Parenting 101: Older ≠ Easier

 

Once my toddlers-with-a-death-wish became school age and my perpetual game of “Eyes on the Diminutive Demolition Crew” was over, I thought parenting would be easier. No more embarrassing calls (yes, plural) to poison control reporting my son’s fondness for backyard mushrooms or diaper rash cream. No more sprinting to snatch a future mountaineer before he or she nose-dived off yet another soon to be obstructed household pinnacle, and no more frenzied searching of circular clothes racks in the mall’s largest department store…where my daughter played unannounced games of hide-and-seek. 

In my mind, older children meant reason would replace impulsiveness, family members could function more independently of one another, and household chores would be distributed to relieve Mom’s workload. I could blissfully return to a full-time career; balance triune roles of wife, mother, and professional; help financially support a comfortable lifestyle; and find time to pursue personal interests. Delusional.

Somehow I neglected the parenting pamphlet explaining that raising children does not simplify with each age-incremental stage. Only the challenges change. My dad’s advice, “You’ve got to be smarter than they are,” was appreciably easier to accomplish when “they” were two and  five–versus twelve and fifteen. I was also ignorant that the same darlings who could be bribed or compelled to follow my schedule as toddlers would develop time-consuming, wallet-emptying, automobile-depreciating and laundry-multiplying customs called “agendas” upon entering school. Agendas contain social, academic, athletic, spiritual, entertainment, hunger-inspired, musical, and fashion elements. When teenagers are involved, each element’s potency is raised to the thirteenth power.

Agendas highlight parent-child priority disconnects and generate difficult parenting decisions such as: What comes first…homework or friends? What is our family’s activity saturation point? What (or whose) influences reside outside the boundaries of appropriate?

A difficult parenting decision surfaced this week when my son asked to spend spring break in Arizona with a trusted friend’s family. Besides missing him, choosing to let Jesse go would place so many events outside my protective influences–from sunscreen slathering to a thirty-six hour round-trip drive. Somewhere in my fear-centered debate a quiet voice reminded, “You’re not the one who keeps him safe.” And I’m not. I am simply an instrument in the hands of the one who does. As I write these words, Jesse is traveling…and I am praying phrases from Psalm 91.

“Letting go” is one more reason an older child does not equal easier parenting. My mountaineers are still nose-diving off pinnacles, plunging into independent futures, and I can’t always be there to catch them. I must continually choose to trust the hands that can.

It will be ok, though, because parenting will be easier when my kids are in college.

Right?

A Metamucil Wall…and Others I’ve Constructed

Last week I cleaned out the lonely cupboard above our refrigerator and discovered a tub of Metamucil with a 2006 expiration date. Not wanting some dumpster-diver’s gastrointestinal overdose on my conscience, I decided to responsibly dispose of the over-the-counter medication by washing it down my garbage disposal. Metamucil dissolves in water…right? Its whole purpose for existence is to unclog “pipes”…right?

My husband and I wasted an entire afternoon below our kitchen sink…shop-vacuuming water and attempting Metamucil Wall Demolition. A bottle of liquid drain opener. A plunger. Two borrowed plumbing snakes. Baking soda and vinegar. A high pressure hose. The failure of two amateurs did not alarm me, but pocketbook panic arose when the exceptionally nice Plumberman (who refrained from mocking, lecturing, or rolling his eyes at my Metamucil disposal technique) toiled outside for forty minutes with his fearsome industrial snake and returned proclaiming he would “need to work under the house.” Ninety minutes and eight feet of shiny new two-inch pipe later, Plumberman emerged respecting the pleasant-smelling, gelatinous ooze I’d created. He called it “impressive stuff.” Said it “seemed to grow” out of the four segments of pipe he’d disemboweled. Snapped pictures to share with the plumbing community.

Annihilation of the Metamucil wall was a cinch compared to my ongoing efforts to destroy my fortress of self-made security. I didn’t realize how thick this wall was until deciding to resign my full-time teaching job last June for family reasons. On paper, there was “no way” my husband’s teaching salary could cover the mortgage, car payment, master’s degree loans, private school tuition, orthodontist bills, car insurance for a soon-to-be driving teen, sports fees, and little things like food, water, and electricity. Even after much prayer for direction and believing God had answered, I kept hanging on to my walls of financial “security” and double-checking. “Are you sure, God?”

Rahab, a prostitute, understood about walls.¹ Her home was built into the wall of Jericho, and ten of twelve Israelite spies had previously determined Canaan’s cities too fortified to conquer. But Rahab believed that Israel’s God was stronger than Jericho’s walls, so she hid two enemy spies and requested refuge. The saving of her family, recognition in the Hebrews 11 “faith chapter,” and a place in the lineage of Christ reward Rahab’s decision to let God be her wall.

