. That is a lie – change is hard and scary. I longed for the familiar amidst a tumultuous life change with very little to cling to. I thought I might find solace in my church or friends, but shockingly, the place I found the most peace was with my nanny family.
Almost exactly a year ago, my two very dear friends asked me to watch their two small children, and although I felt very strongly that I wanted to step away from working with children, I felt more strongly that I needed to take this job. And, shockingly, it was the best decision I could have made. While finding my identity as a struggling graduate suddenly devoid of major social support, they didn’t ask for me to be anything other than myself.
This family brought more healing and stability than I ever expected. They stepped into my life and didn’t demand perfection of me. They expected me – raw and grieving and broken – and that was enough for them. This family was not a simple band-aid that covered the gaping wounds now residing in my heart; rather, they whole-heartedly occupied a space where I could grieve and process without judgement or fear.
They have recently decided to move, and I am devastated. I did not want to watch their children this time last year and now I can’t bear the thought of seeing them go. The four of them are not only my friends, but they are my closest family that are now off to new adventures. And I am mourning the loss of them.
Not simply goodbye
It is not simply saying goodbye to my job or mourning my friends. It ismourning the joy of a two-year-old running into my arms saying, “I love you. I just ate a bar,” grieving losing a baby falling asleep in my arms, saying goodbye to late-night conversations that spoke healing into my weary soul, and lamenting the loss of this gift that You gave me when I didn’t know what I needed.
I can see Jesus’s heart so clearly in everything I’ve been given so I have to think that what is being opened up by this loss is also a gift. Even though it doesn’t feel like it. Even if I don’t understand.
But even though I can only see the next steps in front of me that are painful and sad, it makes me feel infinitely better knowing that since nothing is outside of God, there must be an aspect of His character that mourns and dwells with us in sadness and transition. You are not a God of loss, but You are a God that lives with His children turning away every single day. There is a part of Your heart yearning for a connection forever thwarted. Jesus wept. Jesus had big emotions.
Which brings me back to being a toddler. Because they have big emotions and don’t understand why the world works the way that it does. But they trust you and eventually they learn. They learn to say goodbye and learn how to live within the constant transitions.
And I am learning to trust that Jesus has a plan for me and that this plan includes mourning and loss and saying goodbye. And that He loves me, big emotions and all.
Rebecca Triplett (USA) constantly strives to practically love people around her; she also loves fuzzy socks, her five sisters, pink and orange alstroemerias, calligraphy, and sour gummy worms.
Rebecca constantly strives to practically love people around her. She also loves fuzzy socks, her five sisters, pink and orange alstroemerias, calligraphy, and sour gummy worms.