I still remember where I stood that Sunday. I must have been three or at the oldest four. The church’s smell of coffee drifted above the part in my hair, crisply pleated lines of men’s suit trousers at my level.
I reached up to take again my dad’s hand, callused and rough from years of farm chores. Yet the chuckle I heard wasn’t his.read more
The dog licked me awake early this morning. Well, early for my slumbering house of teenagers house. And I stayed awake for the quiet.
As I type to you, snow layers the landscape out my window like fondant. I love its muting effect–on schedules, on sound. My life craves more quiet, for the love of Mike. And the end of the year always seems to hush my own soul into a more contemplative place.read more
My kids are getting older, which means winter break looks different here. Sniff.
Of course, we’ll still be decorating cookies and mushing together the family clam dip. (It’s a Breitenstein thing.)
But Christmas Eve, we’ll have three different pickups of three different kids: two teenagers have gone for more fun with relatives this week, and my oldest–the Marine–arrives from Camp Pendleton.read more
Can I tell you something embarrassing? …I’ve been working up to this.
When I was a super-young mom, I was thinking about writing a novel. (I have a different one on my hard drive that will likely never see the light of day.)read more
Years ago, my friend and I sat on my back porch in Uganda–no doubt with tea or coffee in hand. I was preparing for our first home assignment, and the forecasted meltdowns of at least one jetlagged child in a crowded plane where everyone would be able to sleep if it weren’t for your kid.
Our youngest would have been three, and 20 hours of flying or so makes full-fledged adults want to throw their own fits sometimes.
My friend’s wise words to me that day: “People expect kids to mess up. It’s how the parents handle it that makes the difference.”
I think of God’s words that it’s his kindness that leads us to repentance (Romans 2:4). If my kid did the limp-body thing in the middle of the aisle, bawling when everyone’s hoping to get off the plane, I can scoop him up and whisper in his ear: I know you’re so tired. We’re almost there.
If he hits a sibling in his exhaustion, I can calmly discipline with a consequence, rather than blowing my own top.
(We discipline differently for rebellion than for childishness, no?)
Their inevitable childishness or outright sin is going to happen, despite my perfectionism, control, or vigilance. But what I do with those invitations to love my kids like Jesus?
That’s my (Holy-Spirit-fueled) choice.
Saw that coming: When your kid acts like a kid
Maybe these don’t feel like a huge “aha” to you. But this jewel folded in my hands has offered me comfort–when, say, the principal called to say my son was caught jumping off the urinals in the school bathroom, trying to touch the air freshener.
Or having teens, when I’m discouraged by choices they make.
But that idea doesn’t just extend me comfort. There’s wisdom in expecting our kids to be childish–or even to be sinners. I mean, God actually prophesied that his kids would screw up.
It prevents me from being as crestfallen when I discover my child spit cherry pits on the floor.
Yet, to quote my mom, I’ve learned to always expect your kids are smarter than you think they are. And I’m not just talking about them understanding a great deal about adult dynamics and conversations in a home. See, they’ll also be crafty at seeking out ways to sin.
I mean, we’ve all been in those conversations where you or a sibling reveal to your own parents what you were actually getting away with in high school.
Don’t get me wrong. Yes: Have lofty hopes and goals for your kids. Don’t water them down or dumb them down.
I believe in the “aim small, miss small” philosophy: If we aim for holiness and perfection in our kids, the consequences of them making decisions off that mark are hopefully far less.
And yet, it’s healthy to totally anticipate they’ll mess up, as sinners like ourselves tend to do. (If we don’t, in our shock that our little angels would do such a thing, we might be prone to shame-parenting.)
So my thoughts are these, when my kid acts like a kid:
One (just one) of the problems with writing a parenting book is the whisper spitting in my ear sometimes as I parent my oh-so-real-life teens. Like the one who yelled at me across the lawn this morning. (See? I’m wondering if I should have let you know that.)
Enter the Whisper: And you wrote a parenting book?
Even though none of that book hinged on my perfection or my kids’. Even though, as I’ve reread my own words, I wouldn’t reel any of them back in.
(Which says a lot. Often in life are words I wish I could reel in.)
And there’s this: If anything, parenting teens has underlined and added exclamation points all over the spiritual disciplines in Permanent Markers. And not one bit because I was the one to write them down.
