Waiting Blog picture

“I can’t wait until I’m in college!” fourteen-year-old Kiersten recently proclaimed.  Considering she is only in ninth grade, she has a long wait ahead of her!

Kiersten, of course, is looking forward to all the fun that college seems to be:  dorm life, classes strewn throughout the day as opposed to seven hours straight day after day after day, and the fun of being on her own.

Micah, on the other hand, responds with “I can’t wait until I’m out of college…”  Quite fitting for my active and athletic child to whom school seems like prison and homework feels like torture.  As a mere seventh grader, life after college must feel like light years away!

I’ve been thinking about waiting quite a bit lately.  Not the waiting represented in the above statements made by my children.  Not the normal life cycles of waiting that we all experience:  waiting for summer, for our next birthday, for Christmas, for a new phone (or a first phone in the case of my kids!), for an event we are looking forward to…

But the waiting for something that may or may not happen.

Waiting on the child who is going through a phase.  Waiting to see if it really is just a phase.  Waiting on a difficult situation, not knowing the outcome.  Waiting on someone else’s difficult situation, and feeling helpless.  Waiting for something you desire greatly, and wondering if it will ever really happen.  Waiting on an opportunity that may never come your way.  Waiting on the pain or the struggle to go away, and wondering if it ever will.  Waiting in the midst of uncertainty.  Waiting on anything that may not have the outcome you want, or that may take years to come to fruition, or that may never come to fruition.

There’s a type of waiting that comes with an ache.  That’s the waiting I’ve been thinking about lately.

When I think about this type of waiting, I often remember the story of a Sunday school teacher from when I was a child.

I don’t remember her name.  I don’t remember her age. And I don’t remember many details.  I just remember that she shared a story about prayer with us one time.  I remember her telling us that she prayed for thirty years that her husband would become a Christian.  Every day she would pray. Thirty years of praying.  Finally, after thirty years of waiting and praying, her husband became a Christian.  I remember that she told us that God doesn’t always answer our prayers right away, and that it may take years. And she shared that story.  And now, more than thirty years later, I still remember that story.  And her patience.

And I’m reminded that some of the things I’m praying for, that I want to happen NOW, may not happen right away.  It may take years…if ever.  Because I also realize that MY prayers, may not be the best way.  God may or may not answer my prayers the way I want Him to.  And I really don’t like that.

At the same time, I trust that if He does not answer my prayers the way I want Him to, or in the timely manner in which I would prefer, it is probably because He has a better plan.  Or that maybe the waiting is part of His plan.  Because sometimes it’s in the waiting that we grow.  It’s in the waiting that we learn to trust Him.  It’s in the waiting that we have to relinquish our plans and be open to His plans.

And I still don’t like it.  Yet, in a strange sort of way I do.  Because I want to rest in Him.  I want Him to be the comforting all-knowing parent who says to me, “I’ve got this.  Trust me.”

This past Christmas, I was struck in a new way by a fact I’m sure I’ve heard multiple times over the course of my life.  During a Christmas presentation in church, one of the readings mentioned the 400 year wait between the last prophecy about the Messiah and the actual birth of the Messiah, Jesus Christ.  The topic of waiting had already been on my mind.  So the reality of a “400-year wait” caught my attention.

And it was thought-provoking.

Four hundred years is a very long time.  I wonder how many people had given up on the hope of a Messiah.  I find myself marveling at the reality that God made promises – very clear promises – and then did nothing for 400 years.  If God could wait 400 years to fulfill a promise, then I guess He could wait years to answer my prayers.  And I guess I must accept the reality that I must wait.  And not know.  And wonder.  And be frustrated.  And be impatient, discouraged, disappointed, uncomfortable, unhappy.  Or…hopeful.

The Israelites had to wait 40 years in the desert.  Forty years of wandering.  FORTY!  They left Egypt, heading to the Promised Land.  And they waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And I’m sure they wondered, “Will this ever really happen?  Will we ever go to the Promised Land?”

So I have to wonder what the waiting is about.  God could answer any of our prayers immediately.  He could have sent baby Jesus soon after the prophecies of the Old Testament.  He could have led the Israelites straight into the Promised Land.  He could answer my prayers NOW.

He must want us to wait.

I try to grasp this reasoning through the eyes of a parent, recognizing that God is my heavenly Father.  I don’t always answer their requests right away.  Although, sometimes answering them immediately may be easier for me, I know it’s not always best for them.

“Mom, I’m bored.  What can I do?”  When I’m patient and don’t give them answers or easy ways out of boredom, such as watching t.v. or playing with electronics, they often eventually figure something creative out on their own.  Which is often way better than anything I could have suggested.  And required them to think and stretch themselves.

“Mom, I want that new toy NOW!”  Often if I wait, it is much more enjoyable and exciting for them to receive it later for a birthday or a special surprise.  The waiting brought more enjoyment and appreciation when they finally received it.

“Mom, I can’t figure out the answer to this homework question.  Can you just tell me?”  If I allow them to figure it out on their own, or even just slowly guide them, they feel a bigger sense of accomplishment by working it through themselves.  And they actually learn it better.

“Mom, why can’t I have an Istagram/snapchat (fill in the blank) account right now?”  From my parental perspective, I want to wait until I feel like they are mature enough to handle navigating life on the web.  Whether they realize it or not, I am protecting them from things they aren’t ready for and posts/pictures they may later regret posting.  They may not grasp or understand this reasoning until they are older (if ever at all!).

I’m learning to trust God in the waiting.  I’m learning to be open to new ways of being and living, while I wait.  I’m learning that it’s okay to be uncomfortable, even unhappy, with the waiting.  Because in that place of uncertainty, I have to trust in the One who knows all things.  I have to look to Him with hope and anticipation and wonder and be ever-ready to hear His voice and see His handiwork, as I wait for Him to unveil His plan.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His Word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.           Psalm 130:5-6 






Posted in Faith and God, Heart Ponderings, Struggles and Sorrows | 3 Comments

Being Real

“I have a good security guard in my head,” nine-year-old Brennan told me recently as we walked into Subway together, just the two of us.

“Really?” I responded.  “That’s interesting.”

“Yep,” he continued, “He tells me not to say bad things.”

“Well, that’s good,” I responded.  “It’s nice that you have your own little security guard reminding you of that.”

“I also have a bad security guard in my head,” Brennan informed me.  “He likes to say bad words.”

It took every restraint within me not to laugh;  he was speaking with such sincerity.

