Raising the Baby

I've heard from many that the baby of the family is always the baby. Looking at my fourth and final child who is now four, I am beginning to understand what is meant by that. My expectations for her are lower than they were for my other four year olds. The child still doesn't dress herself, or buckle her seat belt or squeeze her own toothpaste. She throws a fit almost everytime she is denied her wish. (she throws a lot of fits - we don't always give in) They say the first step to recovery is admitting the problem. So, I admit it, we baby our baby and we need to help her grow up. Not to mention, her attitude is becoming increasingly unpleasant. For a child with a naturally sweet and caring disposition, it is obvious that our 'babying' her is not bringing out the best in her as a person.

So, yesterday during our school time, she was becoming increasingly unpleasant. "No, you can't play with my iphone, you need to listen to the story. No, you may not stand over there, you need to have a seat with the family." Etc, etc... After the third or fourth meltdown, I send her to her room to have some time to calm down and return to being kind. Then, the thuds begin. The thud, thud, thud of little feet kicking the wall in frustration. At this point, I am feeling nothing but frustration and anger in my heart. I am not seeing this child as a person who needs me to help her grow up, I am seeing her as an annoying distraction to my day.

Whoa - hold on, I know better than that. Quickly, I ask the Lord for help to bring out the best in my little girl. And, as quickly as that, He guides me.

I walk into the room and see a little girl banging on the wall, with a face full of anger and I say sweetly, "Can we talk now?" As I sit next to her on her bed, she perks up and leans her little head on my chest, already sensing that I have come as an ally. I asked her, "How do you feel when someone tells you No?" She thought about it for a moment and replied that it made her mad. "You wanna know something, sometimes I feel mad when someone tells me no, too. (little eyes are looking at me now) But, part of growing up is learning how to behave the right way even when someone tells us no. How do you think you should behave when someone tells you know? (shrugs little shoulders) Should you say, "aaaahhh, but I WANT it?" (bursts into giggles) Was that the right way to respond? Okay, okay, let me try again..." We role play for awhile, taking turns to be the one who asks. Silliness ensues, but the lesson is learned.

She is learning how to handle disappointment. But, I am learning, too. I am learning that godly parenting involves empathy and seeing my child as a person. It involves prayer, thoughtfulness, and time. I am so thankful for the one who shares my burdens and guides me daily.

Beginning Anew

A couple of nights ago, I was lying in bed, talking to God silently when it dawned on me. I hadn't done this in quite awhile. Christmas was over and gone, and while I'd gotten in a few advent readings with the kids, I hadn't done much else to focus myself upon the King of Kings humbling himself to earth. Why?

Every year, I sort of dread the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season. I enjoy choosing thoughtful gifts for friends and families, but the stress of doing it all at once gets to me. Then there are the numerous concerts and school performances to prepare for and attend, classroom parties, teacher gifts... I find myself wanting to do it all well, but knowing that I'm not the type of person who can manage too much of this busyness. I don't want to be a complainer. I want to be the woman who enjoys His goodness while keeping my focus on him. But, I'm weak and easily distracted. Lists of gifts yet to buy and errands yet to run occupy my heart and mind. And, like that, I make this world my home and remove heaven from my view.

What I would like to know is HOW do I celebrate joyfully with my eyes on Him? The answer is beginning to materialize. I think it has to begin anew each morning. Each day will have it's stresses and busyness. But if I can begin each morning dedicating that day's lists and activities to Him, seeking His face and wisdom - then maybe it will be out of the fullness He provides that I will be able to live joyfully in the chaos.

The only real difference between my December days and my October ones was that October days began with my Father. Last Summer, I began working on the habit of rising early for exercise and prayer. I was trucking merrily along until the cold, dark mornings settled in. And, I traded those precious minutes of restoration for more time on my pillow.

And so, at the dawn of a New Year, I begin anew. Once again, seeking to form the most life-giving habit that I can. The alarm on my phone is set for seven; that's early enough for tomorrow.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."

Lamentations 3:22-23

Comforting our Children

My second child is the one who I sympathize with most. She's also my greatest challenge. She's a deep thinker; quick - witted, and exceedingly sensitive. She's a fiercely loyal friend yet a strong introvert.

There are days when she is such a joy with her funny remarks and her thought-provoking questions. But, this afternoon was not one of those. She seemed content enough when I picked her up from school. And after we left the library, she eagerly requested to carry out her book from the stack. But, when we arrived at home, I had a different daughter.

She yelled at her little sister for coming into the room. She called names. She refused to listen to calm reason. I had to leave the room in frustration so that I could cool off. Goodness. What to do? - The only thing a desperate mother can do. I asked my husband for back-up and I prayed for wisdom. After a dinner strewn with unkind words and plenty of food left on the plate, she left in a huff - back to her room. And then, it dawned on me.

I recalled the words I had read this morning and thought about how I could bring her comfort. I peeked my head into her room and asked, "would you like to take a bath in my tub with the good-smelling bath salts?" INSTANTLY, she became a different child. Back to her sweet, kind self - she climbed into the tub. I set out her pajamas, robe and slippers; brought her book into the bathroom and told her that she could stay there and read as long as she liked. As I took her precious face into my hands I remarked, "Dear one, did you need a night alone?" "Yes." "I understand, I need nights alone, too. Do you think that next time you feel like this, you could calmly let me know that you need some time alone?"

And that was that. Good-golly, I hope that I can remember the next time this girl is acting like a crazy person, that she's a young lady who needs her space now and then - just like me. A dear friend of mine once said, "It doesn't take much to bring us back around, a little chocolate, a glass of wine, a warm bath and we feel like a new woman."