King Zedekiah, in Jeremiah 38-39, did not fare as well. Zedekiah trusted his own advice and Jerusalem’s walls instead of the Lord’s promise that he and his family would be spared if he surrendered to the Babylonians. After the “city wall was broken through,” Zedekiah lost his sons, his officials, his position, his eyesight, and his freedom. Jerusalem was burned to the ground, its walls torn down.

I understand Zedekiah. God asking him to surrender to evil adversaries wasn’t logical by human standards. But commonsense did not persuade Rahab to leave Jericho’s walls and join a horde of homeless foreigners who’d been wandering a desert for forty years…faith in God did. A prostitute trusted God; a king did not.

My secure wall of a salaried paycheck crumbled with September first. That month, God reminded me of Zechariah 2:4-5:

 Jerusalem will be a city without walls

because of the great number of people and animals in it.

And I myself will be a wall of fire around it,’ declares the LORD,

‘and I will be its glory within.’

What is more impassable than a wall of fire? And that’s what I want…God as my impenetrable wall of fire, my fortress, my strong tower–so he can be the “glory within.”

God has faithfully been that wall of fire, graciously supplying every need of my family. I still get fearful, pick up bricks, and start to build. But I have a costly reminder of what happens when I endeavor to construct walls…

Metamucil, anyone?

¹Joshua 2:1-21, 6:16-24

Sometimes, God Shoves

Ask my fifteen-year-old daughter Hannah to define junior high, and the Greek mythology buff will retort, “The Social Underworld.” By association, parenting during this era teetered at a similar depth. Although Romans 8:28 promises Christians “all things work together for good,” we don’t always get to see or understand heaven’s purposes for heartache. This mom is grateful that God has answered her daughter’s “Why?” with at least partial insight. She and I were recently listing some “good” outcomes when I asked,

“Do you see how God was directing you?”

“Mom, you’ve got to stop using that word.”

“What word?”

“Directing. That implies God gently guiding you. I was shoved in the back like, ‘I’m going to make you so miserable you have to change.’ Shoving, mother. Shoving.”

She’s right. Sometimes, God shoves. Or drags…like the time God’s angels protectively yanked Lot out of Sodom. Or flattens…as when spiritually-sightless Saul was leveled and blinded on the road to Damascus. Joseph’s involuntary relocation to Egypt began with shoving into a cistern, continued with pushing into prison, and ended with “the saving of many lives.”¹

In Amos 4:6, God tells Israel, “I gave you empty stomachs in every city and lack of bread in every town.” Gave empty stomachs? Gave? This sounds suspiciously like shoving. God goes on to list other “presents” He sent Israel such as: drought, blight, locusts, plagues, and war. But five times He reiterates why he shoved, “Yet you have not returned to me.” God longed for a relationship with his children and was propelling them to change, but they did not.

In my family, pain produced change. After nine years in a private school with 60 classmates, Hannah transferred to a mega public school with a freshman class of over 500. Consequently, I resigned my full-time teaching job–mostly to focus on being mom during her transition. Change has produced challenges, but also spiritual growth, new relationships, exciting opportunities, and contentment. However, the effect of shoving that has impacted me most deeply began several weeks ago when we picked up one of Hannah’s new unsaved friends for youth group. The next week, the girl returned on her own. The following week, she brought a friend. Shoving to a new environment has afforded two souls the opportunity to hear about Jesus. The New Testament church in Acts was shoved out of Jerusalem by persecution…and the gospel was spread.

Yes Hannah, sometimes God shoves. But the shoving may protect, develop perseverance,² grow faith,³ discipline,⁴ or push us and others…right into His waiting arms.

¹Genesis 50:20

²James 1:3

 ³I Peter 1:7

⁴Proverbs 3:12

Losing Trousers…Finding Faith

Sometimes, my twelve-year-old loses pants. How does he lose pants? Lost socks, I understand. Lunch box, I get it. But pants? They were ON HIS PERSON when he left the house this morning. Ok, so there was a clothing change for soccer practice or an afternoon at a friend’s. But were the athletes in the changing room oblivious to renegade trousers that were not the floor’s size? Doesn’t some mother wonder how alien pants beamed into her home? Pants just seem too big and too important to lose.

Some days, I lose faith. How can I lose faith? Lost dreams, I understand. Unfulfilled expectations, I get it. But faith? I put on the SHIELD OF FAITH before I left the house this morning. Ok, so it was pummeled by financial strain, future uncertainty, a family illness, and an ugly situation where wickedness seemingly triumphed . But doesn’t my renegade heart register that I am unable to name one instance where the Lord failed me? Do I need to erect a backyard Ebenezer stone in order to remember “thus far the Lord has brought” me¹? Faith is just too big and too important to lose.

The Israelites lost faith to the extent God sent them into exile. In Hosea 1:2, God said Israel was “guilty of the vilest adultery in departing from the Lord.” Yet the very next chapter includes one of the most beautiful and demonstrative passages of God’s compassion towards His faithless children:

 “Therefore I am now going to allure her;

I will lead her into the wilderness

and speak tenderly to her…

I will remove the names of the Baals from her lips…

I will betroth you to me forever;

I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion.