Fast forward a few days.  It was Tuesday morning and I was sitting with Brennan in the living room after Kiersten and Micah had left for school.

“Mom,” Brennan broached, “I called you sh@* in my head last night because I was mad at you.”

Um…gulp…I wasn’t expecting that (again, stifle the laughter, Kim)!  He had been pretty mad at me the night before – first for not letting him watch t.v. and then for reprimanding him for not being ready for bed after he had been given plenty of time to be ready and in bed.

I could have gotten mad at him for even thinking that word.  Instead, I decided to connect with him on what he was really telling me.

“You were pretty mad, weren’t you, Buddy?” I responded gently as I pulled him in for a hug.  He nodded his head.

“Thanks for telling me how you felt.  I’m glad you told me.”  We embraced and I kissed him.  His little body relaxed a bit as he returned my hug.

“That’s good, though, that you kept that word in your head,” I said with a smile, “It would definitely have been inappropriate for you to say that out loud.  But I’m glad you told me about it now.”

Fast forward a few more days. It’s before school and Brennan is singing a song:

Everybody tries to tell you what to do… but I just listen to what God says…

“Where did you learn that song?” I inquired.  It was actually kind of catchy, but I had never heard it before.

“I made it up,” he said.

“Wow!” I replied, “Can I hear it again?”

With a smile on his face, he sang it again.  Pleased, I think, by my response.

I just love this kid.  His transparency is inspiring to me as a person.  His willingness to admit his ugly thoughts is challenging and convicting.  His little heart, that even though he struggles with bad thoughts and bad words, feels the freedom to sing out praises to God.  And not for an audience.  He was singing just because.

I don’t think we have to tell very bad thought that we have, but I believe it’s important to admit we struggle.  And I think it’s equally important to recognize that even though we mess up, we still have good within us. We sometimes think bad thoughts,  yet we can still sing praises to God.  That’s not hypocritical.  It’s real.

In fact, it would be more hypocritical to pretend like we have it all together.  To only share the good thoughts.  To only sing praises and only tell about the times that we made good choices.

I want to be more like Brennan.  I want to be aware of both the bad and the good within me.  I want to confess and admit those things that I know were wrong, when appropriate.  I want to know that I am still loved when I do – not judged.  I want to be happy when my conscious (or, God’s still small voice?) keeps me in check and helps me not to do bad things.  I want to sing praises because I love Him, not as a way to look good, or a way to cover up the bad.  But to praise Him just because that’s something within me.

My prayer for Brennan (and for all my children!) is that they will come to me (and/or Randy) with the realness of who they are.  That they will not be afraid to be vulnerable and admit their mistakes or even share their darkest thoughts.  That they will know that my love for them does not stem from them being good or obedient or making all the right choices.  I want those things for them because I want what is best for them.  I want them to know that I will love them in the midst of the messiness of this life.  Randy and I can handle their ugliness.

Because the minute that they feel we are unsafe is the minute that the bad will begin to harm them.  They’ll hide the bad.  The bad might begin to consume them.  They might find other places to express their bad and act out on it.  They’ll only show us what they think we want to see.

This life isn’t about being good.  This life is going to be hard.  None of us is immune.

I want my kids to know that.  And to know that that is why God is here.  To be with us through it all.  I want them to know that to be a Christian is to be real, not perfect.





Posted in Children and Family, Faith and God, Heart Ponderings | 1 Comment

Building Sand Castles with Words

You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words… This is what separates artists from ordinary people:  the belief deep down in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow the ocean won’t wash them away.  I think this a wonderful kind of person to be.  ~ Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird


My last blog entry was written over a year ago.  The entry before that was a year before that.  I stopped writing in my blog regularly over two years ago.

And I miss it.

I didn’t have a huge following.  I was lucky if I had thirty people read what I wrote, and just a handful of people (if any) would comment.  But that’s not why I wrote (see this entry, my first ever blog post, for more about that idea).

As I recently have been skimming through and re-reading some of my posts, I realize that my writing is more for me than anyone else.  I’m building sand castles in hopes that the waves of life won’t wash my memories away.

I also write to capture and grasp thoughts and ideas that are swirling around within my head.  These thoughts are grains of sand.  I take a handful here, a scoop there – carefully chosen and sifted.  I add some water and sculpt and craft until I somehow make sense of my ponderings.  These sand castles I’m building are made from more than just memories, they are made with little pieces of me:  my thoughts, my ponderings, my soul.  I need to grasp them while I can, turn them into words, and sculpt them into sand castles.

Anne Lamott also writes in her book, Bird by Bird:

Even if you never publish a word, you have something important to pour yourself into.  Writing and reading…deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul.

After a two-plus year hiatus in regularly writing and capturing my thoughts and ponderings, I realize how much writing reflectively has been good for my soul.  When I wrote here on this blog, I had something to pour myself into.  It expanded my sense of life and gave me a place to notice, ponder, and remember.  It fed my soul.  And though I do it mainly for me, I have to admit that having a handful of visitors was nice.  And the occasional comment was so encouraging.  It’s like having passersby on a beach who stop and admire the sand castle you’ve created; the one you would have made whether anyone stopped to admire it or not.

…writing can give you the pleasures of the woodpecker, of hollowing out a hole in a tree where you can build your nest and say ‘This is my niche, this is where I live now, this is where I belong.’ (Lamott)

This blog was my nest.  It’s where I lived for a while.  I was a woodpecker, hollowing out my hole, finding my niche. And so, slowly, I’m going to attempt to return here to my hollow and peck away a bit.

I’m going to build some more sand castles.  Because my soul needs it.

Posted in Heart Ponderings, Self-Discovery | 4 Comments

Untold Glories


You can never tell to what untold glories a little humble path may lead if you follow far enough.”  ~ Lilias Trotter

Nearly thirty years ago, my mom stumbled upon “a humble little path.”  Really, it was just a name, a person, that she stumbled upon.  Lilias Trotter.

Two retired missionary sisters happened to be wintering in the small town of Lake Wales, Florida.  They happened to visit the local Presbyterian Church, which happened to be the church at which my father was pastor.  They recognized his last name as being the same last name of a friend of their sister.  Grace Rockness (my grandmother), had befriended their older sister many years ago while she was teaching English in Singapore.  These two sisters, Jane and Betty Barbour, made their introductions and scheduled a dinner engagement with my parents, thrilled to make a connection with their dear sister’s friend’s son and daughter-in-law (did you follow that?!).  It was at this dinner engagement, that Jane and Betty introduced my parents to Lilias Trotter, “a woman” (as my mother writes in her book A Blossom in the Desert) “the sisters knew only through the beautifully illustrated devotional books she began publishing in the 1890s.”