I needed to teach every one of those principles to my kids–for this day. Right now. Spiritual disciplines and life skills are one way of preparing our kids, packing their metaphorical backpack for a day we don’t know they’ll need it.
A word picture, perhaps?
For the Day You Don’t See Coming
I admit to watching all aired episodes of This is Us. In one of the final episodes (spoiler alert, here), principal characters Kate and Toby’s legally blind three-year-old, Jack, is shown navigating the path to their Saturdays at the park.
Kate’s written a jazzy song about how exciting the park is–and all the dangers Jack, with the help of his cane, needs to dodge on the way, from the traffic to the dog turds.
At the beginning of the song, Toby asks if perhaps he and Kate should hold both Jack’s hands. But Kate insists Jack needs to find his way.
From everything to the curb to the buzz of the overhead electrical lines, preschool Jack feels his way to the park.
Later in the episode, the gate to Jack’s room is left unlocked on a different, chaotic day. As parenting days so often seem to be.
And Jack dons the red boots he always wears to the park, attempting to find his own way.
Understandably, the entire family is frantic. But even though Jack has wondered out into the world, and his parents are attempting to swallow sharp chunks of guilt–it is Kate’s song, worn into the ruts of Jack’s memory, that saves his life for an unexpectedly life-threatening afternoon.
That, and the help of a grandma who listened to Jack when he mentioned he always wore his boots to the park.
What We Can Do Right Before Everything Goes Wrong
I cried buckets in this episode.
Because in all the ways I feel powerless as a parent, showing my kids ways to fall in love with God has protected their souls even when they feel out of reach. When I don’t really know where their souls are.
So things like teaching our kids to listen to the Holy Spirit, or to have self-control, or that the Bible is true?
Those lessons have shaped their brains when we as parents aren’t there at all.
Another one of those disciplines–community–has also anchored my kids, when mentors and yes, their grandparents, have gone out to find my kids when I don’t know exactly where to look, and the world feels so big.
Jesus’ Body, too, is a prerequisite for God-honoring parenting.
Like the story of the prodigal son in Luke 15, God has sometimes mapped out a path through a distant foreign land for our kids–in order for their relationship with God to become intimate.
(See, the prodigal son’s heart was far from his dad’s waaaay before he left. Why else would he hurt his dad by taking off with half his dad’s money?)
Preparing Your Kids: Singing Them Home
Please understand me: This is not some underhanded plug for my book. This to affirm you.
The ways you’re teaching your child like Deuteronomy 6 says–in the car, before bedtime, those long chats after school–are singing a song to them, wearing ruts in their brain.
And it’s not just preparing your kids for the good things it will do: So they can teach Sunday School someday, or so they resist temptation at their locker one afternoon, or so they’re ringing a bell for the Salvation Army in the cold at Christmas.
It’s also so they are safer on a dangerous day. So they remember their way.
Because They Won’t Always Wear Footie Pajamas
At the risk of this post being a bit dark: A couple of years ago, I watched my friend progress through the nightmare of her husband’s stage four kidney cancer. From diagnosis to the day she became a widow—and single mother of three—took just over 100 days.
One night, as I transferred the children to their grandparents and we lamented the agony of their reality, her mother remarked that in her mind, she could still see my friend running around in footie pajamas as a child.
I realized we never know what life skills, what knowledge of God our kids might need in the future for which today must prepare them.
The days were indeed long, and the years short when that window was blissfully wide open for me to teach my kids a love of God.
Don’t phone this one in. Keep teaching them God’s ways–for the day you can’t see coming.
Tell us your ideas. What’s one simple way you’re preparing your kids spiritually for the future?
I was chatting on the phone with my oldest this week about purity culture–which deserves a post on its own. (I have feelings. Big feelings.)
I expressed to him how tough it is as parents, when some of the less-healthy methods of purity culture are subtracted from parenting –I’m looking at you, shame-parenting–to find something as powerful to direct our kids toward good and keep them from what’s truly bad.
“I mean,” he said, “I pretty much always know you loved us no matter what.”
I’m fairly open with all of you that though my blog and book are a lot about parenting–there have been a lot of failure and tears on this end. But that–that felt like a holy moment.
