Monthly Archives: December 2006
"Merry Christmas!"
A Matter of Fact
A common theme of late (in my reading and conversations) is keeping emotion out of discipline. Perhaps this should be obvious within the definition of terms, but when it comes to parental discipline, keeping emotions out of the picture is difficult. This is real life, every day encounters. To succeed in being logical and rational 100% of the time is … well, it doesn’t happen! It can’t happen.
Some accuse me of being overly emotional, period. They may be right. And the lack of sleep certainly plays a part. (I haven’t slept consistently in eighteen months.) Or maybe it’s that the love I have for my kids already saturates our encounters with emotion. Whatever factors contribute, the result has me displaying too much when disciplining my kids. Not always, mind you. Sometimes discipline is easy. But on tough days, when I am tired or have too much on my mind, it’s not so easy. I quickly become weary of plating the same rules time and again. That exhaustion is evident to me and, unfortunately, to my kids. I nag. I yell. I beg and plead – all useless efforts toward gaining some obedience.
A friend shared with me this morning the struggles she has had with her daughter. Our two girls both want to dominate. They are both know-it-alls. They both will argue to the death over trivial topics. They are also four years apart. Julie (my friend) told me she is making a concerted effort to stop arguing. Consequences are explained and that’s it. The child then has a choice: either obey or disobey. The end.
That choice is always there, but I realized, after talking with Julie, that I often allow another option: the buttons. Instead of clearly stating the consequences and leaving it at that, I will allow negotiations. The whining starts, then the begging and procrastinating. I permit my kids to push my buttons. Why? I don’t want to punish them; I want them to do the right thing. But they’re kids! They don’t want to do the right thing. They want to test the boundaries and push my buttons. They want to see how far I’ll bend before snapping.
Old dogs can learn new tricks. This afternoon I showed one of mine. Lunch was over and so was Oswald. Every day the end of Oswald (one of Zach and Ellie’s favorite cartoons) signals naptime. I turned off the TV and made the announcement, as I do every day. The argument part of our routine then began. Isabel started whining and declaring how she didn’t want to go to sleep.
Normally I would work to persuade her, thinking a gentle response would validate her feelings and prevent further argument. It usually did validate her feelings – enough to engage her in further arguments. Instead of diffusing the situation, my response, marinated in emotion, simply added kindling to the fire.
Today was different. Without any exhaustion or frustration in my voice, I said, “You are whining. If you continue arguing and throwing a fit, you will get a spanking. Now, it’s time for your nap.” I was not rude or harsh. I was upbeat, simply stating facts.
She didn’t expect that. She started with her usual rebuttal, but stopped mid-sentence, drastically changed her tone and took a step toward me. Calmly she stated, “I don’t want a spanking.”
“Good! Let’s go take a nap.”
It worked! I didn’t need to get emotional. Keeping emotion out of it made my job so much easier. I wasn’t forced to negotiate or plead for obedience. I simply stated the facts. No buttons were left in the open. I was safe and she was safe to make her decision.
And it makes sense, doesn’t it? I am sure God is emotional, but we never see His emotion in His discipline. He is saddened by our lack of wisdom; our repeated poor choices, but He doesn’t negotiate with us. He doesn’t beg us for obedience or threaten possible punishments. He lays out our choices clearly and steps back allowing us to make our decisions. Oh, we still whine and complain, but He doesn’t honor that behavior. He just waits patiently for us to choose. If we choose the right, we are blessed. If we choose the wrong, we encounter the consequences. It’s a matter of fact.
Facts are great because they contain no blame. We can’t get mad at gravity when we fall down. Gravity is a fact. That’s just the way it is. If we fall, it’s our fault. We made a poor choice. The same is true with discipline, be it from us or our Heavenly Father. Our kids can’t get mad at us if they make a poor choice. If Isabel decides to continue whining and throwing fits, she gets a spanking – not because I am a bad mom, but because she chose that consequence over the blessing of obedience. Likewise, we cannot blame God if we make a wrong choice. The facts are safe; safe for God, safe for us, safe for our kids. The consequences are what they are, and the choice is ours.
So Long, Privacy … Hello, Rest!
