Hate is a strong word.

But that doesn't stop my sweet little girls from using it against me.  I wear it like a badge of honor.  Well, at least in the following case:

Anna had forgotten her cello when I dropped her off at school one morning this winter.  I had already given her two freebies and warned her after the second one that if there was a next time, she would just have to go without her cello that day, because it's not my job to go out of my way to rescue her from the consequences of her forgetting her responsibilities.  So I calmly told her that she would have to show up to orchestra and tell her teacher that she didn't have a cello that day and find out what happens to people who forget their instruments.

She freaked out.  I mean, freaked out.  She pleaded, begged, cried for me to go back home and get the cello.  I stood my ground and told her she would have to figure out how to handle the situation, which was much less serious than she was making it out to be.  "Really, what's the worst that could happen?, " I reasoned with her.  She might have to use one of the school's dumpy cellos for one rehearsal.  Her teacher might knock a couple of points off her grade.  It's fifth grade, for heaven's sake. 

The world was coming to an end.  I told her to get out of the car so she wouldn't be late for school, to which she responded by exiting with a huff, yelling, "I hate you, Mom!" with a puff, and slamming the car door with another mumbled, "I hate you" for good measure. 

I chuckled to myself.  It's not as if I enjoy hearing my daughter speak to me with such disdain, nor do I much care for making my kids miserable (okay, maybe I do get a little kick out of that).  It's just that, as a 36 year old who's been around the block and back, I was well aware at how much she was blowing this thing out of proportion.  Despite my reassurances that everything was going to be fine and that facing this particular situation would be good for her (in the character-building department, that is), she was unnecessarily distraught.  Much like the first time she forgot to bring back a library book on time during her kindergarten year - she cried then, too.  And yes, when I reminded Anna of that occasion, she brushed it aside, saying that this was entirely different.

Except that it wasn't.  She was a little older, and yes, the consequences were a little more serious, but the lesson to be learned was exactly the same - that running away from consequences hurts no one but yourself.  That character is developed as we make mistakes, admit them, take whatever heat is associated with them, and try not to repeat the mistake (which is infinitely easier when we have faced and not avoided the consequence in the first place - it's how we learn).  But, my little avoider is going to have a hard time realizing that by not stepping in and rescuing her, I am doing what's best for her.  Instead, I'm going to get the H-word thrown in my face, as if I'm ruining her life.

Not to go too deep, but this whole experience made me understand our Heavenly Father a little bit more.  Life's pitfalls are painful and we sometimes get bitter when we have to endure harsh consequences for our mistakes or challenges we do not think we deserve.  It's easy to blame God and misunderstand his lack of intervention.  But the reality is, there's a whole lot of learning and growth to be had.  And it never, ever came about by avoiding challenges.  I choose learning, thank you.  I sure hope Anna does, too.