Cut to a conversation my husband and I had this morning. Verbally, I realized aloud that for at least our three older kids, God has handed us some significant life moments that ended up being opportunities for unconditional, all-the-way-in, no-way-out love.
Some of those have looked like big confessions from my kids–and inside me, moments my insides felt ripped from top to bottom. Some of those have been moments like my son’s cancer scare, or learning to cope with learning disorders.
Some were no-contest the lowest moments of my parenting.
But in the rearview mirror, they were openings to speak hesed love to my kids.
All-in Love
I’ve written about hesed before.
The Bible Project’s podcast episode The Loyal Love of God describes God’s hesed love–this steadfast, loyal, generous, merciful love characteristic of God throughout Scripture (think of his love as told through the story of Hosea). It takes literally about 13 English words to describe this one Hebrew word.
Now that I know it’s about 250 times in the Old Testament, I see it everywhere. It’s in the last verse of Psalm 23, translated as mercy: Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…
It also means “covenant love.” Paul Miller describes it as “love without an exit strategy.”
But in the podcast, it was news to me that Scripture tells of people who had this brand of love. And when is that steadfast, God-like love most tested?
In pain, in suffering.
When those we’re loving are being unlovable.
Or as loving gets hard and long.
And when people disappoint us or need forgiveness or patience.
God’s Attachment Love
But–and you can tell I listen to podcasts when I’m working out, trying to ignore the fact I would rather be somewhere else–in my newest favorite podcast, Neuro Faith, I heard neurotheologian Dr. Jim Wilder describe hesed as God’s attachment love.
Wilder described a facility where he worked for those who’d undergone mental and emotional trauma. And those most likely to heal were those with healthy attachments and bonding. It’s the kind of connection of a mother or father to a child, gained through trust, and the child gaining trust that the parent will respond, will fulfill what the child needs.
Weary parents of infants: No, your child will never remember this phase of their lives. And if your kids were like mine, lacking even the positive feedback of a smile for the first months (other than gas, I mean).
But take heart: that attachment lays the cement foundation for their attachments and ability to trust throughout life. Those 3 AM feedings and seven-per-day diaper changes and “conversation” with a preverbal infant matter.
And when Dr. Wilder looked for this kind of love in Scripture, he found it in hesed love.
A Peek at What God’s Attachment Love Means for Your Family
The implications for this are huge. But let me boil down a few.
Even if your parents failed in this area, God loves you with hesed.
Some of your darkest moments in parenting or marriage or your extended family–that failure of theirs, that fear, that loss that rattles your core–are your windows for hesed love.
That hesed love shows our kids in their bodies, their own mental health issues, their own sin, the gospel, even before we say a word. It shows them God loves them no matter what. And he will look for them. (You might like the post “I‘ll find you”: What we long to hear.)
And that means in your greatest areas of shame or loss, God’s hesed is looking for you, too. The Hebrew of Psalm 23:6 implies his hesed hunts us down.
Attachment Love: Questions to Think On
What events in my child’s life have been open windows to show hesed love?
Which of my kids could especially use an experience God’s hesed love right now? Why?
What circumstances/open windows in my kids’ lives right now are opportunities for hesed love? What could it look like for me to show that love in ways that would most connect with my child?
Though your alienation is not at all my intent: Please know that as a parent who longs to find your child, you demonstrating the gospel to your kids in real-life does matter.
Right now. For their lives, their relationships, their faith.
Whether they ever respond or not. (Some of God’s kids did. Some did not.)
This morning my teenagers are peeling themselves out of bed for that oh-so-exciting first school day after Spring Break. And for all us types with less liturgy in our lives, it might actually be easy to let Holy Week slide into that sludgy pile of Great Things I Really Meant to Focus On.
So I’m tossing both of us a low ball here.
For FamilyLife.com, I’ve created a list ofPrayers for Holy Week and Easter for Families, complete with a short Scripture passage for each day. Mine’s printed off and tucked beside the kitchen lamp so I actually remember to pray them.
They’re totally doable for reading as your kids pour milk over the Honey Nut Cheerios, while you peck them with goodnight kisses, or while all of you hope for a few more minutes after dinner before loading the dishwasher.
May your very real family, and mine, too, keep first things first in such a meaningful week.