School ends at noon today, and I’m picking up my girls (plus their desk contents) for lunch and shopping. But this morning I mentioned that if they get invited to go home with a friend, they can, and we’ll just shop another day.
“I’ll probably get an invitation from Sue,” said my oldest. “She always wants me over.”
“I’m sure I won’t get an invitation,” said my youngest. “Nobody invites me over.”
My heart clenched at the small, sad voice. It’s true. She’s got a great fifth-grade class with lots of kind, friendly girls. Much better than her third-grade classroom at a different school, where she was constantly bullied verbally, where I reacted with shock when her teacher described her as quiet. “Quiet?” I asked. “She has never been quiet.” Then the story came out, of how the other girls intimidated and mocked her on the playground each day.
We moved her from that school to the Christian school. Not because it’s perfect (kids are kids; we all have a sinful nature), but because character development is a greater focus there. If someone is picking on my child, I want that to be addressed, and not in a “toughen up and get used to it; that’s life” manner. Sin occurs in our Christian school, but the teachers deal with it, because Christ-likeness is the goal.
But although her classmates are kind, they have their groups. There’s the popular group, the go-getters who are always hanging out together and laughing. And there’s the other group – the three girls who wish they were in the first group, but aren’t. My daughter is in the second group.
So although we’ve had each girl over to our house for playdates several times, and they always seem to have fun (based on smiles, laughter, and effusive thanks when it’s time to go home), they rarely reciprocate. When a group of girls piles into a mom’s car to go over to one of their houses, my daughter is never in that group. And it hurts her. It hurts ME.
Growing up, I was not in the “in crowd,” though I was often on its fringes looking in, hoping to join. Most years I only had one friend, and some years, those friends were not very nice. It was a great relief when high school arrived: I found my role and talents and niche and stopped caring so much about popularity. It was great to move on, to leave behind that “not good enough” feeling.
I’m not someone who longs for the good old days of my youth, simply because each year brings new friends, new horizons, more opportunities, more joy. Sure, there are times I feel unpopular nowadays, when all the other mothers sit together at my girls' sporting events and hold vivacious conversations around me (but rarely with me). But when that happens I just hold on to Jesus a little tighter and thank Him for the "loner" personality that He uses mightily in my writing.
I gladly said goodbye to my younger years, finding more riches in Christ each year, and hoped I’d never see them again. Nobody told me that I would experience them again through the heartaches and sorrows of my children. Just one more reason to spend many hours on my knees before the throne of grace.