The Cassette Tape
Both our girls have turned out to be interesting concoctions of the two most diverse people the Lord Jesus may ever have pronounced man and wife. If either girl finds herself on a psychiatrist's couch one of these days complaining of an unexplainable sense of inner conflict, I can explain it: The parts of Keith and me inside of them are having a fight. And I'm sorry. I'm sure he is, too, but he'll save his admissions for a smaller, more intimate group of people. I'll just go ahead and tell everyone who will listen. All I know to tell my daughters is that their father and I not only learned to get along; we eventually became one another's biggest fans. "Just wait ten or fifteen years, girls, and everyone inside of you will start liking each other much better. You'll see. Until then, there's gonna be a war in there."
As free as Melissa has been with her art of expression, when she was about ten years old, I happened on proof that she really did have the ability to hold her tongue if absolutely necessary. Like, for instance, in matters of life and death. In the old days, I used to record cassette tapes of various high-energy Christian contemporary songs I owned so that I could listen to them for motivation while I exercised. The kids loved the tapes, too, and I often had to fish them out of their rooms. One day while I was putting clean clothes away, I found an old favorite tape stuck way back in one of Melissa's drawers. I couldn't wait to pull on my sweats, grab my hand weights, throw that tape in my player, and head out the door for a vigorous walk. I pitched the clean clothes and took to the street.
It was a blast. The weather was crisp and beautiful and the music was sublime. I turned the volume up as loud as I could stand. The words to the songs filled my soul, and I sang right with them at the top of my lungs. Too bad my neighbors couldn't hear the accompaniment. I've been known to put both my weights in one hand so that I can lift up the other in praise while I'm on my walks. Sometimes the neighbors make their children come inside until Mrs. Moore passes by. The day I found the old tape was one of those days when they would have shut the mini-blinds.
I was caught up in praise and worship, pumping six pounds of iron to beat the band, and making a joyful noise, when all at once the music on my homemade tape was interrupted by a terrible racket. The noise had a familiar ring of a novice trying to make a recording. I listened carefully as it became clearer and clearer that someone had recorded over my tape right in the middle of one of the best songs. The tape picked up sounds made by someone fiddling with the buttons on the recorder, then sighs of exasperation, and finally a little voice that said, "There. Now I can get started." I immediately recognized the voice of my youngest daughter. As many things as I had heard her say, nothing could have prepared me for what came next. She commenced to speak her mind on some matters she'd wisely chosen not to pursue with me. My eyes grew wide as saucers and I stopped dead in my tracks, listening to my ten-year-old give her mother the "once over." She drew a breath and then she gave me the twice over. She had it out with me right there on tape. I can no longer remember what decision I had made with which she begged to differ, but I assure you, she did not mince words. My chin hit the ground as I heard a mouthful of things most kids threaten to say to their parents but prudently resist. I could just see that child standing in the middle of her bed, hands on her hips, "sportin' a proper 'tude" with that head tilting side to side, taking a breath only long enough to say, "And another thing!"Only my Melissa would have recorded her thoughts for future listening pleasure.
Before you think I was terribly appalled, keep in mind this was my second child. Not my first. The truth is, I doubled over and laughed so hard that I had to roll in the grass in one of my neighbor's front yards. She even called her dog in the house. For all I know, she may have wanted to call the police. I would love to have explained my behavior to her, but I had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't have "gotten" it. From all appearances she hadn't had a good laugh since 1972 and didn't look to be in the mood for a fresh encounter. Picture me saying, "You don't understand! This is my daughter telling me off! It's just hilarious!" Picturing the expression on Melissa's face and what her body language must have been like as she told me off made me laugh so hard I cried. What I would have given to be a bug on that wall when she was making her debut recording! As soon as I could pull myself together, I made a beeline right back to my house with the grass still clinging to my sweats. I called my mom and shared every word of it with her. She laughed her dentures off. I didn't say a word to Melissa about finding the tape for years. I don't doubt, however, that when she got off the school bus that day, I had a very suspicious smirk on my face.
The tape certainly wasn't a punishable offense. She hadn't liked my decision that day she made the recording, but she had obeyed me. I didn't ordinarily demand that my children act ecstatic about decisions they didn't like or understand. I preferred they be respectful, and I certainly expected their obedience, but Keith and I let them voice a measure of their displeasure if we could see they needed to be heard. I feel like God's that way with us at times. I don't always like His decisions, but when I choose to obey Him, the act of obedience still "counts" with Him even if I'm not thrilled about it. On occasion I feel like God has said to me, "Kick and scream all you want. Go right ahead and have a fit. Then when you're finished, do what I've asked you to do." Sometimes I said the same thing to my children.
Melissa talked big, but she almost always ended up doing what I asked. I remember a few times when I had to respond with a no to something she desperately wanted to do and she threatened, "What if I do it anyway?" I am so grateful that she was the kind of child I could answer like this: "Baby, you won't. Because even though you're mad at me and you don't like my decision, you are a child who obeys her parents, and I have confidence that you will do what we've asked." Sometimes I'd hold my breath and pray my head off, but she rarely let me down. She'd kick and scream and have a fit, but in the end she almost always did the right thing.
I happen to think God's not terrible offended when we do something similar. The last thing I'm recommending is telling God off, but I don't think an occasional fit under dreadfully strenuous circumstances is terminal. I'm not talking about a tantrum lifestyle. We'd be little more than childish brats. I'm talking about those times when we want God to move in a certain way or grant us something so badly we can hardly bear it, and He simply and emphatically says no. Something important to us. Maybe even a matter of life and death concerning someone we love. Or maybe what we want is something He granted to "so and so" but has withheld form us. Sound familiar? That can be as frustrating to us as it is to our children when their friends get things they don't. We can be so devastated over a divine ruling that we want to throw a fit. At the risk of sounding like a heretic, I'd like ever so gently to suggest that we might consider having once. It sure beats shutting down spiritually or turning our backs on the things of the faith. Since there's no way to have a fit behind God's back, I believe He'd just as soon we throw it right there in front of Him, dumping our frustrations and disappointments right into His lap.
Excerpted from The Heart of a Mother. ISBN 0764228056. Used with permission of Bethany House Publishers. Copyright © 2003 by Wayne Holmes.
