I rummage through the snack drawer and pull out a happy assortment of goodies: Hide & Seek cookies, Medjool dates, salted makhana, and some woefully ignored packets of channa dal. Feeling slightly guilty about all the processed snacks, I throw some mandarin oranges into the mix. I deposit the items on the dining table along with three plastic IKEA plates. This is the sacred spot for our daily after-school, mom-and-kids huddle.

Or at least a huddle where words are few and munching isn’t.

My overly-eager questions are met with non-committal, almost monosyllabic responses. In other words, I encounter “teen-speak.”

 

“How did the Math test go?”

“Yeah, it was fine.”

“Who did you eat lunch with?”

“The usual people…”

“Did anything fun happen today?”

“Er, not really…Can I go now?”

“No, not yet. What did your teacher say about your essay?”

“I dunno. I can’t remember.”

 

Conversations with teens are as easy as pulling out deeply embedded wisdom teeth. It requires concerted effort and oodles of patience. With enough yanking, eventually, words (like teeth) come out. Thankfully, it’s less gruesome. (For the most part!)

As a mom, I sometimes wonder if this simple, yet intentional, daily tradition is making a difference. It’s not like anyone is sharing their deepest feelings or innermost thoughts. Often, it’s more an interrogation than a conversation.

But with my older teen leaving home for college in a year and my second one following close behind, I am grateful for these shared moments.

I may pack their dabbas in the morning. But this is where the unpacking of their day happens. In small bursts. In fits and starts. One shared snippet at a time.

I hear about the moment my son made a three-pointer during basketball.

I hear about the teacher who is “so unfair” or another one was “so nice” that she let them have a free class.

I hear about the classroom pet—a fish named “Fridge.” (Don’t ask.)

I hear about the upcoming test and how stressful life is.

Behind the words, I hear their hearts. Their moments of confidence and clarity that collude with their fears and anxieties. Their dreams and their hopes. The man and woman they are becoming.

It’s just a little tradition. But our “tea time” isn’t just about a re-telling of the day’s events. It is a space where my seemingly nonchalant teens feel seen, heard, and valued.

It reminds me a little of God and us. We sometimes go to the Throne of Grace with an air of reluctance. We are hesitant about opening up. We are almost fearful of being vulnerable.

But when we keep at it, in our ordinary daily conversations with Him, we realize that we are seen and heard. God leans in and listens. In communion with the Creator, we understand that we are valued.

Our after-school tea-time gives me a glimpse into my kids’ day—and their hearts. It may look like a muddle of snacks and a mess of crumbs on the table. But it’s not just a huddle. It’s holy work.

So, I’ll keep setting out those mismatched IKEA plates as long as I can. And I pray my kids pull up a chair because the table is always open.

 

 

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