One Selfless Mother

Okay, I’m so done being Mommy today.  D - O - N - E.  

I’m exhausted and ready for bed.  I’ve been so busy on this Mothers Day that I have not even had time to sit down to just enjoy the day and write how fantastic the mother of my children is.  That will have to wait for another day I suppose; a day when I haven’t been up since the crack of dawn cleaning up after people much smaller and messier than me.  

It will have to wait for a day when I haven’t ironed clothes for five and a half people and gotten little boys and girls ready for church - I accidentally put a smelly shirt on one of them, but that’s a dad thing I think.  

It will have to be a day when I haven’t had to “help” a 4yo, 6yo, and 9yo make breakfast-in-bed for Mommy - that was kind of messy. 

It will have to be a day when I haven’t cleaned up what seems like six meals worth of messes when we only ate twice today - [always thankful for morning donuts at church]. 

I’ve given baths [twice for one child], washed hair, spanked a couple of bottoms, yelled at some, taxied one, cooked, grilled, washed up, washed up again, and feel “washed-up”.  

I gassed the car.  I put on band-aids.  I combed hair, picked up stray clothes, turned off lights, and ran over a bike with the car - well, that’s more of a dad thing too, and might have happened yesterday come to think of it.  

I’ve sent people to the naughty step, picked up shoes, gathered trash, unloaded the dishwasher, loaded the dishwasher, and swept the floor.

I’ve picked flowers, gathered gifts, sung silly songs, and danced goofy dances.  

I plated food, brought refills, passed out napkins, and even poured beverages [I hate drink duty].

I [and the kids, I guess] have done everything we can possibly do to keep Mommy from doing anything but what she wants to do today.

The truth is, she still did some things she HAD to do, things that matter most, in fact.  She still prayed for her children today.  She still hugged necks, kissed cheeks, and told each of them she loves them.  She still looked if someone said “Mommy watch this”, and she still opened her arms if someone came in hurt and crying.  

Her lap was still available for sitting, and at the end of the day… literally at the end of the day, she still owned the responsibility to rock our babiest girl before bed.

Many jobs she does are never “done” and for those things there is not only no break, but no substitute either.  My wife… my kids’ mother… she is the real deal.  She’s the genuine article and amazes me every day with all she does for our family.  Events like the “break” of Mother’s Day for a mom in the prime of parenting remind us that there is much to distract from what is most valuable in parenting.  Time spent.

Time is not inexhaustible.  It’s depleting, and this side of eternity, forever running out.  Our kids don’t even know to appreciate it yet, but they do, and they will.  The thing my kids seem to value most, whether they realize it or not, is time.  Her time.  

When I see her loving on her children the way only she can, she is spending her time on them.

When I see her reading bible passages about raising children, and being a mother of honor,  she is spending her time on them.

When I see her having a picnic, or playing with them in the yard, she is spending her time on them.

Their schoolwork?  Spending her time on them.

Sitting by a chainlink fence waiting for one of them to hit or catch a ball?  Spending her time on them.

Everything is about spending her time on them and doing so with excellence, honor, and love.

The time she spends with them is not just about the tasks she does for them, it is the intangible investment of self.  That just might be the single best attribute the mother of my children has.  She is selfless.  She is one selfless mother.

The Boathouse

My grandparents have been gone from this earth over three years now, and many of their belongings remain undisturbed.  They were borderline hoarders, so there is much to purge.  There is also much to find and reminisce over.  The process is exciting, sometimes sad, and certainly overwhelming. 

It is impossible, now, to count how much time I actually spent with my grandparents.  Holidays, of course, but I spent almost every summer with them at their house - weeks at a time even.  Those weeks were spent full of adventure in a seemingly suspended state of time for me.

This week I opened my grandfather’s boathouse to begin retrieving his old fishing boat.  I’m excited at the prospect of using it with my own children to fish, eat snacks, and talk about life - that’s what it’s for, right?  

Nothing about the boathouse has changed.  The dirt floor still looks and smells the same.  The click of the padlock still stirs a feeling of anticipation of what is behind the door, and I still had to watch that I didn’t cut my hand on the jagged hole in the metal as the chain clinked its way through.  The hinges still creak in exactly the same way, and the light switch still won’t come on when you want it to.  I glanced around out of habit looking for any potential snakes and remembered Poppy once pulling one off the wall by the tail and launching it into the woods after swinging it over his head a few times.