When I first read “The Five Love Languages” by Gary Chapman I was convinced my two primary love languages were physical touch and quality time. Now, almost ten years and two kids later, I think they’ve changed. The problem is that it’s too late – I’ve already passed them onto my children. They both need lots of assuring touches and lots of quality time. While eating, Isabel will rub her foot against our legs and Zachary will keep his hand on top of mine throughout the entire meal. It seems a subconscious need. As is the nature of toddlers, they both require full attention from morning ‘til night – and sometimes even then.
All this touching and neediness can put me in overload. It’s just too much. Some days (like today) I think I’ll scream if one more person touches me. Privacy and personal space have gone the way of manual typewriters: I vaguely remember them with some fond reminiscence, but have great difficulty finding any. My showers are always interrupted by some knocking on the door or a little one playing peek-a-boo behind a towel. I can read only a sentence or two before becoming a living jungle gym. Whatever I do – dishes, laundry, vacuuming, talking on the phone – it is all done with someone touching, someone shadowing, someone demanding equal or greater and simultaneous attention.
The other day I saw myself through my life ceiling: I was sitting on the john trying to do my business. Isabel sat on her potty trying to give a synchronized performance. Zachary sat at my feet hugging my legs and trying to climb into my lap. The funny thing is I didn’t see this as unusual. This has become my life. Unknowingly, I signed some contract upon becoming a mother that surrendered all modesty, privacy and personal space. Even as I write now, Zach is jumping on my arm and spitting gibberish on my laptop. (Yes, the same laptop I pronounced toddler-free just a few weeks ago; the same laptop into which Isabel tried stuffing raisins earlier today.)
Two things come to mind.
First, I am grateful God never tires of us. I don’t want to say I tire of my children – I love them dearly! – but there are definitely times when I need a break; I need some “me-time” to rejuvenate and refresh. Praise God He does not need that! His strength and patience are infinitely sufficient. He never needs a break from us. He never needs time to re-fuel.
Secondly, this same God who never tires has promised us rest.
“Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” – Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV)
Moms don’t get to leave work at the end of the day; we never get a vacation, but that’s okay because God doesn’t either. The good news is we can swap our burdens with Him. By learning from Him and following Him, we can have a lighter burden. It’s not our responsibility to raise perfect kids. We don’t have to be perfect parents who never tire of sacrificing all for our children and rejoice with every interrupted endeavor. We can rest knowing that God is carrying these burdens with us. We can surrender to Him and know that He will take care of us and our kids. We can trust that they are in His very capable hands and flawless care. This is where parents find rest.
As for privacy and personal space … well, I’ll let you know if I find it.
The Gifts We Bring
Christmas is only a week away. I recognize by stating that simple fact, I’ve lost many of you to your to-do lists. Minds are racing through what was meant to be done yesterday and must be done within the next seven days: cards to send, gifts to purchase and wrap, cookies to bake, relatives to visit … This is what Christmas is about – right?
Isabel has been flooded with the reason we celebrate Christmas. Does she know presents are coming? I’m not sure. She is too consumed by the lights, the songs and the Nativity. She wakes up asking if we can do the advent calendar and goes to bed singing “Away in a Manger” or naming all the key players in the story of our Lord’s birth. She knows exactly why Christmas exists. Her wonder is contagious.
Two major things have happened in the life of our two-year-old recently: she has learned to use a toilet and she had her very first concert at church. Potty-training was very exciting, for her parents as much as her. Nearly perfect, the task took about a week. The concert was also exciting. Wearing her satin Christmas dress, Mama’s pearl barrette holding back a couple curls, Isabel announced: “My teachers will be so happy because I am SO pretty!” They were and she was. Her Sunday School class sang three songs for the congregation – one of which was “Happy Birthday, Jesus.”
Isn’t it odd how we celebrate this holiday? It is commemorating the birth of Christ, but we give gifts to each other. What about the guest of honor? What does He receive? The speaker at our last MOPS meeting discussed ways of keeping Christ in Christmas. One suggestion she gave was to have our children make lists for Jesus. Instead of focusing on what we hope to find under the tree, think about what He might want from us. It was a sobering thought to me in the midst of American commercialism and holiday hype.
