“W” is for “We love Him because…”

by BetsyFaith, ParentingPosted on No Comments

“We love him, because he first loved us.”–1 John 4:19

I don’t think I really had any idea about God’s love for me until I had a child of my own–not that I have ever or will ever fully grasp the depth of His love, but I can understand just enough through having a child. As a parent, there’s an element of unconditional acceptance of one’s children. Under most circumstances, children reciprocate the love they receive from their parents; it’s nearly a preordained concept. This relationship translates to us as children of our Father, God.

A few days ago, I was texting my son who had recently become a father; he alluded to the love he has for his newborn baby in this way: “I love her so much, it hurts.” I responded, “Like I love you.” My son, who is fatherless, has such an innate desire for fatherhood. He loves his baby girl with an intensity and tenacity that surpasses any selfish desire he may face. Isn’t it just like God to wire us in such ways that allow us to grow in the capacity we require? My son hasn’t known the love of a father, but he can now find some semblance of understanding how God loves us. 

In a recent conversation with my sister, she alluded to her relief that her son has bypassed a particularly difficult phase that caused her perpetual uneasiness for some time. In turn, I reflected on how so many times through the years I had been unable to focus on anything in my own life when my son was experiencing any type of turmoil in his. As parents, the focus of our lives revolves around our children and their wellbeing. When that focus is disrupted by daily struggles or even trauma or tragedy, everything else takes a back burner, so to speak. Progress in any direction is put on hold until the problem is resolved, or at least is brought to some form of closure. 

I have tried to imagine how God looks at us, His children, knowing of our weaknesses and propensity for sin. His answer was to provide His perfect Son, Jesus, to pay the price for all of us. Again, parenting has allowed me to just catch a mere glimpse of how God loves us and to provide the impetus for my loving Him in return.

The Light on Black Friday

by BetsyLife, ParentingPosted on No Comments

Driving around today, I was waiting at a stoplight to turn left, and a couple of vehicles were in the lane to my right. I was amused to see the rear one creep up to the bumper of the car in front of him and honk, obviously urging him to turn right when no other vehicles were coming. When the offending driver finally pulled out into the furthest lane, the impatient driver revved his engine and tore into the road, passing the former on the right and disappearing in a few seconds. I observed this and laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation while “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” spilled from my car speakers, providing an ironic backdrop to the scene. 

I had just come from a store where I’d been disappointed that some items I had hoped to purchase were sold out. Then, I went through a drive-thru to get a coffee, only to be disappointed that they were out of what I had wanted to order. Though I wasn’t in the foul mood that that other driver was evidently battling today, I have been guilty of grungry (grumpy/angry?) driving myself. I have to acknowledge that all of these first-world problems are so trivial in the grand scheme of things. 

We still get together to venture out and spend some quality time.

When my son was about 11 or 12, we began getting up early on Black Friday and hitting the sales to see what deals we could score. We always had a lot of fun, though we didn’t always get what we went after. That tradition has carried forward into his adulthood, and though we haven’t really bought much on Black Friday in recent years, we still get together to venture out and spend some quality time. Retailers have begun to back up their Black Friday sales windows to encroach on the Thanksgiving holiday, but family time is still paramount to us, so we enjoy Thanksgiving dinner and then occasionally migrate to the mall in the evening. 

This year, my son, his wife, and I headed out on Thanksgiving evening; after wandering around a couple of stores, we got back in the car with a few purchases and decided to head home since it was getting late. I had decided to take a back road to the house since we had put the seats down in the back of the car, and the way we were piled in the front seat, I didn’t want to be flying down the interstate–safety first! Since we’re new to the area in which we live, I don’t know the roads that well, and although I’d been on that particular road before, it had been a few months. When we got to the end of it, I couldn’t remember which direction to turn, so I tried left and ended up at a road closure and had to turn around and go back in the other direction, which was the actual way home.

The spooked animal ran out of the road and then immediately back across the road in front of us.

As we headed back, I could see a doe in the road up ahead, so I slowed down, and we watched as the spooked animal ran out of the road and then immediately back across the road in front of us. I came to a stop and then looking out the passenger side window watched as the doe nearly collided with a buck who then ran at my car, and then swerved in a parcour-esque type motion that made us jump in our seats. They both ran off after that, and we laughed about the shenanigans of the deer, and we laughed some more a minute later when I turned down yet another wrong road. We realized it at the same moment when we saw a “No Outlet” sign. It was midnight when we finally got to the house, and another memorable Black Friday was in the books. 