It was surreal. Everything was the same.  It was the same cluttered stacks of items that would be sufficient to decorate the interior of your local Cracker Barrel.  Sickles, pick axes, old fishing rods, lanterns, metal buckets, tools, and stuff I’ll never know the stories behind.  Old signs and license plates still hang on the sheet metal walls, and the very water skis I learned to ski on are still wedged into the rafters along with those hideous, orange, “U” shaped life preservers.  

I’ve been in the boathouse thousands of times, but always following the steps of my grandfather.  This time… I led, as my children followed, and in an instant felt myself transformed from an excited little kid to the role of adulthood my grandfather played.  Suddenly I was on the other side of the same scenario I have lived a thousand times.  

I was trying to accomplish a project with children, my own children, around my feet asking about everything and wanting to play with anything.  My grandfather didn’t get in a hurry as he worked with us around.  He spent his time walking back and forth to retrieve tools and parts… I’ve concluded that that is the time he spent thinking about the task at hand.  At least I assume he did - that’s what I did.  I watched my own children tramp the same ground I tramped.  I watched them explore and ask questions about the same items I used to ask about.  I never thought about what might be going through my grandfathers mind, until now.

I think it was appreciation.  I think it must have been appreciation for life and family.  Appreciation for the ability to spend time with us.  Appreciation for time itself.  I don’t know if I will ever understand how he kept frustration levels in check, but I think I’m starting to get a clue.  I think those times he had me look for things that may or may not exist where diversions to allow him to do part of the task for which he didn’t need “kid help” - that’s what I did with my own kids.  I think the expected coffee breaks he would take throughout a project gave him time to think on a problem while I sat and enjoyed just being there with him.  I think the times an anticipated plan changed suddenly with him letting me help conclude the outcome was a technique to avoid the disappointment that things weren’t going as planned.  Again, something I did with my own just the other day while trying to fix flat tires on the boat trailer.  

I believe I felt what he felt when he engaged me, as I engaged my own.  I believe God gave me a gift to be able to get just a little glimpse into the perspective of my grandfather, and recognize for myself just a little more personal significance of my own life.  

Regarding such experiences, my mother often says “and the beat goes on”. She is so correct.  Children learn what they live, and I am now not only executing what I’ve learned, but being schooled once again by the impact of my Grandfather.

I miss them both so much, but the beat does go on.

Rules for Dating My Children

From time to time I see posts and shares on social media with the title “Rules for Dating My Son or daughter”.  I have both sons and daughters and I have scanned such rules as they scroll by.  There are plenty of variations out there to include T-shirts, posters, window stickers, and magnets.  I saw one artistically etched on stained wood, and there is the typical coffee mug option as well.  Shy of seeing the list fashioned in old-school cross-stitch, I think I’ve seen all the presentations available.  

The rules are meant to be pointed and of course humorous.  They include such things as:

• Understand that I don’t like you, and never will.
• More clothes equals more points.
• I don’t mind going back to jail.
• My son is not an ATM.

I've included my personal favorite.

Obviously, rules vary for sons compared to daughters, but for the most part, the rules for each are similar - understandably, the daughter rules often include some kind rule of violence such as “whatever you do to her, I’ll do to you”.

Like most parents, I love my children dearly.  I want them to have the best experiences and encounters with others possible.  I’ve decided I have only one rule - Be godly.  Can you do that?

When the dating season arrives, can you show up at my door for my daughters, or answer the door for my sons, and be the one who’s first priority is the pursuit of godliness?  That’s truly all I ask.  I figure all else will fall into place if that one thing is correct.  

Guys, do I want you chivalrous? Of course!  Do I want you to respect my daughters…and their parents?  Absolutely!  Do I want you polite and courteous? No doubt!

And girls, should you be gracious and ladylike? Yes, both are beautiful attributes.  Should you be modest? I would think so.  Should you respect yourself? Man, I hope so.