I will betroth you in faithfulness,

and you will acknowledge the Lord.”

 Hosea 2:14, 17a, 19, 20 (NIV, 2010)

The betrayed desires the betrayer. The Faithful seeks out the faithless. The Holy One not only allures the vilest adulterer, He cleans up her mess (verse 17) and betroths her in faithfulness.

When I lose faith, the source is usually easy to identify: I am focused on the temporary and not the eternal². I don’t understand why God allowed something to happen. I am battle weary. Prayers are not answered my way or on my schedule, so my me-obsessed-self  begins to doubt.

As I berate myself for lack of faith, I remember God’s tender response to faithless Israel, and II Timothy 2:13 comes to mind:

 “…if we are faithless, he remains faithful…”

 There’s hope in that promise. Hope that restores vision and rekindles…faith.

(Author’s Note: I usually let my writings hibernate and then revise before sharing. While this piece was sleeping for a couple of weeks, I reorganized my son’s chest of drawers. I laughed when I found…another child’s pants.)

¹I Samuel 7:12

²II Corinthians 4:16-18

God Ate Pigeon?

 

Years ago, my roommate in the Bahamas backed her vintage 1965 Valiant over a preoccupied pigeon. Observing the pigeon’s misfortune, our school’s custodian promptly collected, plucked, and iced it–while delighting in his providential dinner. We teachers laughed because:  we didn’t think backing over a bird was possible, the fowl was “laid to rest” in our staff room refrigerator, and we couldn’t believe anyone would eat pigeon…especially a flattened one.

Jesse, my twelve year-old, recently asked over a tri-tip dinner, “Did Jesus eat beef?” My husband and I explained that if Jesus ate beef at all, it probably wasn’t often. We reminded him that Jesus’ family was poor. Joseph and Mary could not afford a lamb for Jesus’ temple dedication, so they offered the alternative–“a pair of doves or two young pigeons.¹” Jess cackled, “God ate pigeon?”

The Bible details little of what Jesus ate–bread, fish, wine, and potentially lamb during Passover–so I didn’t know how to answer Jesse’s question. I pointed out that doves and pigeons were considered “clean” birds, therefore it was feasible Jesus ate pigeon.

The prospect of God eating pigeon unsettled me. Realizing I once mocked a custodian because I considered myself “above” his pigeon entrée, I mentally enumerated Christ’s actions that I don’t have the humility to emulate. Emmanuel ate with the outcasts of the day and rebuked the “popular” boys. Homeless, the Creator itinerated and often allowed others to meet His needs for food or shelter. Perfection touched leprous hands. The King-of-Kings washed dusty, smelly, calloused feet. And my attitude…

…should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to death—
even death on a cross!

Philippians 2:5-8 (NIV, 1984)

Someday, I’ll try pigeon. Right now, I’m attempting to swallow crow.

¹Luke 2:24 (NIV, 1984)

Photo:  This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. Wikimedia Commons.

Training My Eyes to See

I privately panicked when my college Bible study leader asked each attendee to convey a favorite verse. Over 31,000 verses in the Bible, and I was supposed to prefer one? It was a revelation, despite an evangelical Christian upbringing.

I don’t remember what I shared that evening. I do remember going home and laboring over which verse really was my favorite, so I could answer future requests…honestly.  I chose a set of three verses and committed them to memory:

        “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”     II Corinthians 4:16-18 (NIV)

I figured if I could achieve the directives of not losing heart and keeping my eyes fixed on the unseen, everything else would fall into place. I would love, believe, hope, act, and live like I should.

Although these verses have remained my “favorites” for about twenty-five years, I am haunted by how quickly and frequently I allow temporary to overshadow eternal. As a wife, mother of two, daughter of aging parents, writer, and elementary educator; my struggles often do not feel “light and momentary.” I mind-wrestle problems and adopt a me-centered perspective. I lose heart. Blinded by urgency entanglements, I overlook the Unseen in the everyday:  my children’s faces, dawn, friends, trees, successes, tea, pigeons, laughter, raspberries, beauty, breathing. Can I claim that even one-eighth of my day is spent “eying invisibilities?”

My hope for this blog is that it offers women who are embroiled in the overwhelming struggles of “the seen” one more glimpse of “the unseen”…with some humor along the way. It is a prayer for myself as well–that the responsibility of sharing short devotional posts will yield more time in God’s Word, more time seeking a heavenly view on earthly life, and more time eying invisibilities.

A View of the Author: Denette Fretz

PIRATES ON THE FARM by Denette Fretz, Illustrated by Gene Baretta.
Zonderkidz, 2013

Eyeing Invisibilities is my “B.C.” blog…”Before Children’s Book.” To find out more about me, my book, and five scruffy pirates, go to www.denettefretz.com. Arrgh!