I personally don’t put a lot of emphasis on material things. I see Black Friday as a tradition with my son, more so than a prime shopping time. It is a kick-off to that “Wonderful Time of the Year” when we reflect on what is most important in this life, spending time with loved ones and celebrating God’s gift of His Son–well beyond any trivial disappointments or things we can buy. 

And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also ye are called…and be ye thankful. Colossians 3:15

Spared from the flames

by BetsyFaith, ParentingPosted on One Comment

“How great a matter a little fire kindleth!” James 3:5

My son was diagnosed with ADHD in the first grade, though his preschool and kindergarten teachers rightly suspected it before that. As his mother, I resisted any attempt at labeling my son and his unique skill set. I realized that academics were always going to be a struggle for him, and I resigned myself to the long haul ahead. However, it was his everyday life fiascos from which I learned the most.

When he was in second grade, I had broken my ankle, and my son learned that he could outrun his crutch-laden Mama, easily escaping upstairs or outside, leaving me well in the dust calling to him to come back. He could be headstrong and defiant, and always impulsive, but lovable, empathetic and curious at the same time. I spent every day trying to figure out how to be an adequate parent, feeling most days that I’d failed. I often prayed that God would spare him from himself, and make up for my deficiencies.

“Mommy, I’m scared,” he murmured, and I immediately began sifting through all of the potential disasters that he could have initiated around that corner.

Toward the end of my stint on crutches, we ventured to a furniture store where I was shopping for a desk. I had been hobbling around in the back of the store when I heard a sales clerk suddenly calling out to someone. He proceeded to run toward the front of the store and disappeared from my view. I looked up to see my son appear around the corner of a nearby desk with his eyes round and bulbous, a look of alarm on his 8-year-old face. “Mommy, I’m scared,” he murmured, and I immediately began sifting through all of the potential disasters that he could have initiated around that corner. I heard, “What did you do?” leave my lips, though I distinctly remember wanting to grab his hand and flee through any other possible exit than the front door, leaving the mystery unsolved.

Where did he get matches? Where did he light the matches? How was the furniture store not going up in flames?

To my chagrin, the clerk appeared momentarily with a handful of foot-long matches, with the ends evidently already burned off. They were wet and had apparently been shoved in a snowbank. I looked from the matches to the look of recognition on my boy’s face as the clerk glared at him and admonished him with a very stern, “Don’t you know you are not to play with matches?” My mind reeled with questions. Where did he get matches? Where did he light the matches? How was the furniture store not going up in flames? I apologized profusely, and herded my son through the couches and recliners toward the front door, the clerk following us, probably making sure we didn’t make any other stops along the way.

“…I just wanted to see if they were real.”

As we passed a coffee table, my boy pointed to a decorative round receptacle that stood conspicuously empty next to a centerpiece. It had a strip of rough paper on one side. “They were right there, Mom. I just wanted to see if they were real,” he explained. “I took them out and rubbed them down the sandpaper and they lit. I didn’t know what to do, so I put them back in the cup.” The entire scene played out in my mind in a brief second, and I suddenly became enraged at the sales clerk. I wheeled on my crutches to face him directly, and fired, “What kind of decorator leaves matches down where children can reach them?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond; I turned again and hitched along as confidently as possible on my crutches till we were out the door and back in the car. I breathed a long sigh, relieved that somehow my son did not drop the burning torch of matches on the floor in the midst of a furniture store. How many 8-year-olds would take a moment to carefully place flaming matches back in their holder? I imagine that sales clerk must have wondered the same thing.

Sometimes I would fantasize that, yes, this was it; this was the pinnacle of parental distress, and now it was over, and I would never again have to be quite that tormented.

I thanked God for guiding my son’s hand and mind in that moment. Probably one of the worst effects of these vexing ordeals was the ever-present worry that this may not be the worst parenting experience I would have to endure. Sometimes I would fantasize that, yes, this was it; this was the pinnacle of parental distress, and now it was over, and I would never again have to be quite that tormented. But then I would come back to reality and the certainty that children’s minds should never be underestimated.

There were many more mentionable incidents along my parental pathway. I will share more over the coming weeks in the hopes that others will take heart along their journeys and know that there is still light at the end of the tunnel, even when it’s a flaming torch of matches!