Lilias was a missionary to Algeria from 1888-1928.  During her years there, she wrote and illustrated several books and leaflets, most of them devotional in nature and geared towards ministering to the Muslims.  All of her writings were out of print, but the Barbour sisters had a copy of many of them.  Fearing that their collection of Lilias’s work might eventually be lost, Jane and Betty slowly began to send my mom copies of Lilias’s writings over the years.  As my mom wrote in her book, A Passion for the Impossible, each new addition of Lilias’s, “penetrated my soul, each one exuding a rare blend of earthiness and holiness.”

And thus began my mom’s journey down this “humble little path.”  The path of Lilias Trotter.  Little did any of us know where this path would take her.  All she knew was that she wanted to follow this path:  “Over time, a passion grew in me to find everything written by or about Lilias Trotter and then to make those works known to others” (A Passion for the Impossible).

Those of us closest to my mom became first-hand witnesses to this passion.  Her love and admiration for this woman – her writings, her paintings, her life – was obvious.  She photocopied sketches and paintings of Lilias’s and place them strategically around our home, often accompanied by a Lilias quote.  She bought small decorative camels (representing Lilias’s life in Algeria) and placed them in our dining room.  She talked about Lilias, she wrote about Lilias, she read about Lilias.  At times, we teased her that she was Lilias. . . or at least she wished she was!

As she was surrounding herself with all things Lilias, my mom’s desire to make Lilias known led to some exciting things.  Encouraged by Lyle Dorsett and Marjorie Mead, both of Wheaton College (Illinois), Mom wrote a biography of Lilias Trotter.  That biography led to several magazine articles (one of them being in the beautiful Victoria magazine).  The book and articles led to speaking engagements – not only at churches, but even at two John Ruskin symposiums in England and Venice (part of Mom’s discovery was that the renowned art critic, John Ruskin, believed that Lilias could become one of the nation’s finest artists if she put all of her efforts, time, and energy into that pursuit).  Mom’s first book eventually led to the compilation and publication of another Lilias-based book, A Blossom in the Desert, which is filled with color copies of Lilias’s paintings, along with Lilias quotes and excerpts from her books and journals.  This book led to greeting cards, each with a painting and a quote by Lilias.

A couple of years ago, my mom received word that there was a husband and wife, Brian and Sally Oxley, who had stumbled across her book and that the they wanted to pursue making a short documentary on the life of Lilias.  This, of course, was a dream of my mom’s.  To get Lilias on film.  A dream that seemed out of reach.  Upon connecting with the Oxleys, a Lilias Trotter Board was formed.  This board began the process of pursuing this dream.  Of deciding exactly how they would like to portray Lilias through film.  Of finding that “right person” to produce and direct this film.  Many months of planning, praying, searching. . .

Although there have multiple “untold glories” along the way of this Lilias Trotter path, I believe that I have recently had the privilege of viewing one of the biggest glories of this path:  the film.  Just a few weeks ago, over Christmas break, my husband, brother, and sister-in-law, along with my parents, watched the “rough draft” of this Lilias Trotter documentary. In the truest sense of the phrase, it was a spiritual experience.  The award-winning film director Laura Hinson, amazingly took 30 years of my mom “living Lilias” and masterfully brought Lilias to life on screen.  The imagery, the scenery, the well-placed quotes strewn throughout, Lilias’s artwork coming to life through tasteful animation, Lilias’s struggle over the opportunity to pursue fame as an artist under the tutelage of John Ruskin versus her heartbeat to live a life of ministry, the pulsating question that drove my mom to understand Lilias: was it worth it?  the life she “gave up” for the life she lived. . . in the midst of this, my mom’s own journey of discovering Lilias unfolding as well.  Somehow, Laura has taken all the pieces, captured the key ones artistically and strategically, and created a work of art that captures the person of Lilias, the journey and soul of Lilias, the art of Lilias…along with the journey and soul of my mom…along with a thought-provoking perspective of Faith.  A faith that is captivating, challenging, and inspiring.  A life that anyone, whether a Christ-follower or not, cannot help but admire.

As I watched it all unfold before me on “the big screen,” I was watching more than just the life and person of Lilias.  I was watching more than the average viewer will ever grasp or understand.  I was watching the end result of a dream.  A dream my mom probably never really thought would happen.  I dream my mom could have never fathomed as she innocently began to fall in love with the writings, the artwork, and the person of Lilias.  As I watched the film, I remembered years and years of “Lilias this” and “Lilias that.”  I remembered the hours and hours Mom spent taking the pieces of Lilias’s life and pulling them all together – pieces of her life that Mom had lovingly and painstakingly gathered, through trips to England, photocopying journals, sifting through Lilias’s handwritten journals, reading all that she could find, tracking down family members, making timelines and charts, searching John Ruskin resources, placing phone calls to find missing letters.  I can just picture my mom behind her computer, Lilias books and journals and other random Lilias-related notes strewn about her, typing for hours on end.  As I watched the life of Lilias unfold before me, I saw a piece of the life of my mom unfold before me, too.  And even more than that. . . I saw the hand of God.

Knowing what I know, I cannot help but see how God has amazingly woven this all together.  From the Barbour sisters (and the connections that went before) to the creation of this documentary – and all the people, experiences, and love-laborings in between.  “You can never tell to what untold glories a little humble path may lead if you follow far enough.”  Mom followed far enough.  And this movie, in my mind, is the epitome of all the “untold glories” of this Lilias Trotter path.  I cannot wait for others to see it!

In the final interview with my mom (in the film), she says this about Lilias:

What I saw in Lilias was just the idea of being faithful.  Being faithful to what you believe is right.  Being faithful to what you believe God wants you to do.  And to not be concerned about the results.

This strikes me as true for my mom.  She was faithful.  She didn’t know the results.  She had no idea where this path would lead.  She was merely faithful to what she believed was right.  She was faithful to pursuing a God-given interest and passion.

As I reflect upon the movie, and about both Lilias and my mom, it’s Mom’s words about Lilias, combined with Lilias’s quote about paths, that best capture the entire film and propel me forward as I attempt to live my life:  Be faithful.  Be faithful to who I am.  To what I believe. To the passions, skills, and interests within my soul.  To what I believe God wants me to do.  I want to follow my humble path (whatever it may be).  And to keep my eyes and my heart open for glimpses (or blasts!) of untold glories!