And, while those are all great traits, they are mostly external and can easily be faked…for a time.  Godliness, though?  That’s an inside out thing - a heart thing really.  Godliness comes from a true encounter with Jesus.  It’s the result of a transformation.  Godliness is perspective and God pleasing.  Godliness puts everything else second to a right relationship with him.  Godliness means you are going to be perfect for my children.

If you show up in my kids’ lives with THAT going for you, we’re going to get along fine.  If not, and you hurt one of them?  Lets just say I’m thankful I serve a God of forgiveness - at that point, I just might need a little bit more of it.

I’ll take ‘Kids in the Class’ for a thousand, please…

When I was doing student ministry, I always had that kid who would pre-fill in the blanks of a lesson before or while I was teaching.  I generally found it annoying because that same student would come up to me afterward with a gloating spirit and announce how well they nailed it.  There is always one in a group, right?

My son is now that one, except for the gloating - I won’t let him get away with that.

My son attends Men’s Bible Study with me every Thursday morning.  When he first started attending he saw me trying to fill in the blanks in advance [yes, I’m aware of the irony and hypocrisy of my aforementioned disdain].  Anyway, we pre-fill the blanks together now, which makes it another father-son activity.  We sit down at the table and immediately start to fill in the blanks from a contextual conclusion of the the points while we wait for our pastor to begin and teach us through the outline.  Sometimes we nail it, sometimes we simply have a synonymic difference in the words, and other times we miss it all together.

At first I felt that I was leading him astray by not only letting him distract himself with the game, but outright engaging in competition with him.  After all, I know from experience how that can be a student pastor irritation, but I’ve changed my mind.  I actually encourage it now, and if I’m ever again in the environment where there is that “one”, I might just point it out as an example of learning and critical thinking.

Here’s why:

• First, it means he is reading the outline.  The blanks rest within the main takeaways that are intended for him to not only read, but remember.  He has to read them to fill in the blanks.

• Second, it means he is thinking critically and contextually.  He is using his own knowledge and frame of reference to deduce the possible answers before filling in the blank.  Thinking is always good.

• Third, he is listening and paying attention.  In order to “grade” himself, he has to listen for the answers and either feel a certain amount of credibility, or strikethrough his answers and correct them.  Listening and paying attention is what any presenter wants of his audience.

• Fourth, he is processing the information.  As the answers are revealed, he processes his conclusions with the correct answers contrasting his own reasoning with that of the instruction.  Processing is good because it leads to application, and personal application is what any Bible teacher wants of the listener.

As far as I’m concerned, my kids can be “that kid” from now on.  As long as they don’t become bratty and arrogant about it, they can pre-fill all the answers they want.  Now, if I can just get them to answer in the form of a  ___________ , they will be just like me.

Relieved by Love

One of the things I try to do when I visit nursing homes, is take my daughter with me.  I checked Karis out of school early yesterday to go with me because she is the best visiting partner I have ever had.  Her specialty; nursing homes and assisted living centers.

There is no way to fully describe how pleasant she is with the aged.  She makes me the best nursing home minister on the planet just by standing next to me.  She can’t help but smile everywhere she goes, so when she walks in the room, the residents light up with glee.

Besides smiling, she holds hands, hugs necks, lets her face be kissed, and has even prayed with a lady once.  She never hides behind me or outside the room regardless of how scary or gruff someone may seem.  She has never been grossed out by awkward smells or unpleasant sights, and she always takes time in the hallway to speak to the unexpected person sitting lonely in the doorway of their room.  

Never have I seen her so much as flinch when spoken to by someone out of their mind and unintelligible.  Neither has she ever laughed when asked the same question 4 times by Alzheimer patients - she simply takes it all in stride and asks me about the details later.  My seven year old daughter has a ministry gift that sets her apart even at her young age.  It really is impressive.  

Yesterday I watched as she met someone new.  A group of ladies were sitting in the lobby looking out the window when we stopped by.  One of the ladies saw Karis and immediately reached out for her to come close.  She scooped her into her arms holding her tightly like a doll and telling her over and over how much she loved her.

This was probably the most uncomfortable of contexts I have seen my daughter experience.  With shaking hands the lady stroked Karis’ hair and touched her face repeatedly while telling her she loved her - It actually weirded me out a little.  Before letting her go she looked her in the eyes and with an almost begging plea asked Karis if she loved her.  “Do you love me?  Do you love me, too?  Do you love me?” she repeated.  Karis said “yes, I love you” just as matter of fact as she would her own mother.

