Every Tuesday, Blue goes to Reading Club after school, and it’s one of those clubs where parents are supposed to tag along. I was hesitant at first because I worried that it would be tricky to balance with Plum who would have to come, too, and might not be thrilled to sit around while his brother worked through his reading scheme books.
Happily, I was completely wrong. There couldn’t be a better place for a two-and-a-half-year-old than his big brother’s colourful classroom. We soon settled into a routine of Plum tucking up (quietly but I don’t want to jinx that) on a sofa in the big kid reading corner while Blue and I tackled whatever books the club teacher threw our way. We’ve read silly poems, stories, plays and the ever-delightful Paperbag Princess. And then, last week… Enter The Little Polar Bear by Hans de Beer.
It was a simple story about a cub who ended up adrift on an ice flow and, of course, made it all the way to the tropics. The teacher gathered the kids on a carpet at the front of the room to read it, and Plum followed along with his big brother. The illustrations were lovely – sweet, but not too sweet – and the story gently introduced the puzzle of new friends. And then Lars, that little polar bear, got homesick. The teacher paused her story and asked if anyone knows what homesick means. And my dear boy’s hand shot up because he knows.
It means when you’ve moved away from home and like me and I still feel homesick sometimes and sad.
All the adult hearts in the room skipped a little. You could see the ripple going through the room. But the teacher dealt with it gracefully, agreeing that’s just what it meant. Then Plum climbed up onto his big brother’s lap to hear the rest of the story. I don’t know if he sensed that Blue needed a little more love or if he just wanted to get a better look at the book. Either way, it meant that my homesick boy wasn’t alone up there on the carpet with his heart on his sleeve.
None of this is new. We moved house seven months ago and, since then, we’ve all grappled with homesickness from time to time. But it has been our Blue’s burden more than most. Being away from the people and places he loves feels profoundly wrong for him. It’s been work to think together about what it might mean to bloom where we are planted, and to consider that there might be reasons that change can be good beyond the boring technicalities of Daddy’s new job. In the evenings, after stories and lights out, he and I take time to whisper together, sharing, listening and hugging close whenever it’s needed. It’s prayer time and cuddle time wrapped into one and feels just right in this Lent with this seven year old.
Still, nothing I say can wipe away his homesickness. And I wouldn’t want to.
Of course, I don’t want him to be sad, but I do think that homesickness, like any longing, can be a good teacher. We long for what we love. We long for that which makes us whole. Longing is the language of our hearts, and it is into our hearts that God speaks. Maybe listening to our longings helps us listen to God, who tells us again and again who we really are: deeply loved and nurtured children called into thriving community.