Isabel gets it. She reminds me every day. We have a little party each time she successfully uses her potty. She gets M&Ms or a sticker and we give high-fives. But since her Christmas concert, she has added something new. She looks into her potty, throws her hands up in the air and shouts, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JESUS!” It is as if her very efforts and obedience are a gift to Him. She has tagged this exaltation to other things as well. If she eats all of her meal … “Happy birthday, Jesus!” And when we clean up toys, well, that is worthy of a song.
This season really has nothing to do with all the things we stuff into it. It’s not about busyness, perfect portraits or annual letters to friends. This is a birthday celebration for our King. The magi brought gold, frankincense and myrrh. What are we bringing to the party? What are you giving Jesus this year?
Weary Without Praise
Moms are notoriously underappreciated; as are spouses, pastors and missionaries. Too many families serve up broiled pastor every Sunday. Missionaries are often only worthy of our leftovers. And if your spouse can’t keep the house clean or come to dinner on time, well, then it’s just not worth serving dessert, is it? You are probably expecting me to give a summation of how we should show appreciation for all those around us; how we need to give praise and encouragement more freely. I won’t argue with that, but it is not where I’m going today. I am more concerned with the attitudes of the underappreciated.
This is one of my biggest struggles. As a stay-at-home mom, I often feel over-looked and under-valued. I carry no fancy title. There is no visible productivity. I am not bringing home a paycheck and at the end of the week I have no tangible signs of progress. What am I doing every day? Oh, I know this is an important job – one of the most important jobs; but the recognition is not there. This is not a profession respected in our society. When my kids are having a bad day, I am the one getting dirty looks in the grocery store. It doesn’t matter how wonderful they may be the rest of the year, that one fit in aisle seven cements the judgments of every shopper who hears the screams.
It is human nature to crave praise. We want to be told how good we are. At the same time, it is contrary to our nature to give praise. So we are a people longing to hear how good we are, but reluctant to tell anyone else how good they are. This is a predicament.
The solution: Cling to Galations 6:9. We must persevere in doing good. It is hard and it makes us weary, but we must press on because a reward is waiting for us. If we give up on hard days, we will never see the harvest; we will never reap the benefits of our work. It is in this harvest that we will receive our praise.
Sometimes Ellie and Zach will pounce on me with praise, usually at the prompting of their father. Those moments are the most precious. It is then that all my sleepless nights and frustration-filled days are erased. In those moments I am overcome with gratitude for this “job.” I am humbled. And I am reminded not to give up because the harvest is yet to come. Their little showers of praise are nothing compared to the flood of blessings that God has in store for those who follow this verse. Can you imagine? Little seeds … tender care … persistence.
Do not grow weary, my friend. Do not give up. Continue to do good, even when no one seems to notice. Do not wait on praise or measure your performance against the recognition. Saturate this world with your good deeds. I’ll see you at the harvest party.
Burnt Ribs
Last night I had an undeniable craving for barbeque ribs. Normally, such gastrointestinal whims are ignored in favor of pleasing my husband. He’s not a huge fan of ribs, so typically I save them for meals he misses. Last night was one such meal. Rick had to work late, and I pulled out the ribs.
Do you make ribs often? If you do, you know aluminum foil is necessary to really do it right. We had none, but I was not giving up. “What can I substitute for aluminum foil? I need something to lock in the steam and create a nonstick surface …” Perhaps my hunger and craving combined to block logical thought processes. I’m not sure what happened, but for some reason, I decided wax paper would work, forgetting it was highly flammable. Within moments of putting it all in the oven, the smell of snuffed candles filled the house setting off the smoke alarm.
Details are important. Following instructions is important. If we miss one thing, no matter how small it seems at the time, the results could be disastrous. This was just food – far from a life or death situation. God’s Word, on the other hand, is the instruction manual that spells life or death. Every detail of it is important.
“All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work. “ – 2 Timothy 3:16 (NIV)
Just like in cooking, we cannot choose which of God’s instructions we like and which we don’t. We cannot choose which sections to obey and which we will ignore. “ALL Scripture is God-breathed and is useful …” Not just some of it. Not just the sections that make us feel good. ALL of it. When we follow the instructions completely, everything works great. When we don’t, we set off smoke alarms and get burnt ribs.
After a very trying morning, Isabel looked at me today and said: “Mommy, I don’t want to listen to you.”