Posted in Faith and God | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

When God Seems “Mean”

“God is so mean,” Brennan pronounces as I hold him on the rocking-recliner in his bedroom.

“Why?” I inquire.  A bit take-aback, to be honest.  I never know how to respond to these type of statements.  I realize my response can be pivotal to his understanding and relationship with God.  As much as I like my kids to be real, I also often wish they just compliantly accepted what I consider to be Truth and never asked difficult questions or struggled with faith-issues.  That would be so much easier!

“Because He’s not helping me fall back asleep!” Brennan says with frustration.

It’s 11:30 p.m., the night before his first day of first grade.  Though he fell asleep almost immediately upon putting him to bed early at 7:45 (my desperate attempt to make up for weeks of late nights and our crazily quick turn-around from summer vacation to first day of school), he has been awake again since 9:45 p.m.  He desperately wants to go back to sleep, but his little sleep-deprived and excited body won’t let him.

My mind thinks a thousand thoughts as I hear his reason for thinking God is mean: How cute that he would be turning to God during this time of trying to fall asleep.  I remember that I prayed with him earlier in the evening and asked God to help him fall back asleep.  I wonder if I’m teaching him to think prayer is a “magical pill.”  I want him to know he can turn to God for everything, but wonder how to help him understand everything we ask for we may not “get.”  I wonder why that is so myself!  I’m glad that he feels the freedom to be mad at God.  I’m scared that he is mad at God.  I want him to know it’s okay to be mad at God.

“I understand, Brennan,” I say as I hold and comfort him.

Pause.  I’m not sure what to say next…if anything.

“God gave you a mommy who can hold you until you fall asleep,” I hear my voice say softly.  I’m not sure where those words came from, and I’m not convinced they were what Brennan needed in that moment.

“Hmph…” he responds, as he snuggles in closer, “I wish I were asleep right now.  I still think He’s mean.”

I rub his back and give him a kiss on the top of his head.

My thoughts continue to wander as I hold my frustrated boy.  In the midst of wondering what to say to Brennan and processing what I think about how he feels, I realize I’m kind of mad at God, too!

It’s the night before the first day of school.  We just returned home from two weeks in Florida less than 24 hours ago.  I’m tired, I’m coming down with a sore throat, and things haven’t gone as smoothly as I like today.  My day was filled with unexpected errand-running (despite my best efforts to have everything ready before we left for vacation) and a whirlwind of activity.  Though I got the kids to bed early, my evening has been interrupted by Brennan’s inability to fall asleep.  I had hoped to have laundry put away, the breakfast table set, and lunch boxes packed by now.  Not to mention, I had also hoped to be in bed sound asleep.  Instead, not only was I not in bed sleeping, none of those other things had happened.  This sick momma needed a good night of sleep before an early school morning, and it wasn’t happening!  Yes, I must admit, I’m a bit frustrated at God myself for not helping Brennan fall back asleep!

So how do I face this reality?  How do I come to grips with things not going my way?  Especially when a part of me believes God could be a bit more helpful in this situation, if He so chooses.  Isn’t one of the perks of being a Christian the ability to take my requests to God in prayer…and for Him to help me?!

As I hold my frustrated little son, who thinks God is mean for not letting him sleep, I grapple with one of the biggest questions Christians have for God:  Why does it seem like God doesn’t answer our prayers?

And I ponder my response to Brennan, the unplanned words I heard come out of my mouth: “God gave you a mommy to hold you until you fall asleep.”

I worry my response seemed to be avoiding his reality.  Who cares that I’m holding him?!  He’d rather be sleeping.  Yet, at the same time, I hope that reality gives him comfort, comfort in the midst of frustration.  The same God who we feel is allowing something “bad” to happen (not falling asleep), is the same God who has also put many good things in place for us, in the midst of our discomfort and disappointment (a mommy to hold him).

What can I draw comfort from as I hold my child, frustrated that I’m not in bed, sound asleep?  To be honest, in the moment, I couldn’t really find anything.  But a day later, as I’m typing through this experience, I realize God gave me a special time with Brennan, the night before his first day of school.  The night before a big day for me ~ my baby was heading off to all-day school.  All three kids were now in a stage of life that once seemed light-years away.  As much as I’ve looked forward to this day, now that it’s upon me, I’m a bit sad and nostalgic.  The laundry got done, the breakfast table got set, and the lunches were made.  I was a bit tired, I must admit.  But I now have the memory and experience of holding my baby and rocking him to sleep, the night before he officially became a “big boy.”  There are few things I enjoy more than cuddling with my children.

Things will not always go as planned in this world.  God does not promise a smooth road through life.  Trials (much bigger than a lack of sleep!) and struggles will come our way.  Prayers we fervently pray will not always be answered.  But God does promise us this:  He will be with us.  He will comfort us.  He will give us good things in the midst of the bad (a mommy to hold us, a child to snuggle).

As I tucked Brennan in to bed the next night, I read to him from The Jesus Storybook Bible.  We were reading about Moses and the Israelites, wandering in the desert:

So there they all were.  Grannies, granddads, babies, uncles, aunts, children, moms, and dads.  Out there in the middle of the desert.  They had blisters from all the walking.  They were hungry.  And thirsty.  And much, much too hot.

‘We don’t like it!’ they said. ‘It stinks!’

As I read those words and thought of the Israelites reality, it reminded me of me…and Brennan.  We were tired.  We didn’t like it.  We were mad at God.  Just like the Israelites:

‘God doesn’t want us to be happy,’ they said.  It was the same lie that Adam and Eve had heard all those years before.  ‘God has brought us out here to kill us. God doesn’t love us!’  But they didn’t know God well, did they?

I was finding myself impacted by these words, written for children.

Every day of their journey, God kept on showing his people how well he would look after them, if they would trust him, and obey him.  When they were hungry, God made the sky rain with food. . .when they were thirsty and started quarrelling, God made water flow from a rock. . .And still God’s children didn’t trust him or do what he said.  They thought they could do a better job of looking after themselves and making themselves happy.  But God knew there was no such thing as happiness without him.

My mind raced with all I knew about the Israelites.  Forty years ~ FORTY! ~ of wandering and waiting on God.  Forty years of tiredness, hunger, sand, struggles.  I’m sure they prayed.  And I’m sure they felt like God didn’t hear or answer their prayers.  Yet, as we look at it in the whole picture, God was always there.  God cared.  God provided.

