I cried on Sunday morning. That’s not so unusual. Many things have made me cry on a Sunday morning. A song. A prayer. The weight of the world’s pain. The weight of my own depravity. But last Sunday my heart was breaking for my son, who in his purity attempted to give God a gift, and was rebuffed. Not by the Lord, but by someone with extremely flawed intentions.
How to explain my son’s heart? He is six years old. Like any human being he has flaws. He whines. He demands his own way and weeps as if his heart would break if he doesn’t get it. He can be negative. But his sensitivity that can lead to temper tantrums always leads to tenderness, and a deep desire to do that right thing.
My son is often misunderstood by people who think he is bratty, when truthfully most of the time he is on sensory overload. And he can be very hard to deal with during his meltdowns. I get frustrated and angry when my son is screaming and weeping over something that seems of little importance. That’s why I take it especially hard when he is criticized, not for being naughty, but for simply being himself.
We always try to give our children some loose change to put in the offering plate. “Give it to Jesus,” we tell them. On this particular Sunday my husband and I realized we had put our last bit of change towards the donuts that are available every Sunday morning along with free coffee, and we had nothing for the offering plate.
Jarvis began to panic. He had to put *something* in the offering plate. He settled on one of the three, count ‘em, THREE, stuffed spiderman dolls he had insisted on bringing inside. There was a slight commotion as Hugh tried to get him to stop, and I said “Let him do it.”
Just then one of our busybodies decided to interject…a woman who frequently thinks it’s her job to do my job. She is a frequent source of irritation to me, but I try to extend her some grace because I know that we are two very different kinds of people. The problem is that I don’t think I am better than her, but folks like her almost always think they are better than me.
“Stop that Jarvis. Don’t do that,” she snapped at my son who was becoming increasingly confused over the conflicitng messages he was getting. I looked back at her and said calmly “It’s not like he was going to get it back later…he was trying to do the right thing.” “Oh no he wasn’t” she scoffed rudely. I felt my cheek color rising to match fury flaming up inside me.
“Jarvis…were you joking around?” In a panic…he helplessly picked an answer out of the air…one he hoped that would keep him out of trouble. “Yes?” With that I made him get up and I furiously walked to the bathroom with my hand gripping his shoulder. Once in I turned him to face me. “You embarrassed me out there. Now tell me the truth…why did you want to put your Spiderman in the offering plate?”
He sank miserably to the floor. “Because I didn’t have any money and I wanted to give Jesus something and I thought he would like Spiderman.” My instincts had been right, and the fact that I had been goaded into not following them by a snippy, unhappy woman made me sick.
My son and I went outside and sat on the porch. I held in my lap, and I wept. My son had attempted to give something he loved, something he would normally never part with. The idea of Jarvis getting rid of ANYTHING voluntarily is shocking. He sentamentilizes everything. I got rid of a lego table I had NEVER seen any of the children pay attention to…a lego table that was not even HIS, and he shrieked as though I was cutting out his spleen with a butter knife. He wants to keep every piece of trash…they are all his treasure.
To put a Spiderman doll in the offering plate was for him a deep act of worship, a surrender the likes of which I had never seen. It was like he was putting his own, imperfect, human heart in that plate, offering his heart up. And that woman smacked it out and told him his heart wasn’t good enough.
Of course, offering plates are for money. And my son’s raggedy Spiderman wasn’t going to pay for the church’s electricity, or to feed people across the world. But like the woman who poured perfume on the feet of Christ and wiped them with her hair, his offering was his way of connecting to Christ, of giving himself humbly.
And the diciples grumbled that the money was wasted, that it should have been given to the poor. And they tried to keep the children away from Christ. And both times Christ asked these misguided people to not critisize those who come to him. And yet it continues to happen.
I can’t fault people who follow the light that they have, however dim. But I do pray that though my son’s light was put under a bushel, that he will never allow anyone to snuff him out for long.
