One day, like many parents, we decided to take a trip to the mall to escape the Oregon rain. (It’s almost as if the North-Western sky is allergic to the sun.) We’ve realized that taking kids to the mall requires becoming an expert in crisis management, so Alisa took Noe and I took Kai--a solid strategy: divide and conquer. 

As we strolled through the mall, my son’s eyes became transfixed on a glass, toy-filled box that was flashing rainbow lights to help lure him with delight. To his amazement, he saw a giant claw dangling above the stuffed animal smorgasbord, meant to choose which fluffy creatures would stay and which would go. Suddenly, my parenting responsibility was complete--I could kick back and relax. My son wanted nothing more in the world than that which was before him. He was content. But as I looked further down the mall, I saw a play area with rocket ships, helicopters, race cars and so much more. For a whopping amount of two dollars it could give my child the best 15 second ride of his life. Me being cheap, my son has never experienced what happens when you pay the two dollars to activate the ride. Instead, on many previous occasions I had used my incredible strength to shake the rocket ships for him in order to simulate the motion of the mechanical rides--I know, brilliant right? I know my son better than he knows himself, and though he was captivated by the claw, as his father I knew that there before me was something he would love even more. 

With excitement, I grabbed his little hand and began to lead him away from his stuffed animal paradise, when suddenly I felt him rip his hand away, collapsing to the floor in tears. This sort of behavior was something I used to think only kids with bad parents did, making this experience a hard lesson for sure. By looking into the teary eyes of my son, I could see that he was convinced I was ruining his life; that for some reason, though I am his loving father, I did not want him to be happy; that I was just making him do what I wanted him to do. Then, smiling at him, I kept asking him to trust me, to trust that I had something far better for him than he could’ve dreamed. He remained unconvinced. I was so determined to get my son to the place I knew he would love even more, that I was willing to endure his rejection and anger. 

I picked him up and began marching towards the play area. Strangers gazed at this incredibly awkward episode, and rightly so, considering my son was reacting as if I had ripped out his heart. Ultimately I knew it was not only for his own good but for his delight. Instantly, as I set him down in front of the rocket ship, his screaming stopped, and his mouth became the largest letter “O” I have ever seen. He turned and looked at me, and seeing my smile he ventured to say, “Oh father, I have not trusted thee. I now realize that all of this time I was fighting to keep what I was thinking was best when truly you know me better than I know myself. I realize now that often when you take things away, I react so poorly. In the future I need to trust that if you are asking me to leave something behind, it truly is for my own good, and that you are always leading me not to the better, but to the best--not to the good, but to the great.” I know, I know... it surprised me too when he said it!.. Okay, perhaps that is not exactly what he said--in fact, if memory serves me right, he didn’t say anything at all. He just climbed inside the first ride he could find and asked me to go to work: “Shake me, Daddy.” No credit, no recognition, no apology, and to top it all off he wanted me to do more--he wanted me to put his ride into motion. But, seeing his excitement was all I needed, so with a grace-filled heart I responded, “Yes, your daddy will shake you.”