Let Me See What My Donkey Sees!

Do you ever think your child acts like a donkey? My last reading in the Old Testament left me with that exact impression.

The account is found in Numbers 22. Israel was on their journey to claim the promised land. Israel was an intimidating group to the Moabites. Feeling threatened, Balak, King of the Moabites, entreats Balaam the prophet to curse Israel so that they don’t prosper. Balaam goes and the anger of the Lord is kindled against him because this isn’t the will of the Lord that Israel be cursed. A heavenly messenger is sent to warn Balaam. Balaam didn’t see the angel standing in the way with sword unsheathed, but his trusty donkey did. The donkey tried to protect his master three times by turning off of the path, by laying down in the path, and by running himself and his master into the wall. Because Balaam was unable to see what his donkey did he was furious and beat his donkey those three times. He felt so justified in the treatment of his animal and so furious by his donkey’s actions that he even wished to kill him. Then something truly amazing happened. God opened the donkey’s mouth and the donkey in essence pathetically says, “Why are you hitting me? Haven’t I always served you? Haven’t I always done everything you asked? I have only stopped you because I am trying to protect you.”

Wait…did that say that the mouth of the donkey was opened rather than that God spoke through the donkey? This is a radical idea that is contrary to the more common dismissal of an animal’s feelings as not real because, well, they are an animal. Balaam’s donkey had feelings that were overlooked because the donkey could not express them and a perspective of a danger that his master couldn’t appreciate because the donkey couldn‘t articulate. “Who are the donkeys in our lives?” I wonder. There are many in our lives who can not articulate well or who cannot articulate at all and as a result they are seen as not having feelings or the feelings are unimportant or not real. I think of the elderly, of victims of strokes, of the mentally retarded, of the mentally ill, and I especially think of children.

In 3 Nephi 26 the language of how the Lord opened the mouths of the children to speak reminds me of the account of Balaam and his donkey. “And it came to pass that he did teach and minister unto the children of the multitude of whom hath been spoken, and he did loose their tongues and they did speak unto their fathers great and marvelous things, even greater than he had revealed unto the people; and he loosed their tongues that they could utter (3 Nephi 26:16).”

I remember myself as a child. My parents and I laugh now about a time period that I moaned and complained. I was around 10 years old. I was going through that awful stage where you are not a cute child and not a beautiful young woman. It is the ugly stage. It was the stage where the things you say aren’t adorable because of youth and yet wit and intelligence isn’t well enough developed to be impressive to anyone. It is an awkward stage. It was also an unhappy time for me. I struggled to find word to articulate my loneliness, but I was unable to. So why I burst into tears during dishes or I moped around the house and my family would ask me what was wrong I would say, “I guess it is just hard to be the middle child.”

Now, that wasn't true. I loved being the middle child. When you are number 5 of 10 amazing people you can be close to them all. I loved being a part of a big family.
Maybe I read the words in a book or maybe an older person said that it must be hard because I was the middle child. Who ever first gave the idea, I don’t recall, but I latched on to those words to try to explain my hurt.

Now that I am older, I look back at that time and can articulate precisely the cause of my sorrow. I was terribly lonely. I didn’t have anyone special in my life that adored me. During that time I lost my best friend Heather because her cousin Amy moved next (next door or down the street - maybe add that detail to make it more real?) to her. I still remember how painful it was to call to ask Heather to play and my best friend that never played with anyone else was now always with Amy. At school their close friendship continued and I was at best a third wheel. I was lonely at school. I was lonely at home because my older sister had become more interested in playing with our older brothers rather than playing make believe with me. She was out of the awkward stage and into the cool, pretty stage. This is a natural transition, but as my luck would have it my adoring younger sister had just found out how fun our younger brother could be and even she didn’t to want to play with me. That loneliness at home and school made me yearn for someone that would always love me, prefer my company, and see the good in me. In short, I wanted my mom. This was one of the times in my life that I most grieved my mother’s death. She passed away when I was almost seven.

I still feel sad when I remember that lonely time of my life. I feel even worse when I think of my donkey children going through similar pains without being able to express what they feel. But what makes my heart break is to think of how I could respond as a mother to my children like Balaam responded to his donkey. After Balaam had the surreal conversation with his donkey the Lord rebuked him. Then the scripture states, “The Lord opened the eyes of Balaam, and he saw the angel of the Lord standing in the way, and his sword drawn in his hand: and he bowed down his head, and fell flat on his face (Numbers 22:31)” I imagine having shame and humility replace feeling self -justified in his anger is part of the reason that Balaam falls flat on his face.

It seems almost unavoidable that I will make similar mistakes because my children can't articulate their feelings and I don't always intuit their perspective. The only answer seems to be the Lord opening my eyes as he opened Balaam's. “Oh , please dear Lord,” I pray, “let me see what my donkey sees!”

The Holy Bible, Numbers 22
http://scriptures.lds.org/en/num/22