Looking for ways to parent with more emotional health?
Here’s nine. (Start with, like, two.)
When my kids were younger, I tried my hand at writing a children’s book.
It was the story of a boy in a small town whose grandpa had a magical house: The House of Broken and Beautiful. His grandpa was beloved, though some who didn’t know him suspected him of evil.
This week, my family and I shoved in the car ski boots and a sled and carefully calculated food to feed a family with three teenagers. In the 2-hour drive through the mountains, cell service dropped abruptly about twenty minutes in. Our friend’s cabin, swaddled in 3 feet of snow, has no internet (brilliant!), no reception, and is primarily heated with a potbelly stove.
The plan originally seemed dicey. My friend with cancer is declining. And after this trip, my husband leaves for two and a half weeks.
I could tell you my son has energy. But that would be kind of like me telling you Bill Gates is kind of good at computers.
We’re on a sports rotation at my house. It is not because we love to be busy (we try not to be?), or love getting up on Saturdays for games (nope), or think he’ll be a star someday (odds are pretty slim).
So I had a major triumph last week–one I hope to share with you soon. Because it was AWESOME. I talked with friends on the phone out in the sunshine, skipping a little. It’s kind of one of those Who am I, and what is my family? moments, I told them–because that’s what David said when he was over the moon with God’s kindness (2 Samuel 7:18). It was good news I’d been working toward for about 14 years.
And after about two years searching and clawing for joy and purpose, it felt goooooood.
Then, about 24 hours later, I hit one of the lowest moments in my parenting I’d experienced. Wednesday night was spent weeping, and I think we could be dealing with this for a long time.
It was in the meal line when I was laughing with a young 20-something who’d just left her home in Sweden after years serving there. As I reached for the fresh berries (berries! I missed those in Uganda. I may have taken an inappropriate amount, maybe four times), I was getting her name, her country of service, her tenure. “And you’re back now?” I asked.
Her: “Yup. Um, transition stinks.”
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