I immediately got down to her eye level. “You don’t have a choice.”
There are certainly times I don’t want to listen to God. I want to choose which parts of His Scripture I will obey today. I want to decide for myself what passages apply to me and which ones are intended for others.
This, however, is not a choice for me or you to make. If we place our faith and trust in God, we must believe Him in everything; in every part of what He says. We don’t have a choice. It’s all or nothing. When it comes to salvation, all is definitely better than nothing.
Without Ceasing
My daughter never stops talking. She wakes up talking. She goes to bed talking. She even talks in her sleep. Every moment in this house is spent to the soundtrack of a little girl’s monologue.
Rick is wonderful at shutting out unnecessary noise. I am not. He can choose what to hear. If something is not on his radar, he simply doesn’t hear it. It’s a talent I do not possess. He has often told me I need to be better at ignoring our children. Perhaps that would make my life less frustrating, but then I might miss much more, too.
Yesterday Rick was practicing his selective hearing, choosing only to listen to the Giants game and not much else. Meanwhile, Isabel was sitting in the bathroom creating another lovely Dennis home soundtrack. I was trying to read while Zach played at my feet. The girl never stopped talking. Rick didn’t hear a word. I heard her sing about going potty and baby Jesus and Christmas and the alphabet. I heard stories of Grandma’s house, snowmen, silly princesses and funny little brothers. Rick heard nothing but the game. Then, absentmindedly, I rolled a plastic bottle under my feet. The noise this made, a crinkly-crunch, drove Rick crazy. Now, why is it that this sound annoyed him while the drone of toddler talk streaming from the bathroom went unnoticed? His answer: “All I hear is ‘wah-wah wah wah-wah-wah.’” He had perfectly imitated Charlie Brown’s teacher. “Then ‘CRUNCH!’ I notice that.”
Not even two seconds later the bathroom voice called out: “Wah-wah wah wah-wah-wah!” She doesn’t even know what she’s saying, but she can’t stop saying it. Every thought that enters her mind is verbalized. Every sound that enters her ears must be imitated. Nothing is off-limits. No inhibitions exist. The talking must go on. It never ceases.
While her incessant talking gets below my skin several times a day, I still admire her stamina. Where does she find the energy to talk all day long? All day, every day? It amazes me. And it inspires me.
1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 reads: “Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (NAS)
Do I pray with the fervor with which my three-year-old talks? Her enthusiasm never wavers. Even if no one is listening, she continues voicing her thoughts, concerns, joys and dreams. And yet with prayer we know Someone is always listening. God wants us to pray. He wants to hear all that we think and fear and dream and hope.
I have reminded Isabel, “You only need to say things once.” Perhaps she thinks I don’t hear her or I didn’t understand what she said. Either way, if I don’t move fast enough, she just repeats what she said over and over and over again. Sometimes it even gets louder with each verse. It’s like ‘Henry the Eighth’. My brother used to drive me to homocidal thoughts simply by singing that song. Because I do not want to kill my child, I have asked her to only say things once. “You must trust me to do what you ask and give you what is best – without all the reminders.”
Her nagging has often reminded me of Luke 18. There Luke recorded a parable Jesus told of an annoying widow. The judge in her town didn’t respect God or His statutes. She went to this judge repeatedly asking for justice. He refused time and again. Undeterred, she kept coming back asking the same thing again and again. Finally, the judge acquiesced and gave her what she wanted. He said, “… because this widow keeps bothering me, I will see that she gets justice, so that she won’t eventually wear me out with her coming!” (v. 5) Jesus went on to explain “Will not God bring about justice for His chosen ones who cry out to Him day and night?” (v. 7)
The introduction to this parable is in verse 1; it reads: “Then Jesus told His disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up.” (NIV) Am I giving up when I only pray once?
I have always thought of prayer in very simple terms. I tell God what’s on my mind, then He answers with “yes”, “no”, or “wait”. I don’t like repeating myself. I’m too afraid of being annoying. But that is not the point of this story.
The point is not that the widow was too annoying. The point is that she was persistent. God doesn’t think we are annoying. He wants us to come to Him again and again. He wants us to approach Him the way Isabel approaches me – with lots of enthusiasm, stamina and persistence; without ceasing.
