In all respects, I should have been
a spoiled child.
I was a surprise baby (child
number five), with ten years separating me and my next oldest sibling. And if
you’ve ever listened to the worn out tales of babies born into such
circumstances you know the expected end-product: snotty nosed brats who lug
around heavy doses of entitlement.
But God chose to place me in a
family that doled out love by bushels and pecks and hugs around the neck and so
the only things that came to be spoiled around our house were forgotten cartons
of cottage cheese shoved to the back of the refrigerator.
Because, you see, love has never
spoiled anything. Ever.
But I was a child once and, as such, I certainly had my moments--moments
of selfish desire and impudent behavior, of unmet longings and unrequited
wishes. And, being a child, I naturally looked to the givers of good things—my
parents—for the delivery of said hopes.
So, as a child nurtured by way of
arms flung wide and hearts burst open, the phrase “You can’t always get what
you want” was a tad bewildering, at first. Not because I was spoiled or bratty
or entitled but because, for so long, my parents’ love had been enough. Love and
acceptance had been the standard upon which I grew and thrived and so, I had
never really felt a lack.
And then I entered junior high
and everything kind of flipped upside down...