Take me to church…

by BetsyFaith, ParentingPosted on No Comments

Recently, my young adult son relayed a conversation to me that he had had with an older adult male regarding attending church. They were discussing how they felt the need to be role models in their homes and be leaders when it comes to establishing habits like regular church attendance. I am thankful for the mature males in the church who have been role models for my son as he was growing up since there was no male role model in our home.

I still cringe for a moment when I hear a commotion in the next room because for years it was my son causing the disturbance.

As a single mother, it’s truly challenging to fulfill all of the needs of a child, and in my experience, particularly when it comes to spiritual roles. Although it wasn’t always what I wanted to do on Sunday morning, most of the time I packed up my son and his shenanigans and headed to church. He was always a handful, and to this day, I still cringe for a moment when I hear a commotion in the next room because for years it was my son causing the disturbance. My church family was gracious to us, however, and though I always felt terrible for my child’s behavior, they came along side of us and continued to encourage and support us week after week.

Despite the distractions and the frustrations, I continued to take him to church, hoping that doing so would eventually bear fruit. I kept going back to the Word, reading where it exhorts Christians not to forsake assembling together (Hebrews 10:25) and to train up children in the right direction (Proverbs 22:6). These are long-term, seed-planting acts that don’t necessarily reveal their worth in the short-term, but as my son has entered adulthood, I have begun to see the positive results of raising him in the church.

…we embrace the fact that Christ died to redeem us from our sins, we repent, and we are consequently forgiven.

It isn’t to say that every young person raised in the church avoids trouble. I honestly didn’t know if we were going to survive my son’s teen years. Without going into too much detail, I’ll just say that red Gatorade mixed with vodka has stained my living room carpet, and I’ve had conversations with the police regarding the paintballing of one of their cruisers, just to name a couple memorable moments. Life certainly isn’t perfect because we’re Christians, and we go to church. We make mistakes like everyone else. In addition, we embrace the fact that Christ died to redeem us from our sins, we repent, and we are consequently forgiven.

It’s about the importance of building one another up and being accountable as we worship together.

It’s never been the case that going to church saves one’s soul or prevents anything from going awry throughout the week. It’s about the importance of building one another up and being accountable as we worship together. During those periods of my life when I have gotten out of the habit of attending, however, I have witnessed a general falling off of my own constructive habits for not necessarily destructive ones, but definitely for less constructive ones. Being consistent in attendance helps me to stay on track in my Christian walk, and I know now that it has had a positive impact on my son’s life.

A Tree of Life

by BetsyParentingPosted on No Comments

As I recently watched a popular reality show on television, I was struck by how many contestants shared about pursuing their dreams but had no faith that they could ever attain them. After a few of them shared heartbreaking stories from their past, I was amazed as was anyone watching that these young people had overcome such obstacles to perform for the world. But it didn’t stop there. Contestant after contestant humbly approached the stage and shared some of the most amazing talent in the world. Their humility was endearing, but the fact that people in many of their lives had undermined, belittled and berated them was devastating. When someone with an angelic voice doesn’t realize the caliber of his or her talent, there is most definitely something awry. I began to wonder, Whose approval were you unable to achieve? Who told you that you were good for nothing?  Who said you would never amount to anything?

…everything we say or write has an impact on someone.

As someone who knows what it’s like to struggle with self-worth, I can honestly say that words are truly powerful in shaping how we see ourselves. I don’t think anyone would disagree with that, but I want to draw awareness to the fact that practically everything we say or write has an impact on someone. I have been on the receiving end of derogatory comments as most of us have at some point in our lives, hateful words that were hurled in anger due to someone else’s own inner struggle.

Whatever sin has been committed against us should not be allowed to crush someone else’s spirit, especially a child’s.

As a child, I took such comments very personally, which had a profound impact on how I viewed myself; I had no comprehension that every one of us has something broken within us that we typically express in some fashion, and not often positively. Proverbs 15:4 says, “The soothing tongue is a tree of life, but a perverse tongue crushes the spirit.” Whatever sin has been committed against us should not be allowed to crush someone else’s spirit, especially a child’s.

…nothing I could do was going to change how other people behaved.

