I’m a Vending Machine
by Crissy Jones Sharp

My children have no idea that I’m a person. To them, I fall in the category of a vending machine. They think I can answer every question, fix anything that’s broken and make all things better.

They routinely ask me questions such as: Where’s my pencil? Can I have marshmallows for snack? How do you spell awful? Can I have (insert sibling’s name) toy/book/candy? Where’s my DS game? Does Daddy work today? Can we go see Nana? How much longer until it’s my birthday? Where’s my toothbrush? What’s for supper? Why can’t I have my own pocket knife?

But my favorite questions are “Where is my (fill in the blank).” Since I never use their toothbrush, hairbrush, tennis shoes, math homework, stuffed animals, etc., I usually have no idea where they are. For some reason this news is astonishing to them.

Then there are the statements spoken with vague disapproval: “There’s no Kool-Aid. I don’t have any clean underwear. I can’t find any socks. Gracie’s coughing is bothering me.”

Never mind that my older kids could make their own Kool-Aid. And the reason there’s no clean “undies” is because they’re probably in a wad under the bed. Plus I don’t have a magic wand to make someone quit coughing just because it’s annoying someone.

There are days when I resent the whole non-person treatment. When I could use some help and no one notices. But I’ve also come to realize that while I’m not a person to them yet, I’m actually something better. I’m a part of them. They don’t distinguish themselves from me. They have a thought and must tell me. They have a need and know I’ll take care of it. They have a story and want to make sure I know about it.

My kids’ relationship with me is a lot like my relationship with God. I walk around most of the time not fully realizing God is a person, a real entity outside of me. When I need something, I expect him to provide. When I have a question, I expect him to answer me. But I really wish I was more like my kids. I wish God was the first person I ran to with a problem or story. I wish I was as comforted by God’s presence as my kids are by mine. I wish I was as dependant on God’s love for me as my little ones (and not so little ones) are with me.

Imperfect as I may be, my children still look to me. And when I look to God, I know my father is handling everything, making all things right.

Crissy Jones is a mother of four children ranging from age 5 to 13 and lives in Alabama.