God knew there was no such thing as happiness without him.  That is why we pray.  He won’t take away all the hardships of life.  Those are there whether we know Him or not.  But with him, in the midst of all the struggles of life, He can bring us happiness.  That’s His promise to us.

Somehow, as I grow in this knowledge and this perspective, I hope and pray that my children will grow in the knowledge and perspective as well.  That in the midst of life not going their way, they’ll ultimately recognize that only through God can they find joy in the journey.  That He is there, even when it feels like He isn’t.  And that He gives us other good things, even when the thing we ask for isn’t what we get.

I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.    Jeremiah 31:13

Posted in Children and Family, Faith and God, Mothering, Struggles and Sorrows | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

The Gift of MOPS

MOPS_square[1]I use to take MOPS for granted, not truly aware of the important role it played in my life as a mom. Kind of like a kid with parents. They may not think much of all they have because of having parents in their life: a home, clothes, food, love, care, guidance, and instruction. Security and a safe place to land.

I’ve been attending MOPS for twelve years. Yes, twelve…I was shocked when I realized that’s the equivalent of attending first grade through twelfth grade. That was my entire childhood. How in the world am I old enough to have been doing something, parenting-related, that long? In fact, just as mind-boggling to me is that some of my current fellow MOPS moms were as young as twelve years old when I attended my first MOPS meeting. I’m still in shock as I type these words.

To me, MOPS and being a mom pretty much go hand in hand. I’ve never had one without the other! But as excited as I was to attend my first MOPS meeting (for this I-can’t-wait-to-be-a-mom person, MOPS was on my list of things I couldn’t wait to do), I quickly settled in to the MOPS routine. I loved MOPS, but had no clue as to how important it was to me.

I clearly remember the moment I recognized the significant role MOPS has played in my life. I was talking with a non-MOPS friend several years ago. She was a mother of young children, all pre-school age. She was sharing some of her struggles, insecurities, and concerns related to raising her children. Things such as dealing with tantrums, potty-training, bedtime issues, “losing it” with her kids, wondering if she was messing up her kids, dealing with mommy-guilt, and certain she she was the only one struggling with so many of these things.

As she shared, it struck me that MOPS was a place where I shared all of these things with other moms. And other moms shared these things, too. Because of MOPS, I knew I was not alone. Because of MOPS I had a place to be real and vent and be encouraged by other moms. Because of MOPS I heard from speakers, who not only gave perspective, wisdom, and guidance, but whose experiences also verified that what I was struggling with wasn’t abnormal or uncommon. As I listened to this mom, I realized she needed MOPS. If for no other reason, than to know that she was not alone. And as an added benefit, to receive support, encouragement, and relationship.

I am at the end of this MOPS journey. My baby will be graduating from kindergarten. Today is my last MOPS meeting. Though I’m a bit nostalgic at the thought, I’m also ready. As I’ve attended meetings this year, I’m amazed at how different my life is now. The baby issues and toddler struggles are no longer a part of my life. They are a sweet memory. Yes, the days were long and hard, but because the years did fly by (yes, they really do…it’s just the days that are long!), what I now hold on to is all that was sweet (and am thankful to be through with all that was difficult and draining and hard related to those early years of parenting). Of course, I’m on to new joys and struggles.

I leave this wonderful MOPS stage of my life, thankful for all that I received, and not wanting to take any of it for granted. As a reminder to myself, these are the gifts I have received from MOPS, each of them symbolically wrapped up and tied with bows:

  • Encouragement
  • Support
  • Perspective
  • Sweet friendships
  • Instruction and guidance
  • A place to be real
  • Love in the midst of being real and admitting where I had messed up
  • Laughter and fun interaction
  • A needed break from my children!
  • A place to encourage others, as I moved farther and farther along the motherhood road
  • Connection with other moms throughout the community, some who are very much like me and others who are not, but all of us bonded together through this thing called motherhood
  • Biblical perspective, guidance and encouragement
  • A place to be reminded of the joys of being a mom
  • A place where I know I am not alone
  • A place to grow not only as a mom, but as a person and a woman
  • Leadership skills and experience, as I served on steering and led table groups for most of my years at MOPS
  • A wonderful MOPPETS program for my children (with wonderful loving teachers)
  • Memories of meetings, experiences, and people
  • A strong base in which to move forward into this next phase of motherhood

The prophet Isaiah shares these comforting and encouraging words in Isaiah 40:11:

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.

MOPS has been one of the many ways in which Christ has gently led me. I am a better mother, person, friend, wife, leader, and Christian because of MOPS. MOPS has been, even when I didn’t realize it, a gift to me on this journey as a mom. A gift from Him, as He gently leads me.

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Confessions of a People-Pleasing, Recognition-Desiring Momma

“I think I might get the Sunshine Award tomorrow,” Micah, my third-grader, informs me one evening recently.

My heart sinks. I happen to know that if he was the recipient of this award, I would already have been contacted by his teacher. I’ve received no such phone call or email.

“Really?” I respond with interest to Micah, “why do you think you might get it?”

“Because I’m nice to people. And I haven’t gotten it yet. I’m pretty sure I’ll get it this year,” he responds confidently.

Little does Micah know how much my heart has been hoping (for four years now!) that he would receive this award. And that year after year, when he has not been the recipient, I’ve had to do my own soul-searching: Why hasn’t anyone noticed Micah? Have I failed as a mother? Why is this award so important to me?

“What do you have to do to receive the award?” I ask him, knowing the answer, but curious as to how he perceives the Sunshine Award.

“Be nice to others and do kind things.”

“And are you nice to others? Do you do kind things?” I ask.

“Yep,” he replies, not even feeling the need to further explain.

“Like what?” I probe.

“I don’t know,” he says, “I’m just nice to other kids.”

I prod him for some examples, so he shares a few.

“Those are great, Buddy,” I respond. And I take the conversation a step further: “What’s more important,” I ask, “being nice or winning an award for being nice?”

“Being nice,” he responds, casually.

“You’re right,” I said (as much to myself as to him!). “And you know what?” I continue, “sometimes we do nice things that others may not even see. What’s important is that you know that you are kind and loving to others. Even if teachers don’t always notice. Even if you don’t win the Sunshine Award. I hope you win the award, Micah, because I know that you’ve been kind to your friends. But you know what, Buddy, even if you don’t, I love you. Even if you don’t, you can be proud of the nice kind things you’ve done for others.”

