Anam Cara

Being a parent is also the unromantic endurance of watching over, providing and caring for your child. In psychological and spiritual circles people talk of overcoming the ego. Being a loving parent is work that guarantees the transformation of the ego for in the work of rearing children the limits of your selfishness, need and smallness are continually challenged. Somehow you find within your heart a love that is willing to stretch further and further. In this sense, the work of parenting is profoundly blessed work. Some people pray in words; in the work of raising children, parents pray every day with every fibre of their being. The world of your child takes up the horizon of your heart. When you bring a child into the world, you become vulnerable in a new way. You have become unprotected against the world, unprotected now in a place where nothing can cover or shelter you. And yet protection is all you long for: protection for your child. When he had his first child, a friend told of his joy but also of how surprised he was to find himself thinking so much about his own mortality. Somewhere in his nature, he saw himself as a protective frontier between the world and the tiny infant. The sight of a newborn baby evokes fragile beauty: the miniature fingers and toes, the soft, new skin with its special scent and the first tracings of expression on the new face. Indeed, the beauty of the newborn infant can stir gentleness in the hardest heart.

Even the most caring parents will leave inevitable trails of damage. This is a natural part of the ‘dark industry’ of imperfection and brokenness that lies within every one of us. But it remains true that deep behind the visible surface of our society there are incredible, unseen people who give everything they are and everything they have to their children. They are the secret priests and priestesses who work away unostentatiously in the vineyards of soul-making. Although often arduous and painful, ultimately it is tender, vulnerable work, a work of fragile yet wondrous beauty.

T

HE

S

URPRISE OF

H

EARING

W

HAT

Y

OU

M

EAN

TO

Y

OUR

P

ARENTS

A GLIMPSE CAN HOLD A WORLD. A FRIEND OF MINE OFTEN TALKS TO parents of children who are preparing for the sacrament of confirmation. Such events are great family occasions. My friend always recommends that each parent separately takes the child away quietly before the day comes. The child would be invited to do something they loved or go somewhere they liked. But the parent would use the occasion to tell their child how they feel about him/her. Given that an adolescent already has huge resistance to anything resembling articulated parental love, this needs to be done swiftly, almost like an insert of phrases that achieve entry before the child can reject them: ‘I have wanted to say this to you for a long time. You’re going to cringe for a few moments . . . But it won’t take long. I just want you to know that we are really crazy about you. When I am away at work or travelling, I am always thinking about you. You are the centre of our lives. If anything were ever to happen to you, we would never get over it. And anything you ever go through, we will always be there for you. In the whole world, there is one door you can always come back to – no matter what happens to you in the world – and that door is here at home. We are so proud of you and we love you more than you will ever know. Now let’s go and do . . .’ Then cut it. Leave the words there. Go on and do what you had planned. This moment might be difficult, but it is one of the most valuable gifts a parent can give their child. The power of the word is amazing. The child will return to the words and never forget them. Often in the future during times of bewilderment and confusion, these words will be played and replayed. And it makes such a difference, especially in an unsheltered time, to recall words of recognition, affirmation and unconditional love. They help build that inner sanctuary where poise and belonging come to dwell.