How I discovered what was going on in my daughter's head
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Oftentimes when I’m with my little girls, I feel like I’m just talking at them and around them, but not to them. Whether I want to or not, I’m juggling four or five things in my own head while trying to stay engaged with them.
Yes, I would like to play Hungry Hippo with them; but at the same time, I would love to have 90 minutes of uninterrupted reading time or a nap. So a lot of times, I don’t get to read; I don’t get the nap; and my kids get me halfway-engaged in a game of Hungry Hippo. The other night, however, was a rare exception.
I was going through our typical bedtime routine, and it came time for goodnight songs.
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“Hey girls,” I said, “it has been a while since we sang ‘For the Beauty of the Earth.’ How about that one?” They said yes, and I started singing to them while lying on a beanbag on the floor. But as the words came out of my mouth, something happened.
My youngest daughter was on the top bunk, looking into my eyes as I sang. I looked right back into hers, rather than simply looking in the general direction of her face.
As I sang, I found myself wondering, What is she seeing through her little eyes right now? What is her four-year-old brain processing as it looks at this adult man she calls ‘Daddy’? What are her thoughts? Who is she behind that face?
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As these thoughts lit up my imagination, the whole experience changed. I wasn’t singing at her or around her. I was singing to her. I was wondering about all the mysteries behind her eyes, all the things I don’t know about who she is. And when I sang the last line of the song, she said, “Daddy, I feel like you’re right here with me.”
I was, and I want to be right there with her more often.
I also want to be right there with my wife, my other children, with my coworkers and friends. I want to be aware of the fact that each person in my life is a mystery. They’re not an extension of me and my feelings, and I can’t guess who they are or assume I know everything they’re perceiving.
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In Philippians 2:3, it says, “[I]n humility count others more significant than yourselves.” Counting others more significant than myself requires a recognition of their unique needs, desires, and their difference from me as individuals. It requires me to recognize that, behind their eyes, is a very different world and then do my best to discover it.
This morning, my daughter was looking into my eyes again, and I asked her what she was seeing. She said, “I’m seeing pictures of you and me — only you and me. I’m looking into your eyes, your beautiful eyes.”
I had to count her feelings and thoughts more significant than my own before I got curious enough to ask about them. And as I begin to discover them more deeply, our relationship grows.