“Sit with me.” It was a simple
request from my seven-year-old
son, Alex. He’s always
asking me to sit with him
when he goes to bed. He’s done it since
he was little. For some reason, he just
doesn’t like being alone. I never have
been able to figure out exactly why he
needs me there. I’m not sure if he’s
afraid of something or afraid he’s going
to miss out on something if I’m not
there.
And so I sit. That’s all—no talking,
no playing, no lullabye as when he was
a baby—just me sitting on his bed in
the dark and the sound of his gentle
breath as he drifts off to sleep.
Maybe I do it because he’s my middle
child and I’ve heard all the stories
about middle children feeling slighted.
Or maybe it’s because he’s my only
son. It can’t be easy having an older
and younger sister. Whatever the reason,
all I know is I’m compelled to stay
there.
Granted, there are plenty of times
when I try to convince him and myself
that I’m too busy or too tired, times
when dishes and laundry seem more
important.
“I can’t, buddy. I have to get ready
for tomorrow.”
He asks again for just a few minutes
of my time. That’s all. Maybe he’s
stalling, but on the off chance that he’s
not, I agree. What’s a few minutes? I
remind myself, and I snuggle in close
to him. And I’m always glad I did.
Because as I sit there and look at him,
I see how he is changing and growing.
His chubby little fingers are growing
long and lean. A slight whistle escapes
his mouth as he exhales through the
gap where his front teeth—his baby
teeth—used to be. These alone should
keep me sitting next to him every
night. But they don’t always.
I think of the moments when I don’t
relent—when life gets the best of me
and I hurry my kids off to bed in order
to get on with life’s more mundane
chores. And I promise myself that I
won’t take these moments for granted,
well aware that someday, probably
sooner than I’d like, Alex won’t ask me
to sit with him.
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 A Biblical Connection
The scene often makes me think of
Holy Thursday and the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus just
wanted someone to “sit” with him—
not talk, not tell him everything would
be all right, just be there. It mattered to
him that they were there with him,
even if there was nothing they could
do. Why else would he ask them, “So
you could not keep watch with me for
one hour?” (Matthew 26:40) when they
fell asleep?
Sitting with Alex also makes me
think of all the Easter moments I have
experienced as a parent—the Palm Sundays
when my husband, Mark, and I
first heralded our children’s arrival at
birth and the subsequent years we have
spent cheering for them simply for
being who they are.
Or the many times I washed my kids’
feet when they were babies, counting
each toe as I went. And how many
times have I stood silently by and
watched each of them endure pain—both physical and emotional—at the
hands of friends and playmates, wanting
to lash out, feeling helpless to take
it away? Yes, life as a parent is one long
Holy Week.
Come to think of it, our whole lives
often mirror this most important week
in our religion. And in hindsight some
of those moments that at the time may
have seemed insignificant can become
profound memories.
I remember when my friend Teri
called to say that her father had cancer.
We met at a local park and just sat on
a bench, not saying a word. But the
fact that we were together is what mattered.
Sometimes, the most important
thing we can do as parents, children,
friends, siblings is simply show up—at
a game, a show, a time of need, a
funeral, etc.
That’s the beauty of this season. Even
though we must endure our share of
Holy Weeks and Good Fridays, there is
always the promise and hope of those
Easter moments to which we can look
forward. In the meantime, as we go
through life’s many Holy Weeks, let’s
remember to be open and present to
life’s moments, situations and, most
importantly, each other.
During this season of Lent, let’s try
to make an extra effort to “show up” for
the people around us. It could be our
children, parents, siblings, friends, even
co-workers. We should take some time
and just sit with them.
Ask how they’re doing and then
really listen. Clear some space on your
calendar and take a walk with your
family or go to the park. Reconnect
with an old friend. Sit down and ask
your parents or grandparents about
their lives. Listen to their stories and ask
questions.
Me, I’m going to sit with my son as
he drifts off to sleep, safe, knowing that
his mom is by his side.
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