That woman released her in tremendous relief and with tears in her eyes rested back in her chair telling everyone nearby that that sweet little girl loved her.  Watching my daughter fearlessly bless others the way she did makes me one proud daddy.

As I have reflected upon the experience, two specific things came to mind.  One is that we as parents must sensitize ourselves to the giftedness and uniqueness of our children, and be wise enough to cultivate the richness of the soil for them to grow and thrive.  I believe this is a large part of the responsibility expressed in Proverbs 22:6 which reads “train up a child in the way he should go, even when he is old he will not depart from it”. 

Secondly, regardless of age, condition, background, or circumstances, we all want to be loved.  I don’t know what that lady’s story is or why she so desperately needed to hear that from Karis yesterday, but I do know what I saw in her face and body language the moment she heard it.  It was peace and rest.

May we all strive to be a blessing to those around us.

My Resolution Revolution Revelation

So far, I have kept the New Year resolutions I made.  It’s January 30, that is a record!

I am especially excited about having kept the one I made to not yell at people.

I don’t yell at everybody, just the people I love the most.  Very few people have actually heard me yell in the way I am referring.  Its a yell of frustration or anger, and is usually in my house or car.  It occurs at times when my own frustration has mounted too high and I have not focussed on dismantling it.  

To be extremely specific, it mostly occurs when I have allowed time to get the best of me and I am yelling for everyone to get in the car or bed.  I can be VERY loud.  Like, causing the sweet little girls (and even boys) in my house to cry, loud.  Scary loud.  Let’s just understand that short of unexpected amnesia, my children will never be able to say “All my life I never heard Dad raise his voice to us”.  Nope, that ship has sailed.  They've heard it.  They probably need a T-shirt to commemorate the experience... or counseling.

It’s easy to say yelling comes with having children, especially as the family gets larger, but it is far more personal than that for me. It is reactionary.  It is also mostly ineffective, and a bit like the dad in “The Croods” - totally mindless.

This year I resolved to approach moments of frustration and anger differently.  I decided to take a mental step back, assess the situation, and keep my voice in check.  It has not been easy.  It has required much personal resolve and even more prayer.

It has come with significant accountability.  My kids know I have made this resolution.  I know they sit and wonder if I am about to pop, but so far, no.  On occasion they will tell me they think I am close and then follow that with an encouragement about the great job I am doing.  Sometimes they even say they would understand if I did yell at them.  I am starting to think they have made a secret challenge out of it for themselves.

What has been amazing to me [besides the fact that I have actually kept my resolution] is that my actions have redirected the actions of our home.  I have discovered that there is less yelling overall in the house by others, and the general intensity in the face of my kids' own conflicts or misbehavior has lessened.  That is incredible!

Actually, it’s proverbial.

• A man of wrath stirs up strife, and one given to anger causes much transgression. - 29:22

• A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. - 15:1

• A hot-tempered man stirs up strife, but he who is slow to anger quiets contention. - 15:18

• Make no friendship with a man given to anger, nor go with a wrathful man, lest you learn his ways and entangle yourself in a snare. - 22:24

Children learn what they live, and they will embrace for the themselves the things we simply tolerate.  I want them to learn the right things from me, and modeling is a wonderful teacher.  My kids may never be able to say they haven’t heard me raise my voice at them, but hopefully they will be able to say they remember the year I stopped doing so.  When they do, I hope they shout it as loud as they can.

I Hate My Job... sometimes

Sometimes I really, really hate my job.  My responsibility.  My calling.  My role.  Yesterday was one of those days... yet, the job must be done.

The job, the calling, the role, is parenting.  Being a parent is tough.  It is truly not for the faint of heart or the sap - especially when it comes to discipline.

I had to punish two of my boys; more extremely than a simple talk, sending to their rooms or taking something away for a while.  This was physical.  Yes, I am aware of the possible risk of publishing physical discipline in a blog.

