It was a moment of total meltdown for my three year old.
Maybe it was a bed-time that was too late the previous night. Maybe it was too much shlepping around doing errands. Maybe it was just too full a day for her little self.
But precisely at 7:21PM that night, my little sweetheart experienced her meltdown. It was a typical three year old, full blown tantrum.
She noticed me praying just before her bedtime. She wanted to imitate me and, in her mind, she hadn't "finished" her prayers, when I summoned her for bedtime. But, in truth, it was more the hour than any external cause.
When we're depleted of energy, when we're grumpy and drained, anything and everything irritates us.
I watched her little chubby legs begin to stomp, her chin quiver, a large tear form in her beautiful brown eyes, as her mouth began to cry loudly and incoherently. As with most tantrums, she was getting angrier and more irate by the moment, despite my best efforts to soothe her.
With a pout on her fuming face, as a finale, she took her colourful, illustrated little siddur (prayer book) and threw it to the floor. She was angry. Very angry. And she wanted me to know that.
Now was not the right moment to correct her or teach her appropriate behavior. She really just needed to get to bed in order to wake up tomorrow morning as her regular, adorable and lovable self. I held her, cuddled her and tried to take her back upstairs to her bedroom.
But, alas, she refused.
Even in her haze of irrational meltdown, she knew she would not, could not cross certain boundaries. To her, this was inconceivable. No matter how livid she was, no matter how worn-out or exhausted—she just could not leave her siddur abandoned in her rage. She needed to make amends.
She stomped her little feet, picked up her siddur and placed it in its proper place on the nearby bookshelf. Her face cleared momentarily from its cloud of anger. And then, almost as an afterthought, she lifted the siddur once again, caressed it softly in her plump little arms and tenderly touched it to her mouth, bestowing it with her special kiss—all before running into my open arms for her own snuggling caress.
My young daughter reminded me so much of all of us. In our fit of resentment at the futility of life, or at our unfulfilled dreams or disenchanted hopes, we too have our "spiritual tantrums." Sometimes in our moments of exasperation, we even go so far as to throw away some of the most precious, meaningful and spiritual parts of our lives.
But as much as we react in a haze of heated fury, this isn't our true selves, only our temporary weariness reacting to the demanding struggles of our lives. And eventually, we, too, come running back to Your warm and open caress.
Because some things are just too precious to leave like that, abandoned on the floor—even for a three year old, even in a moment of meltdown.
Can you share a "precious moment" that brought you to a new realization of what is important to you?
