A Lesson Learned

This rather long entry is copied from Daddy’s personal journal.

First of all, a moment of silence for my beloved grandfather, “Cort” Drake, who passed away twelve years ago today.

Now… you’re probably wondering what the heck I’m doing up at 2:30 in the morning, writing in my journal. Well, my daughter just taught me a very important lesson, and I wanted to record it for always:

A little while ago, Leah woke up and was calling for me, as she generally does when she wakes up: Daaaa-ddy! Daaaa-ddy! Daaaa-ddy! (She’s so freaking cute!) Anyway, I went into her room to find her standing there (as usual). What I usually do, in such a situation, is part the curtains, part the blinds, and show her that it’s dark outside, encouraging her by saying something to the effect of “See? It’s dark outside. Sleepy time.” This time, however, it didn’t work: “Drink,” she told me (although it’s actually just “kə,” but we know what it means. We have started trying to get her to say the full word, though, and she is learning).

Now, everybody knows that when a child wants to stay up a little later, they stereotypically ask for a drink, so I picked her up, kissed her, rocked her a little, and tucked her back into bed. As per usual, I told her, “I love you. Get some sleep. See you in the morning” on my way out, but as I closed the door, she was immediately standing up and crying. It occurred to me that I, myself, had been very thirsty before bed—Mommy, Leah, and I had shared a black cherry shake at Steak ’n’ Shake, the sugar content of which may account for this—but I dismissed the thought, went back into her room, repeated the routine, and all seemed well. Still, I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, Leah really was just thirsty, just as I had been before downing a couple of glasses of water, right before bed. I went downstairs, washed a sippy cup, filled it about halfway with fresh water, and brought it back up with me, placing it on the ledge for easy access. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I was about to get back into bed when I heard her crying again.

Now, at this point, I had set myself up for what I obviously needed to do. I picked up the sippy, opened her door, and walked around to the side of her crib. I handed her the drink, which she immediately grabbed and started sucking it down. I leaned over, both forearms on the side of the crib, and apologized to her: “I’m so sorry, Sweetie. I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a drink, the first time.”

The look on her face was not to be forgotten. It’s amazing to see a look of shocked comprehension and compassion on the face of a 19-month-old, but that’s exactly what it was. It’s not like I’ve never apologized to Leah before—I do, whenever the situation warrants—but this time, there was an understanding in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. She lowered her sippy, walked across the crib to where I was leaning, and planted a kiss right on my lips. With the pure innocence only a little child can muster, my daughter had immediately and completely forgiven me.

So wherein lies the lesson? Well, we hear the words of Christ many, many times: “[Y]e must … become as a little child, or ye can in nowise inherit the kingdom of God” (3 Nephi 11:38). While most people have at least a logical understanding of what that means, it takes on a new intensity of understanding when you see a little child, in all her innocence, express pure love and forgiveness toward an errant, imperfect parent. My sweet, little Leah is growing up, and she’s teaching me, every step of the way.