There seems to be an ever-growing need for people to express themselves by the most obnoxious means possible, and often just for the sake of being obnoxious. In my introduction to psychology class back in college, I remember learning that anger is a secondary emotion; it is spawned by fear, pain, angst, or whatever brokenness lurks within one’s soul. Whenever I experienced the hurt from a verbal attack, I took it to heart; I developed the mindset shaped by my thoughts: There must be something wrong with me. I will try harder, so people won’t get mad at me. I will earn their approval. Of course, nothing I could do was going to change how other people behaved. But children don’t know that.

No more excuses. Stop the cycle. Identify the root cause. Address the problem. Finding a healthy means of dealing with our own baggage isn’t easy, and unfortunately, I see more people today lashing out at others like I’ve never witnessed in my lifetime. Of course, the introduction of social media has empowered even the most reserved introvert to take to the public page what would rarely be said to one’s face. Some say this behavior is therapeutic. I am sure it is…but for whom? And at what cost? How about getting a notebook? Journaling has been shown to be therapeutic, and the rest of the world doesn’t have to be affected by the fallout.

…they each have value, they have a purpose in life, and they can achieve their dreams.

I’ve seen a meme in recent years that refers to the positive effects of speaking kindly to plants and how impactful it would be if we intentionally spoke positively to children. Imagine the confidence this next generation could take into their future if they were brought up to believe that they each have value, that they have a purpose in life, and that they can achieve their dreams. Perhaps there’d be fewer lives lost to addiction and more cures for diseases discovered. It seems like an indomitable task to turn the tide, but maybe if we start by sincerely encouraging a child, or anyone really, even once a day, each pebble of praise would cause a ripple that could change someone’s life.

Sorting Frogs

by BetsyEducation, ParentingPosted on One Comment

Those first few weeks of first grade left me wondering how I was ever going to survive eleven more years. One day in early October, the class was divided into small groups of three or four children who sat in chairs at round tables earnestly considering the placement of their small plastic frogs in groups according to the teacher’s instructions–sort the frogs into groups that are the same. As she circulated among the tables, the teacher nodded in approval as each inquisitive face looked up and met her eyes before continuing with their task.

When they saw the teacher approaching, they both looked up as the others had done and grinned, looking for that same nod of approval.

Some children had glanced at other tables to see what was happening in other groups; this resulted in the majority of the frogs lined up in somewhat straight-lined sets across each table. On one side of the room, however, two boys were chatting away with each other as they leaned across their table, grabbing this frog and that frog and placing each into one of four disheveled piles. When they saw the teacher approaching, they both looked up as the others had done and grinned, looking for that same nod of approval. Instead, she stared down at the frog piles, and with furrowed brow asked the boys why they hadn’t followed her directions. Without batting an eye, one boy fervently defended their sorting technique and said that they had indeed followed directions (something they were often known for not doing).

“They are the same!” he almost cried as he grasped two from the first pile in his sticky, jelly-smeared hands and thrust them up higher so she could see. “There’s little hearts all over these!” The other boy grabbed two from another pile and chimed in, “And little diamonds on these!” A look of comprehension suddenly melted the teacher’s expression as she picked up a frog from each of the other piles and observed the clovers and then the spades on each.

They had grouped the frogs as she’d asked, just not in the way she had expected.

Glancing back around the room, she once again took notice of the lines of frogs, evenly divided into groups of red, blue, green, and yellow. Then, she looked down at the seemingly mixed piles before her and gave the look of approval the boys had so desperately wanted. They had grouped the frogs as she’d asked, just not in the way she had expected. Not even she had noticed the tiny black shapes all over the frogs beyond their primary colors, but the two boys who both had the diagnosis of ADHD had seen the plastic toys differently and had never once thought to look around to see how the rest of the students were sorting theirs. Some of the other children may have noticed the shapes, but chose to play it safe and follow the norm.

I survived those eleven years after all…and so did my son. When his first grade teacher told me this story, I knew that despite the challenges he would face, his ability to see the world from a different angle would also be an asset. I learned so much from him and his education. Appearances can be deceiving, children all have value regardless of their perceived insufficiencies, and though it’s prudent to seek advice, just copying the people around us in order to fit in doesn’t bring progress or fulfillment.

I also learned that parenthood doesn’t stop when children turn 18; I realized that when he was about ten years old. It means that even if I write all of the stories from the early years, he is still impulsive and unfocused and creating new stories every day. I hope you find encouragement and many times a laugh that might help to brighten your day.