Why I’m Okay with Bible Ripping

I was sitting on the couch reading a bedtime story with my six year-old when I heard my husband from the other room say, “Who ripped this?  Why?  Why would you rip this?”  I knew it couldn’t be good.  He came out of the bedroom of our three year-olds carrying “The Jesus Storybook Bible” in one hand, and half of one of the pages (I think it was part of the Christmas story) in the other.  Bummer.

We are definitely in the stage of life where we often feel compelled to say, “This is why we can’t have nice things” as the kids break yet another cereal bowl or knick-knack or even one their supposedly indestructible toys.  My poor husband takes this a little harder than I do, probably because he still lingers under the illusion that maybe the kids can avoid breaking stuff if we just teach them well enough.

As I see it we have two options-

A)  Only own items made of plastic, hide anything meaningful, and wrap the children’s limbs in bubble wrap.

B)  Get used to stuff being broken.

I have opted for option B as a way to keep my sanity and also keep my house mostly BPA free.  You know those moments that shape you in childhood?  The moment when something mostly dumb and silly happens, but you remember it forever?  I remember as a teenager dropping a bowl full of food (stroganoff?) and my mom cried.  It was a special meal she’d made for my dad before he went away on a long trip and I felt terribly guilty for ruining it.  My dad gave both my mom and me a hug and decided we should get Chinese food instead.  I’ve never forgotten that moment and how I vowed someday when my kids broke my things I wanted to take it in stride and not let them feel too guilty.  My dad was also the one who climbed into the passenger side of his mini-van after I had just broken the side mirror off of it backing out of the garage and said, “People are more important than things” and gave me a hug.  It’s a lesson I’ve had to remind myself of time and time again as the little people I love the most in this world break my things on a near daily basis.

Of course, the ultimate goal is the kids learn responsibility and they learn to be more careful.  We reinforce this by having them clean-up their messes and we don’t replace their things that get broken.  Each situation requires discernment, but when I see a child who feels truly sorry for what was clearly an accident, that’s when I know to keep my own frustration at a dull roar.  When I see a child that doesn’t care and isn’t sorry, that’s when consequences need to be more stiff and I can use that amazing mommy manipulative guilt we are all experts at wielding.  I have to remind myself I spill things, too.  Adults can have careless moments and break stuff, and we can break the really important stuff we put up on high shelves so the kids wouldn’t break it.  One of my most prized and sentimental possessions (a candle holder that was my grandma’s) got broken by my husband last year while he was assembling the Christmas tree.  It was the closest I’ve come to crying over a broken thing in a long time.

I know there’s a simple, foolproof solution for making sure “The Jesus Storybook Bible” doesn’t get ripped, but it involves them not interacting with it the way they do now.  Right now they love it.  Like, tangibly love it.  They hug it and carry it around and thumb through it and sleep with it on their bed and take it to meals.  Of course it’s going to get ripped.  And jelly stained.  And the binding will start to give.  But that’s what love does to us.  My binding is looking a little saggy these days too as my body wears the marks of love these children have given it and it begins to show its age.  My kids have some pristine stuffed animals with fluffy fur and velvet noses, but those are the ones nobody plays with.  They have never tended to a feverish child on the couch or experienced the initiation of a child’s first diaper-free night.  The lumpy, faded, threadbare piggy that never leaves my daughter’s side could not be replaced by a thousand shiny new ones.  She knows her piggy and is sure Piggy knows her in return.  Locking beautiful things in a safe would mean they never get broken, but it would also mean we would have no relationship with them.

So while I really do wish the page wouldn’t have gotten ripped, I’m thankful my kids love their Bible.  I’m glad they have a real relationship with it and I hope someday that translates to a love of the words, stories, and people represented in those pages.