Know this, we are spankers [you can say it like the Farmers Insurance commercials if you want - We ~ Are ~ Spankers! bum--bum,bum-bum,bum,bum].  I know that does not sit well with all parents, but I don’t care.  We are not abusive.  We do not punish in the heat of anger.  We use only a specific tool for the job - a paddle [not a belt, spoon, stick, water hose, inner tube, lit cigarette, etc.] all of those items have different jobs, and I do not use them to strike my children.  I know that sounds condescending and pointed; good.  I have strong opinions on various forms of physical discipline. 

Discipline is the point, of course.  The point is not to have an outlet to express my own frustration and anger, it is to correct and straighten my child’s incorrect behavior and understanding of what is acceptable.  Yesterday, I hated having to do that job.  I always hate having to do that job.

Two of my boys were disobedient with me to a degree that not only made me angry, but also seemed to indicate they had no care that they were out of line.  That is a huge problem.  It is one thing to need to modify behavior, and another thing entirely to modify attitude.  See, the minute my verbal instruction and cues are disrespectfully disregarded and then that behavior [and attitude] left unattended, a downward spiral of continuing disobedience and disrespect can ensue.  By itself, that moment of disobedience may be blown off by me as “no big deal”, but that demonstrates a lack of self discipline in me as a parent [and biblically you might say it also demonstrates a lack of love].  Over time that in itself "disciplines" them into an entirely different way of thinking.  As Barney Fife would have said, “you have to nip it in the bud.”  

We were 20 minutes away from home when I began my speech about how disappointed, angered and deeply bothered I was by what had just happened.  I could see it all over their faces, they knew they were in for it.

They knew that when we got home, they would be sent to their rooms immediately.  They knew they would sit their wondering what would be next.  Would Dad just come in and talk?  Would Dad take something away?  Or, would Dad come in with the spanking paddle?  

I guess to some degree I contemplated all of those things as well.  However, I knew.  I knew my step was to go in with the spanking paddle.  The sheer terror of that alone is disabling... for me that is.  It kills me to have to do so.  

I hate having to crack open that door and see a face change from hope to conclusion.  I hate seeing that instant when the reality of the next few moments sets in.  I hate the sound of the pleading, the crying, the begging for a stay of execution.  It makes my heart hurt.  Let me also clarify that these moments are actually pretty rare for our house.  There are many forms of penalty that we implement before and instead of spanking.  But sometimes...well, anyway.

I always know my plan before going in.  I also strike my own leg to remind me of the “feel” of the paddle and the sting produced.  This is a practice I have always done to reinforce and remind myself that it is the effect, not necessarily pain that matters.  That being said, it does hurt.  This form of punishment requires so much energy, and focus, and enough time to be correct in it.

The worst part, for me, is immediately following the punishment.  I dread what may come from the mouths of my children.  Are they going to scream that they hate me?  Are they going to declare that I don’t love them?  Are they going to weep in a pillow and refuse to listen to anything else I have to say?  So far none of that has happened.  None of those words have been verbalized.  Tears? yes. Weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth? Dramatically yes.  Grabbing and rubbing their own booty?  indeed.  Saying things they regret?  No, never.

They will will ultimately come to me, sit next to me, climb into my lap, rest their head on me, snubbing (mostly from fear and anticipation more than actual pain), and then... they listen.  

This is where it all comes together.  This is when the effect of mature parenting and discipline must take place.  It is at that moment when the full lesson of the importance of self-discipline, obedience, and love is fully reinforced.  It is at this moment when they see an authoritative, stern, focused, restrained, and loving father communicate the importance of good personal judgement.

I always tell them how important my job as their Daddy is.  I always tell them how much I hate having to punish them.  I always tell them how much it hurts my heart.  I always tell them how much I love them.  And, I always tell them that I love them too much to allow them to get away with whatever they want.  And then, there is repentance.  There is forgiveness.  There is restoration.  There is course correction.  And there is peace.  

Most times, one of the greatest opportunities to demonstrate God’s attributes to our children is in times of discipline and course correction.  After all, God disciplines us as well... because He loves us too much to not correct our course.

Hebrews 12:5b-6; 11

5b MY son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor faint when you are reproved by Him; 6 for those whom the Lord loves HE disciplines, and HE scourges every son whom HE receives.

11 All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.