Listening

As a mother, it has been important to me from the beginning to expose my children to the best in books and music. From the time that they are very small, I read wonderful stories to them. And, there is almost always good music from a wide variety of genres playing in our home. I have done this with the hope that a taste for beauty and excellence would be cultivated in them, and that they would also be inspired to pursue greatness as well.

Well, here I am with an official ‘tween’ and one soon-to-be amongst my brood. Even though we don’t have TV channels, they have seen enough of the Disney Channel to become pretty fond of a particular young, pop star. My gut instinct is to shut it off, talk to them about why it’s not great music and quick – turn on some Tchaikovsky!

However, I’ve been convicted lately that maybe that’s not the best route. These wise words have given me some new eyes to see and ears to hear. How can I possibly expect them to have any interest in what I care about if I refuse to even listen to something that they truly enjoy?

And, what if I viewed the things that they share with me as a pathway to their hearts? A chance to understand more about whom they are as persons? An opportunity to simply love them for who they are. What if I saw these years of transitioning from childhood to adulthood as a time for me to listen, care and be available? Do you think that maybe, they’ll be more likely to listen, care and be available for me, too?

Of course, I will continue to expose them to beautiful words and sounds. And, of course, there will be times when the line will have to be drawn when something is clearly dishonoring to the Lord. Hopefully, by knowing how much I care, those times of drawing the line will be easier for these sweet young ladies to handle. Lord willing, we will all be able to love and admire each other for the person God created us to be. And, within that love and admiration, hearts and minds will flourish. – That is the sincere desire of my heart.

Restoration

It was an afternoon like many. Schoolwork completed, hours before dinner, our yard is boring, and irritable children were flopping and sighing on the couch. Honestly, I felt the same way. I could've curled up and spent a couple of hours staring at a screen. As I surveyed the scene before me, it was obvious that joy had left the building. We were gasping for air, withering under the strain of shallow breathing. But, what to do? And then, I felt the subtle prompting; the prompting of that still, small voice whispering, "life is beautiful, but this is not - lead them to a path more satisfying."

Bravely, I pull myself together and suggest putting on shoes, getting in the car and heading out to the nature park. The smaller two eagerly jump up; the older two groan and squish the couch cushions even more, "Oh Mom, do we have to?"

Is this how it's supposed to go? Must I fight them along with my own fight for joy? I already know the answer; and soon, we're all in the car.

We arrive, and begin on our path. Who can help but feel a little more alive under the direct influence of Divine wind and sun? Down by the Cypress-lined creek, I park myself at a rustic, little table to read, paint and observe. My firstborn sits by me to draw. The sweet baby spends most of her time picking flowers. And the middle two are delighting in the adventure of balancing across logs to make it to the "islands" in the creek. Every now and then, they slip and splash a bit. But, that's okay, because wet shoes and clothes will dry far more quickly than these memories will fade.

Our joy has been restored.

"The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing. ² He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, ³ he restores my soul."

Two sweet hours sail by and it's time to return home. Reluctant, but satisfied, we load into the car. As I buckle the little one, I lean over into the backseat and look at my big girls. "Tell me the truth, did that feel better than sitting around on the couch?" A moment of quiet realization comes over them, and they both agree - It was much better.

Fighting for your Right...maybe not

My husband, the artist, is often busy on weekends. This means Saturday nights at Chic Fil A with the kiddos and maybe a movie for me after they're in bed. A few weekends ago, I was hoping to sneak in a quick trip to the grocery store before he had to leave for the day - by. my. self.
In the driveway, he was loading up - preparing to leave and earn our bread. I begged 30 minutes. He consented. During the course of this (2 minutes tops) conversation, all of my children had loaded and buckled themselves into the car. Now, why they won't load up that quickly when I want them to, I'll never understand. Nevertheless, here I stand. Fuming. I don't want to take them with me - it'll take hours! I just want to go by myself.
Being the martyr that I am, I climb in and turn the ignition, four kids in tow. As we drive, I state my demands: "No running off. No asking for ANYTHING. Got it?" We arrive, unload and begin our journey to the front door. As we pass through the outdoor plant section, my littlest one comments on how pretty the flowers are. Slowly I feel it. The drip, drip melting of an icy heart. My icy heart. The recently read words of Edith Schaeffer in describing a disgruntled wife come to mind:

"What a fantastic amount of wasted time! What possible results could it all bring ? What is of basic importance? What kind of lessons in human relationships are being given to three children in the midst of this? Are they being taught to yell for their "rights," no matter what is destroyed during the yelling?"

and I'm undone. Right there, at the entrance to the grocery store, I breathe deeply and decide to relinquish "my rights." Because they're not really mine anyway.

With pleasant face and voice restored, we breeze through the store. Before I know it, we're all enjoying ourselves at the library. I am so thankful for Godly women who've gone before me; who remind me the path toward righteousness has nothing to do with me or my rights.

A Tapestry

"Soon she would be about with them again, light-footed as of yore, loving them, teaching them, comforting them. They would be coming to her with their little joys and sorrows, their budding hopes, their new fears, their little problems that seemed so big to them and their little heart-breaks that seemed so bitter. She would hold all the threads of the Ingleside life in her hands again to weave into a tapestry of beauty."

Anne of Ingleside by Lucy Maude Montgomery



I have loved reading the "Anne" books with my two big girls and am often struck by the sweet truths expressed in them. Just this afternoon, it dawned on me that I am twelve years down with fourteen to go in this journey of parenthood (at least the part where they are small and live at home). We're nearly halfway through weaving this tapestry of life. What a joy it is to have the job of weaver. Pulling in some singing here, piano lessons there, read alouds, spontaneous dance parties, and adventures at the nature preserve. Hopefully, if we stand back and squint a little, those will outshine all of the slugs, dirt and shouting in the end.