So there’s this chance raising teenagers could kill me.
I’m (again) in one of these parenting seasons where hope feels like a mind game. There is indeed a battlefield in my brain, in my soul.
So there’s this chance raising teenagers could kill me.
I’m (again) in one of these parenting seasons where hope feels like a mind game. There is indeed a battlefield in my brain, in my soul.
Question: Where did you get your mental/emotional/spiritual/social blueprints on how to build a Christian home?
A friend of mine is a first-generation Christian. Aside from a few moments in college, a week of VBS was about the extent of Christian education–there were stickers and crafts, she remembers.
As part of the premise of this blog, I commit to uncomfortable conversations worth having. And the onus of that falls on me—toward authenticity in the midst of my own doubt and weirdness.
So today, I’m opening the convo with something I regret.
Anyone else out there go through these seasons when you’re struggling to find hope around one of your kids?
Gnawing on this recently, I realized I’ve gone through seasons of this with each of my kids. Some more than others, sure. But there was that year when I was deeply concerned about my daughter’s manipulation. Or my son’s ADHD taking a wrecking ball to his relationships. Or that kid whose ego I could see splintering him off from listening to God.
My eleven-year-old put into words what likely more than one American has been thinking about the tragic and troubling events of January 6. “2021 was supposed to be better than 2020! We’re only six days in!”
And then there was my 16-year-old’s assessment. “If we were describing the U.S. in terms of health, I’d say we’re spiking a fever.”
I’m just not all there with him.
So I’m pulling ideas together to help me/you hone in on being “all there” this Christmas, starting with our audience of One.To an already-packed schedule, Christmas can feel a bit like “more bricks, less straw.”
If your goal is being present in the ways that matter, cut out a few of the “have-to’s” that aren’t.
I kind of hate conflict. With the exception of my anger issues with my kiddos, conflict tends to sideline me in a head-between-my-knees, breathe-into-a-paper-bag kind of way. It’s super-attractive and mature.
Which is why, when it’s over, part of me would opt to skip away with a “tra-la-la” brand of obliviousness. Maybe I would spring to the beach, where I could bury parts of my body in the warm sand. Preferably my head.
So now that I’m a mom of teenagers and all their weirdness, we talk about things like we did last week: Is it okay to date a non-Christian?
This naturally means I have introduced things like oxen into our conversations before (cue the “unequally yoked” verse, 2 Corinthians 6:14). What’s a good dating conversation without lowing livestock?
But somehow, the person looking you in the eyes, or on the other end of that phone call has the ability to just…
Be there.
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