Honestly, this speech is as much for myself, as it is for him. I struggle with these things. With wanting to be recognized, admired, thought highly of. I’ve had to work through these issues personally, and now I find myself working through them in connection with my children. Not just for their sake, but for mine. It’s easy for me to feel like a good mother if my kids do well, succeed, win awards, and are recognized.

I’m all the more aware of this tendency in relation to this award because Kiersten was a Sunshine Award recipient in kindergarten. I was proud…too much so, I’m afraid (quietly proud, but proud nonetheless). Not just proud of my daughter, but proud of myself as her mother. Clearly, her kindness was due to my great parenting skills. Silly, silly me.

Of course, this set the stage for my hopes for Micah. Kindergarten came and went for him. No Sunshine Award. First grade…nope. Second grade. Once again, no award for Micah. He has to get it in third grade, I told myself (the final year it is given). I had done the calculations. Each class in each grade has two recipients (a boy and a girl). No one child can receive the award more than once. So, if there are seven classes in each grade, that means that by third grade, twenty-one boys in Micah’s grade have already received this honor. And by the end of third grade, twenty-eight boys altogether will have been Sunshine Award recipients. Surely Micah is one of the twenty-eight “nicest” boys in his class!

So when I realized that Micah will never receive this coveted award (coveted in my mind), I had some real soul-work to do. Part of me wanted to proclaim that is is unfair to give out such awards. Part of me wanted to promote my own son to his teachers. A big part of me ached for him (and, quite frankly, for me).

But I must step away from the award, from the outward recognition of an inner quality. I must remind myself what I told Micah. What matters is who you are, even if others don’t see it. I know Micah to be tender-hearted and kind. He loves his friends. I know he’s not perfect, either. He talks when he’s not supposed to. He’s active and struggles to sit still. He’s shy around teachers and adults and engages in minimal conversation with them. This is my child, for good and for bad, and I know where he shines and where he struggles. And I (along with Randy) am working on these areas of weakness.

Recognition is part of life. Awards will be given and awards will be received. How wonderful it is to receive them! How heartbreaking it is to not! My job as parent is to help keep my kids grounded, both when they receive awards and when they don’t. To not allow the winning or not-winning of awards to dictate one’s sense of goodness and character.

I want my children to make choices based on who they are, what is right, and the values Randy and I are (hopefully) instilling in them. And to do these things, whether they are honored for them or not.  And when it comes to the Sunshine Award, I want them “to love because He first loved us” (I John 4:19).  That’s reason enough.

A few days after the Sunshine Award incident had come and gone (and Micah handled his not-receiving-the-award amazingly well. He barely seemed phased by it!), I observed Micah with a group of friends. This group of  eight boys were picking teams for a football game. Micah was one of the team captains.

On his second pick, Micah picked a boy who was not very athletic. I took note of that. When it came down to the final two boys, and it was Micah’s turn to pick again…I saw him hesitate. Then, he did “eeny-meeny-miney-mo” to make his choice. Again, I took note. I wondered if Micah did both of these things out of kindness. Sensitive to the fact that the non-athletic boy wouldn’t normally be picked early in a “draft.” Careful at the end to not leave one boy as the “last one chosen.”

Later, I commented on my observation to Micah. I asked him why he did both of those things. He shrugged and said he didn’t know. I pressed him a little more (why did you pick the non-athletic one? Why eeny-meeny-miney-mo?). Finally, he admitted he didn’t want anyone to feel bad.

Never have I been more proud of my little boy. He had made kind choices, simply with the motive of caring for others, and not for the motive of being noticed or recognized. The timing of this observation is just what this people-pleasing, recognition-desiring momma needed.  I realized I was more proud of catching his private acts of genuine kindness than I would have been to observe a ribbon placed around his neck for all to see.

“Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God?  Or am I trying to please men?  If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

Galatians 1:10


Posted in Children and Family, Heart Ponderings, Mothering, Self-Discovery | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

God at Work in Little Lives

6187141-crown-of-thorns-hung-around-the-easter-cross[1]What do tic tacs, an older sister, a DVD, and a carton of eggs have in common?  They are all accomplices to one of the biggest decisions in each of my children’s lives. The decision to ask Jesus into their hearts.

Each is a story in and of itself, but I will attempt to summarize them briefly.

For Kiersten, it was tic tacs. At age three, she was adamantly against anything to do with asking Jesus into her heart (I know this because as an over-eager mother of my first child, I was trying really hard to get her to!). I finally realized it would be wise to just drop the issue (for fear that I was actually pushing her farther and farther away from ever making that decision!). Several months (or more) later, Kiersten came to me and asked, “Mommy, what is a Christian?”

Surprised at her sudden interest, I gladly (yet cautiously) explained to her what it meant to be a Christian. I was equally surprised when she declared that she would like to become a Christian; she wanted to ask Jesus into her heart. So we prayed together. Immediately upon finishing the prayer, I discovered the reason for her sudden interest in Christianity:

“Now I can have some tic tacs,” she gleefully announced, with the “Amen” barely off our tongues. I knew there must be a story behind this.

Apparently, in a very irresponsible moment, my mom informed Kiersten that only Christians could have tic tacs (“Who are those tic tacs for?” Kiersten had asked her, eyeing the ever-so-tempting tiny, colorful pieces of candy. “Christians,” responded my mom, not knowing what she was setting in motion. That’s when Kiersten traipsed off to find me…).

Of course my mom and I, once we had realized what had happened, tried to set things straight. We told Kiersten that Grandma was just being silly; you didn’t have to be a Christian to have a tic tac. Asking Jesus into her heart was a big decision; one we only wanted her to make when she was ready. She could have a tic tac without being a Christian.

She informed us that she was glad she asked Jesus into her heart, she believed everything I had told her, and she wanted to be a Christian. Not just for the tic tac.

Skeptical, I observed her and talked with her throughout the following weeks. It became clear that her decision was sincere. As far as a three-year-old could grasp, she had taken that step of faith. She had begun the journey, and in a way that I could have never conjured up! God had used a tic tac (and a silly Grandma) to soften her little heart towards Him.

With Micah, it was big sister Kiersten. After my experience with Kiersten, I was determined that there was no need to try to push that decision on Micah too early. But apparently Kiersten had other plans.

