Tossing and Turning

As I soaked in the silence of naptime from my sofa today, I heard my oldest rustle her covers, turning restlessly.  In the self-pitying voice I have heard many times before, I heard her say, "Nobody likes me."  I wondered what she was dreaming--of a clique at our neighborhood pool, of her siblings teasing her, or maybe even me scolding her.

This is where she goes when all is not right--straight to folded arms across her chest, lip stuck out, and a defensive "Nobody likes me."  Until that moment when her pity party permeated her fitful sleep, I had not considered why.

For the first time I saw clearly:  she does not believe that "nobody" likes her, but she is asking for reassurance that, in fact, she is liked--and loved.  But more than that, she wants assurance of the opposite; she wants to hear that everybody likes her.  I thought of my little people-pleaser.  The one who keeps track of which child gets the most laughs from Mom.  The one who, at age six, watches the big girls at the pool, hoping to learn the tricks of coolness.  Who says "I'm sorry" quickly to avoid punishment, but also to make any ugliness disappear.  And it occurs to me that my daughter fears being unliked, on the outside looking in. And I shudder at the approaching middle school years, when other children will almost certainly make her feel unliked and no one will rush to dispel her pleading "Nobody likes me"--if she even says the words out loud anymore.

I want to prepare her.  I want her to know that when the day comes and no one likes her, when Mommy isn't standing nearby to be the lone voice saying, "I like you, Hallie," all is not lost.

The preparation, though, does not lie where I am inclined to steer her.  "Mommy and Daddy will always like and love you" simply isn't enough.  It feels like it should be.  We have loved her the longest and the hardest of anyone.  But, while it is something I want her to know down to her toes, it won't sustain her.  How many children, well-loved by their parents, flail through adolescence with the changing current of their peers' approval?  How many never make it through at all because they find themselves not enough, only to leave behind loving, heartbroken parents?

When she wants assurance that she is liked, I instinctively give it to her.  So what happens when no one does?

The answer is clear:  Her worth cannot come from me.  Just like it cannot come from her peers.

And that is what she must know.  She must know that she has immeasurable value because she was put on this planet by One who loves her and sustains her.  She has to know that she is to Him a beloved daughter, adopted once for all, and that He (unlike Mommy) is always with her.  She needs to know that He does not look at the things man sees, but sees instead her heart.  And that when it feels like no one likes her, and if in fact no one does, it was never their, or our, opinions that defined her anyway.

How simple to write.  How hard to know.  How daunting to teach.

But for now, while her heart is tender and her attention span too short for sermons, I will simply respond to her "Nobody likes me" with a tender "Jesus does."  Because I see now that "I do" is not sufficient.