Related Post: Forbid Them Not
Sigh… wow. What a snotty woman to butt in like that and break his heart. Maybe you should send her a copy of this blog.
admittedly, i have a hard time seeing past some of the meltdowns sometimes. i think, primarily, b/c we’re so far away and our visits are nothing but sensory overloads for everyone. lol.
honestly, i’m not sure that i would have seen into his heart if i had witnessed this transaction either, at first. it’s so easy for adults to get stuck in their own sense of right and wrong and ignore the boundaries that clearly exist between what ought to be done and who ought to do it. in the meantime, we miss these most tender of moments and the lessons they teach.
thanks for sharing! this encourages me to carefully consider the little things that vivian finds so imperative even though, to me, they seem trivial.
One thing I didn’t mention in the blog is that during our talk I told J that if he wanted people to take him seriously then he needs to quit acting like a fool!
When I was in college I worked at a camp filled with emotionally impaired boys. It was the best and hardest job I ever have. It taught me patience and to look past what other people call bad behavior and see the good within. All of these children were misunderstood, and when you got to know them and crack through their walls, they were so sweet and kind. I’m talking about the type of kids who burned their parents houses down, because no one was loving or paying attention to them.
My little Alex, my stepson who is very stressed by sensory issues, stress and anxiety, has been misdiagnosed with a little bit of everything over his past ten years of life. It doesn’t help that his mom refuses to believe he has anything wrong, and babies him. While it is hard to see him tell me he can’t remember the last time she put him in the shoer, or have to ask me for help in opening up a loaf of bread because I’m teaching him how to make his own lunch, or cry hysterically because a bee is outside and he was bitten six years ago, I HAVE TO be patient and kind to him, because nothing else works for him. It is hard, and it is tragic.
I am so sorry for your little boy. His heart was in the right place, and I know how kids say the answer they think you want to hear at times rather than the truth. Adults have to realize that children are not capable of acting like adults at age six. Sigh. Then again, my college best friend is an infant mental health expert, so from her teachings and some of the classes we took together, I understand a bit more how kids think.
If I may suggest something, why not have an envelope prepared each Saturday afternoon that Jarvis can keep track of, for the offering money that he will put it. That way, you have the change ready, and he will never have to go through this again. I know with Alex he has to know exact times, exact plans, even exactly how many blocks we have to walk. This might be a good way to make sure he won’t be hurt at church.
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I understand Jarvis’ sensory issues. I have similar issues and when my senses get overloaded I tend to have an anxiety attack. Often times Jarvis’ meltdowns give ME anxiety attacks. I admit I can’t handle him and give you major props for not just snapping with him. The biggest problem he will encounter is things just like this though. Because the fact of the matter is, he has to live in a society that cannot and will not deal with anything different or people that deal with things differently. So working with him to help him find a way to comfortably find a way to fit in will be a challenge for you and probably a challenge he will face the rest of his life.
Just amazing. I agree, very few mothers could have understood what was going on in his mind. It pisses me off continually how people ASSUME THE WORST instead of looking for real understanding.
Claire was terrified of flushing toilets, especially the automatic ones. She would refuse to go to the bathroom . . . trying to explain that to friens while we were at a park was pointless. She literally could NOT use those toilets!
We have each of our children because we are intended to be the parent for that child. I say you and Jarvis are a great match! A match made in heaven.
Great to see you back, Kate Cake!
Jarvis sounds like a beautiful gift. I am sorry you both had to go through that pain on Sunday, but thank you so much for sharing. It is a truly beautiful story and even though I instantly detested that nasty woman, she just helped illuminate how special Jarvis is.
Kate –
Oh, Jarvis is so like my boys! My son Elliot brought a brass metal belt buckle to his baptism (he was five at the time) and asked Father Cunningham to baptize it. We were blessed at the time with this fabulous man who did just that, and completely got it.
Oh, I think you are right that when you grieve with your children over something like that, and understand and affirm their heart, that the grace floats down upon them just the same.
I am crying right now. This is one of those awful situations that I would probably have not handled well. I would have been more like your husband (I think) and tried to talk him out of it. Your son was trying to worship and it was taken away from him by a woman who should have kept her mouth shut! I know that such a loving act would not have been appreciated at our church by most. Though I could pretty much guarantee that there would have been one person who would have known and understood the gift and would have set that Spiderman on his desk as a daily reminder that we each have our own very special relationship with God and we need to remember to always give of ourselves in spite of the naysayers! Big hugs for your sweet and sensitive young man!