I vividly remember one of my
professors boldly proclaiming, “Children are like cows…” When you put a herd of
cattle into a new enclosure the ever-persistent bovine will walk the entirety
of the fence in search of weakness. They will push along every inch of the
fence looking for the one poorly nailed board that will allow their escape.
This analogy was used to illustrate the experience every teacher goes through
the first few weeks of school, and substitutes experience every day. Children
will test the limits to find where the boundaries lie. Signs of weakness will
be exploited, sweet escape and freedom will be sought. At least this is what I
used to believe about children…
Over the summer I attended a play
therapy class taught by a dear friend. She discussed a similar phenomenon in
the play therapy room. A child will test the limits and find the boundaries.
Upon entering the play therapy room he or she might knock toys off the shelf,
scream, swear, scribble, etc. However, the quest for the limit or boundary line
is about much more than I believed. Sometimes children are so wrapped in having
fun they unknowingly cross a limit. There is no malicious intent in the misbehavior.
They are just kids and hopping the fence looks like fun. (I can think of a
quiet a few students who fit this description.) Other times, testing limits is
a desperate plea, longing to know, “Will you still love me when I act like
this?” A child’s eyes will hauntingly ask,
“At what point will you cast me off? When will you decide I am no long
‘worth it’? Will you leave me or hate me when I am no longer perfect? What is
the limit of your love?”
There is a little boy in my class
who tends to try my patience. He regularly pushes my buttons and forcibly rams
against every limit that I have erected. Most days feel like a battle. I often
wearily trudge home feeling frustrated, tired, and utterly at a loss as to how
to help this kid. I do not presume to understand
the motivation behind his behaviors however I have seen a small sparkle of
something very familiar. All the while he is pushing and shoving against my fences,
sometimes screaming (literally), his bright blue eyes are desperately
demanding, “DO YOU STILL LOVE ME?”
One day I reached my limit. I turned to him and rather curtly proclaimed, “I
am very frustrated with your behavior. I love you. I care about you. But it
makes it hard for me to teach when you act like this.” (The words that came out
of my mouth were a very mild and kind version of the expletives dancing in my
head.) The next day he came to school in an uncharacteristically happy mood. While
writing in his journal he wrote, “I like my teacher. She is nice. She loves me.
I like her.” An overwhelming wave of chagrin washed over me. I have little doubt that this boy pushes
buttons wherever he goes. However, somewhere in the depths of his soul he,
rather like me, just wants to be loved. He just wants to know that even when he
is being a hellion that he is still of worth. His actions do not define him.
His soul is not tarnished, his worth not diminished, his value not lessened.
I would like to write that I react firmly
with love, patience, understanding, and well-set boundaries every time he
misbehaves. Unfortunately, and perhaps fortunately, I am quite flawed and often
less than benevolent in my thoughts and actions. Luckily, there is one who does
not suffer from such human impatience. At His feet I find myself in the place
of this little boy.
Over the course of the past year my
relationship with God has altered drastically. My perceptions of His nature and
of myself have evolved and grown. Throughout this journey I have often found
myself unknowing testing limits in various areas of my life. I have never
sought to be rebellious or willfully disobedient. Yet I often find myself in
uncharted waters. I have left the confines of the “No Wake” zone. While bobbing
along I, as of late, have frequently found myself questioning my position and
behavior. Sometimes humbly and other
times with the desperation of a vulnerable, pleading child I look skyward and
ask, “Will you still love me when I act like this? At what point will you cast
me off? When will you decide I am no long ‘worth it’? Will you leave me or hate
me when I am no longer perfect? What is the limit of your love?”
In these moments my
soul often feels wracked with the violence of a fierce storm the answer always
seems to come with the gentleness of a warm breeze. In a soft, caressing
whisper I hear His quiet reply, “Yes, my child. I still love you. I will always
love you. Your worth to me is not measured by your position, behavior, or even choices.
No matter what you do, you will always be worth the same amount. The life of my
Son. What you do will determine your
happiness but will never affect my love. You are mine.”
Children
may act like cows and adults may act like children. At the heart of it, regardless
of how we may act we are still worthy of love. I think boundaries and limits are critically important but imperfection on our part and falling short does not diminish our worth. Though some people in our lives may
grow impatient and or leave when we test the limits there will always be One
who’s love is unending and has no limit.