I may never know (until I get to heaven) what discussion led up to this moment, but I will never forget the day that I overheard my six-year-old daughter leading my three-year-old son in a prayer asking Jesus into his heart, while sitting at the bottom of our stairs. If only I had recorded it!

In the midst of my busy life (baby brother Brennan was only a few weeks old at this time), God used an eager and engaged six-year-old sister to help Micah take the first step in his journey.  To this day (six years later), Micah remembers asking Jesus into his heart at the bottom of the stairs with Kiersten.

An finally, Brennan…and the DVD and carton eggs. Just before Easter, when Brennan was four-years-old, he became quite interested in a children’s DVD about the life of Jesus. He had discovered it amongst the many DVDs in our media drawer. It soon became his favorite movie; he literally watched it every day for weeks.

During this time, Brennan received a box of Resurrection Eggs from his preschool. He was quite intrigued by these eggs and wanted me to tell him all about them. So, we sat down on the floor and began going through the eggs together.

Each egg contained an item and a bible verse. These items and verses each represented an event from the last week of Christ’s life. So, as Brennan pulled the leaf out of egg number one, I told him that it represented the palm branches that people waved on Palm Sunday as Christ entered Jerusalem. Amazingly, I didn’t have to explain too much, because Brennan was quite familiar with each event (from watching the movie). When he pulled out the picture of praying hands (from egg number three) and I told him about Jesus praying in the garden, Brennan immediately remembered it from the DVD, and informed me that that was right before the bad guys got Him.

Towards the end of the Resurrection Eggs (egg number nine, to be exact, the one with a spear in it), I asked Brennan if he knew why Jesus died. It hit me that Brennan knew a lot about the story of Jesus dying, but I wondered if he knew why He had died. His response was that Jesus died because bad guys got Him.

“Yes,” I agreed, “but He really died because He loves you.” And I continued to explain Jesus’ purpose in coming to earth and dying on the cross.

I had no intention of encouraging him to ask Jesus into his heart right then. I just wanted to begin the conversation with him, and explain the why behind the events of the Easter story. And he was an eager audience.

As a way to convey to Brennan that this is something to do when he’s ready, I told him that I have Jesus in my heart, Daddy has Jesus in his heart, and so do Kiersten and Micah. I was about to say, “And some day, when you’re ready, you might decide to ask Jesus into your heart.”

I didn’t get a chance to say that because, just as I was telling him about Kiersten and Micah, he started to cry. Really cry.

“What’s wrong?” I inquired.

“I want Jesus in my heart, too,” he sobbed.

“It’s okay, Brennan,” I reassured him, “you can ask Him when you’re ready. You’re still little.”

“I want to ask him now,” he cried.

So, we prayed. And Brennan asked Jesus into his heart. Once again, God was at work. The timing of the DVD and the Resurrection Eggs. And even a little brother’s desire to not be left out…to be like the rest of his family. God used those things to start the journey in a four-year-old’s life.

I share all of these stories because I am so amazed at how I had nothing to do with the timing of any of them. And I’m so amazed that each child had their own unique angle on what led them to make their decision.

Yes, I had to be able to discuss with them what it means to be a Christian, and how to become a Christian, and answer their questions, but I feel strongly that God gave me the right words.

I am also aware that this decision is only the beginning of a life of learning about God and loving God. They will grow in their knowledge and understanding. And my prayer is that God will become more and more real to them each day. Those initial prayers are not the end of the story, nor are they a guarantee that they will never have doubts or that they will never stray from their beliefs. I believe that a day will come when they will need to embrace this faith in a new way. They will want to recommit their lives to Christ with a new understanding. Not because their childlike prayer wasn’t “real,” but because they will be older. It will be the next major step in having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.

I use to think (before I had kids), that once all my children had accepted Christ as their Saviour (if, indeed they did), that I could breathe a huge sigh of relief. My “job” would be done. I now believe that this is when the real work begins. The story isn’t over; it is just beginning. God is and will be using me, my husband, and others in their lives to live out our faith and to teach and to train. Ultimately, they are His. But He has entrusted them to us.

I love how God works in mysterious ways. How He takes common things, common people, and common events, weaves them together in His perfect timing, and uses them to draw people to Him. To soften hearts. Tic tacs, a big sister, a DVD, and a carton of eggs. Who knew that they would all be key elements in the spiritual journeys of my three children?

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Everyone Else Is Doing It…

iPod touch picture“Mom, when can I get my own email?” eleven-year-old Kiersten asks me as I pick her up from school.

“Not for a while, Kiersten,” I respond, never giving a specific age or timeline.  I’m not willing to be held to anything yet!  The truth is, I have no idea.  And furthermore, I’d be happy for it to be a very, very, very long time.  I see no need for her to have one.  I think of all the spam emails I get.  The junk emails that are quite inappropriate (even in just their subject line).  She’s too young to be faced with this.  She sees her friends every day at school (or weekly at church), she doesn’t need to email them.  And I’d rather her write actual letters to her long-distance friends.

“Well, everyone else has one,” she says.

“Who?” I reply, not quite believing her, so needing some hard facts.  She comes up with two names.

Later that same day, as I’m setting the timer for her time to play games on the iPod touch (the iPod that she and Micah share, that they both saved up money together for almost a year!), she asks me,  “Why can’t I just play whenever I want?  Everyone else gets to play whenever they want.”

I kind of believe her on that one.  She just started playing “Words with Friends” with several of her friends.  From the moment she gets home from school, the iPod touch starts binging throughout the rest of the afternoon and evening, signaling that someone else has played a word and it is now her turn to play.

“Everyone else…” Twice in one day.  Over technology-related activities.  This phrase was already fresh on my mind, from the chapter in my mom’s book that I just posted on my blog (click here to read).  Thirty years ago it was the TV that my brothers and I were begging to watch because “everyone else” got to watch whenever they wanted (or so it seemed to us).

As my mom reflected on our constant begging for more TV, she mounted her soapbox (her words) about the evils of TV (balancing it out later, by clarifying that TV is inherently neither good or bad).  At the bottom of it all was her frustration about the constant begging of us kids, which put her, the mother, in a position of defense.  Not a fun place to be as a parent.  Wouldn’t it be so much easier to not even have this item in the home that causes so much desire for little kids and so much struggle for parents to manage?

