The Bad Choice Room

I love my children.  If it's not obvious from reading this blog, or if the last sentence didn't quite sink in, let me say it one more time: I.  Love.  My.  Children.  They are constantly forcing me to get outside of myself, to look at things from different perspectives, and to grow.

And sometimes, they teach me something profound.

Last night, good ol' 7:30 rolled around and I started the first round of asking the kids to get ready for bed.  This usually takes a few attempts, so I wasn't shocked when I heard giggles and goofiness coming from their room a few minutes later.  Definitely not the sound of getting pajamas on, but it was so nice to hear them giggling and playing together that I let it go for a few minutes.  When the giggles turned to a scream followed by sobs, I began regretting my decision.

I held my breath, closed my eyes, and began the therapeutic temple rub, waiting for one of them to show up with "the report".  Tori emerged and made her way to the living room, holding her back and crying and informing me that Aaron attacked her for no reason (of course) and hit her really hard ("No, I mean it, Mom, it was REALLY hard!!!") with Coconut, his teddy bear.  I called Aaron out and made him give me Coconut to put in time out, and told him that it was a very bad choice to hurt his sister.  He was crying too, and I was exhausted, so I settled for just telling him to go finish getting into pajamas.

A few minutes later, he came back out, still not in pajamas, but crying and looking like his little heart was just broken.  Which, in turn, made mine break just a little.  I pulled him onto my lap and asked him why he was crying.  "I just really don't like making bad choices," he managed through his little boy sobs.  Seeing an opportunity for a teaching moment, I got over my exhaustion and the temptation to simply tell him, "well then stop making them."

Instead, I asked him if he wanted me to show him how to make it feel better.  He nodded and I told him that the first thing he needed to do was to go tell Tori how sorry he was.  He inched off my lap and went to find her in the bathroom.  A few minutes later he returned, his crying slowed, wiping his cheeks with the first hint of a smile on his face.  "Next," I told him, "you have to say a prayer to Heavenly Father and tell him what you did and ask Him to forgive you."  "Will you just say it for me?" he asked, sitting next to me and folding his arms.  "I can't," I answered.  "You need to say it for yourself.  But I'll help you with the words if you need it, okay?"  He nodded and I proceeded to help him say a prayer asking for forgiveness for hitting Tori.

After the prayer, I pulled him into my lap for a minute to talk about the atonement.  I explained that when we repent, we don't have to feel sad any more about our bad choices because Jesus atoned for us and He took care of the bad choice for us.

Looking up at me with his sweet little boy face and with the remnants of moisture still in those big brown eyes, he asked, "And He put it in the bad choice room?"  For some reason, this example of a child understanding the atonement in a way that made sense to him was an extremely tender moment.  With a lump in my throat, I assured him that yes, he put the bad choice in the bad choice room.  I also told him that Jesus closed the door to the bad choice room so that the bad choice can't make us sad anymore.  Hearing this, Aaron smiled and gave me a big hug.

Maybe this is only tender because I love that little boy so much.  Maybe to others this is just a silly exchange between the two of us and just one more example of the funny things that come out of that little boy's mouth.  But to me, my son helped me visualize the atonement in a way I hadn't before.  What a precious, miraculous gift our children are!