One of my favorite things to do is thrift. I go often, and if you really wanna know, the secret to “good thrifting” isn’t anything glamorous. Ready for this? It’s frequency plus a willingness to walk away with nothing. That’s it. I stop in regularly, I don’t force it, and semi-frequently I will leave empty-handed. Every once in a while, you find a treasure worth keeping.
On one of those recent stops, I brought my oldest along. She’s home for summer break, which means she’s my errand buddy. She was under strict orders: you can pick out one thing. Sure enough, she spotted a snow globe on the shelf. She’d never seen one before and asked what it was. I explained the concept, showed her how to wind up the music on the bottom. She was enamored. The little globe featured a precious Easter scene, complete with ceramic bunnies all over. Completely charming. She looked at me with those eyes, and I said sure, this can be your one thing. I told her very seriously that it’s made of glass, and she needed to hold it with both hands. (You can probably guess where this is going.)
For two whole days, that snow globe went everywhere with us. Inside the house, on errands, in the car. I encouraged her more than once to leave it on her dresser, where she could look at it and listen to it safely. However, I left it up to her to decide. She chose not to take my advice.
We bought it Saturday morning. Monday afternoon, I heard her bawling outside. We were getting ready to leave to go run a few errands.
I rushed out to find her standing on our concrete driveway with big tears rolling down her face, shattered glass at her feet, and a wet spot that screamed snow globe disaster. She was absolutely devastated. Honestly, so was I. She really loved that thing.
And then came the harder question: how do I respond?
Do I immediately find one online and replace it, making the pain disappear as fast as possible? Do I remind her that this is exactly why I told her to leave it inside, which would be true, but would accomplish nothing except making her feel worse? Not to mention… Neighbor on an adult I-told-you-so?
I stood there for a second and made a choice. I pulled her in for a long hug and didn’t say much. When she asked if we could get another one, I told her we could try to find one at the thrift store sometime, but that we’d probably never have that exact one again. She cried a little more. I held her a little longer.
Of course, this was never really about a snow globe.
How tempting is it to insulate our children from pain? Mine are only four and five, which means we haven’t even gotten into the really hard territory: bullies, and bad words, and not making the soccer team, and not being invited to the party. Nonetheless, I think for most of us, the inherent instinct as a parent is to prevent your child from hurting at all costs.
Except Romans 5:3-4. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.
Paul writes that we glory in our sufferings because suffering produces perseverance, perseverance produces character, and character produces hope. It’s a chain. And the implication for parenting is right there in plain sight: if I rush to eliminate every hard moment, I short-circuit the whole process. The discomfort isn’t the enemy. It’s actually the point.
There’s a reason Scripture reminds us that from dust we came and to dust we will return. Everything here is temporary. The snow globe was always going to break eventually. The things we love and hold tightly in this life are all on loan.
So will I replace Kenzie’s sweet snow globe? Eventually, probably so. But right now, it’s okay for her to sit with a couple of things for a little while. First, moms and dads generally give sound advice. I’m not just handing out recommendations for no reason. I love her, and I’ve lived a little longer. Second, things break and life goes on. We get to decide how we respond when we face hardships, and that’s actually a really important thing to learn young. Third, we can choose to enjoy things while we have them. Inevitably, this life will fade away. All the more reason to smile while we get to experience something. It’s all temporary this side of heaven. For me, (when I’m at my best), that’s not even a sad thought – it’s actually permission to just delight in this one, fleeting, precious life.
Any of this resonate? Meet you over on my Substack to talk more. (I post all of these articles there and more every week.) I’m curious to hear how you handle this subject: allowing your kids to feel pain and consequences while protecting your own heart in the process.
Character building ain’t for the faint of heart. In this together.
In Progress,
Alyssa 💛
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