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.
Me with my dad–who’s had my back for a long time.
When I was a junior in high school, a good friend of mine asked me to prom. I was elated. Yet as per our family’s policy, my dad asked to meet him for coffee and bagels. It was his “interview” of sorts before all my dates.
“How will I know which one he is?” Dad asked me.
A missionary friend told me once of a person she’d spoken with who, as a child in Africa, was slapped every time she asked a question.
I was moved by the person’s insight: “You don’t just stop asking questions,” they’d mused to my friend.
Reading Time: 5 minutes
So maybe like me, you got the automated notice from the school yesterday that your kids–surprise!–have an extra week of spring break next week, because #coronavirus.
And maybe like me, a member of your family braved Costco this week. Or maybe you now possess a weird amount of toilet paper–which according to a meme I saw yesterday, is now the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
But at least two kids I know have grappled with anxiety because of what they’re seeing in stores and on the news. They’re picking up on the weirdness.
How does one go about discussing a pandemic with children? What should we keep in mind as we help kids deal?
Yes, I have stacks of canned tuna slowly taking over my laundry room (which doubles as pantry and closet–the room, not the tuna). But kids are taking their cues from us.
So my husband and I are targeting “calm honesty” about coronavirus with the kids…as an outflow of what we’re seeking to cultivate in our own hearts.
Remember: We want kids to be able to come to us with their questions and feel like they’ll find both the truth and a safe place for their fears.
As R.C. Sproul has said,
If there is one single molecule in this universe running around loose, totally free of God’s sovereignty, then we have no guarantee that a single promise of God will ever be fulfilled.
That is to say, coronavirus is on God’s leash. Every iteration goes through his throne room.
That’s not to say “safety” looks like “no one I love will get this virus, and I will have all the toilet paper I need”. Instead, it’s saying, Lord, this is what I want. But your will be done (see Luke 22:42).
Preparedness is lauded throughout Scripture–in Proverbs (like 31:25, 6:6-11), in the Gospels (like Matthew 7:24-27 and Luke 4:28). I personally consider constant news-monitoring a non-constructive anxiety-stoker. But when I see a storm coming, I do shut the windows and have the kids pick up their bikes from the yard, y’know?
But there’s another kind of preparedness to have that I guarantee you CNN has said nothing about. Let’s be ready, in conversation with concerned friends, to give a reason for the unwavering hope we have–making the most of every opportunity (1 Peter 3:15).
Is this one more prone to anxiety? Does this one need more information, or another one more external processing time? know your kids’ weaknesses and how they deal with stress.
Treat them as individuals–maybe with a side of hot cocoa, sitting on the sofa–to deal with what concerns each of them.
One of my teens is on the “this is an overreaction” track. One of my kids was in tears from the month-long cancellation of all of his favorite extracurriculars.
But this is about protecting the most vulnerable of our population. In that way, how we respond is missional and compassionate.
Who wants to be the person who infects someone who’s immunocompromised? No one.
Let’s pray that the Church shines right now in her protection and advocacy for the weak. As people, let’s reiterate our trust in God–rather than merely the science or material goods he gives.
And friends, let’s be generous. A time of shortage may be near when we can love our neighbor as ourselves through generosity. Let’s be the Church.
Not even on snow days do you get this kind of weather with no place to go. So avoid cabin fever and choose to settle in.
Order a few used chapter books. Roll out some butcher paper for a mural. Order a tie-dye kit. Make waffles. Play this family version of the newlywed game. Put out a puzzle.
Spend a little extra time with a child tucked under your arm, just talking–because stuff like this needs extra talk-time.
During this extra school time off, grab 5 minutes a day to talk about a related Scripture:
Taped by our sinks are now reminders for them to mentally sing “Happy Birthday” twice while washing. We’ve also got reminders for them to eat mindfully (#teenagers). Get them to cough in their elbows, wash before eating, and all that good stuff.
These aren’t just guidelines or rules: Connect this to loving others well and caring for people. (Protecting someone is a great reason to lather on a little sanitizer.)
Who’s one more vulnerable person in this time who your child can pray for each day? (Gently remind them each day, or set a time–like bedtime–when you’ll pray together.)
So you can understand what it’s like to view the world at three feet tall right now, ask questions about what your kids are seeing and hearing. (Remember how Jesus would ask people questions even when he knew the answers? This is a chance to relate to those we love, to receive their stories and perspectives.)
Even now, God stacks gifts all around us: Information. Public health training. That bottle of hand sanitizer you unearthed in the pantry. Good health for your kids’ grandparents. That friend of yours who just arrived home from Europe in time. An extra off to enjoy each other–and an instantly less-busy schedule. Peace because even in a worse-case scenario, those of us who believe have Jesus and heaven.
Help kids choose trust rather than fear by thanking God sincerely for the ways you see his kindness. This isn’t Pollyanna, bright-side thinking.
This is choosing the joy God offers to us as anchor.
Friends, I am so thankful for a God who knit every cell of us together in our mother’s wombs (Psalm 139:13-14). He has weathered us through the non-events (like Y2K) and the true tragedies (like 9/11) alike.
May we shelter beneath him, and find reason to sing (Psalm 63:7).
Reading Time: 3 minutes
Still. Lately, what I’m realizing about my ideas of God?
He tends to change faces.
Spookier: The faces actually tend to eerily resemble my most influential relationships.
Reading Time: 3 minutes
My husband is a wonderfully different kind of Good Dad to my brand of Mom-ness. When we moved to Africa, one of his first priorities was a rug for the tile floor—for wrestling, of course. He’s the kind of guy who grabs the Nerf football every once in awhile when he gets home from work, who initiates a family dance party, and yet who leverages that rapport to turn a child by the shoulder, look them in the eye, and state calmly, You need to speak respectfully to your mom.
I thought of him as I was reading this morning: “our calling [as parents] is to be the smile of God to our children, gladly spending and being spent (2 Corinthians 12:15) for our children’s deepest and most enduring joy.”
![Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language](https://www.janelbreitenstein.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/love-languages-text-1.jpg "Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language")
© 2024 THE AWKWARD MOM
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