That’s where I find myself so many times as a mother.  As I experience Kiersten’s desire for email and more iPod time, and have the often daily struggle of telling my children, “No, you may not watch more TV.  No, you cannot keep playing the iPod, your time is up.  I’m sorry that you’re in the middle of a game.  No, no more Wii for today.  You’ve played plenty.  I’d like you to find something else to do,” I find myself wishing these items didn’t exist!  Wouldn’t life be so much easier without them?  I, too, want to mount my soapbox and defend my stance for putting limits on these things.  I even want to take it a step further and say I wish these things had never been created.  I hate monitoring them and dealing with the constant requests.  Even though my children know the rules, they still keep asking for more!  And it’s so easy and tempting to “give in” as the parent…

Yet, I’m not willing to take all things technical completely away.  I’m not about extremes.  I know that, used sparingly and at opportune times, these things can be good.  We’ve had many fun family nights of playing Wii together.  In the middle of the winter, when outside play is limited, a game of tennis or basketball on the Wii is truly a fun alternative.  Sometimes a little downtime playing an iPod game is a good option, too.  I remember my brothers’ “electronic football” game and how much fun we had playing it!  And Words with Friends can be a great (and even educational) way to connect with friends…especially when you’re the only girl in the family (and the oldest) and sometimes get a little bored with the games your little brothers enjoy playing!  And the television.  I will always sing the praises of PBS and have to give them partial credit for playing a role in the education of my children.  And never before have I realized how good The Brady Bunch really is!  Who knew?!  Not only do my kids love to see and enjoy the family life and antics of this dated family (they get a kick out of the clothes and the home decor), but they also get the added bonus (whether they know it or not) of observing some good family and moral values (which is hard to find on TV these days).  I’ll take reinforcements any way I can get them!  Not to mention, the lure of this program later in the day is a perfect reward for completed homework!

Yes, when functioning smoothly, technology has its perks.  On paper, I can work it beautifully into my daily and weekly schedule, choosing when, what, and how much is appropriate.

But alongside that, comes a bit of reality.  I have the perfect plan, but my children seem to rub up against it.  Push the limits (not turning off the TV right when their program is over, playing Wii or iPod beyond the beeper that signals that their time is up, begging for more time, more programs…more, more more!).  That’s when I want to throw it all out the window!  My children are becoming addicted, I worry.  My children don’t know how to entertain themselves.  They’ve lost their ability to be creative and use their imaginations.  To play together and enjoy each other’s company.  To just “be kids” and have fun.

So I have to step in and become the mom.  To make hard, unpopular choices.  Just this past weekend, my husband and I had a long talk about this (as he, too, was experiencing their push back and “addiction”).  His suggestion:  no Wii or iPod touch for a week (well, he actually said a month…I suggested we take it one week at a time). Every Sunday evening, we’ll gather as a family and discuss how things went the previous week and make a decision about the upcoming week.

It’s now Friday of our first week with no Wii or iPod touch.  And it has been a glorious week!  Knowing the hard-core limits, my children have risen to the occasion.  They weren’t thrilled with the announcement, but they’ve accepted it and haven’t even asked to play either item!  They’ve found other things to do.  They’ve looked more forward to their one TV show for the day (The Brady Bunch at six o’clock).  Brennan gets an extra half hour of TV (PBS), since he’s only in school half day.  They’ve played together, worked more diligently on homework, and come up with other things to do.  No longer do I have to deal with arguments over whose turn it is to play the iPod touch, what Wii game to play (if they are playing together), and frustrations over losing or things not going “their way” during some game they are playing.   I was beginning to feel like my role as mom had become limited to mediating, moderating, and controlling all aspects of technology amongst the kids in our home.  And in the midst of my attempts to control, I felt completely out of control!

I think I see a future of less “screen time” in our family.  Just because we have them, doesn’t mean that we (they) have the right to play them every day.  These items are for “special occasions” only.  And I think we all will enjoy them more that way.  And in the meantime, we can enjoy each other more!

As I linger over a question my mom raised ~  “Who is in control?” ~ I think of the changes that Randy and I have made this week.  “Everybody else” is not in control.  The Wii, iPod touch, and TV are not in control.  Coming up with a plan as husband and wife ~ parenting partners to our children ~ I feel that Randy and I are back in control.  And a part of me believes strongly that my children are glad.  They want structure and limits.  Even if they don’t know it.

So even if “everyone else is doing it” (and whether that statement is true or not!), we aren’t.  And I’m okay with that.

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Who’s Influencing My Children?

As promised, here is the chapter on TV from my mom’s book.  I’m tempted to introduce it with lots of my own thoughts and convictions (and even confessions!) on the subject, but that would defeat the purpose of posting it.  It speaks for itself and it captures, I think, the struggle many of us face ~ not only with the TV, but with all things “screen.”  I love my mom’s balanced conclusion and find myself challenged to “be in control” of all of our media options.  I hope you find it helpful as well.


by Miriam Huffman Rockness (1979)

“Can we watch TV, Mom?”  David sets his books and lunch box on the high chair and looks at me with bright hope and expectancy.  It never fails to amaze me how he faithfully asks this question that through the years has been consistently answered in the negative.

“Not until four o’clock, honey.”

“How come?”

“You know we never watch TV right after school.  This is your time to play.”  I answer with what strikes me, under the circumstances, as a monumental show of patience.

Everyone watches TV after school.”

“That’s right,” echoes Kimberly.  “Everyone.”

“I doubt that,” I respond, measuring each word carefully.  “But even if they did, you know that isn’t how we make our decisions.”

“I’ll choose a good program that won’t scare Kimberly and Jonathan.”

“The programs aren’t bad, Mommy,” Kimberly adds.

“I know the programs aren’t bad, but I just don’t think anything is on now that is that good.”  I go on to explain how precious time is, how many good things there are to do.  We limit TV because we want them to live life, not just sit back and watch others live life.

David and Kimberly look up at me with expressions that simulate total incomprehension.  David shrugs his shoulder and says, “C’mon, Kimberly, let’s go ride our bikes.”

Am I too strict?  I ask myself.  There is nothing in the programs they are pushing for that is harmful.  After a busy day in school, shouldn’t they just be free to sit back and be entertained for a while?  I review our policy:  They have a daily block of time set aside for their choice of several pre-determined programs.  We check the TV guide for specials which we attempt to make a shared family time.  Then there are their morning fragments of “Captain Kangaroo.”  No, in proportion to their other activities, they see plenty of television!

I begin to bristle that I let myself be put into a defensive position.  I’m convinced we approach the whole thing from the wrong angle – if it’s not bad, it’s OK we allow, rather than choosing from the enormous smorgasbord of programs that which is edifying and good.  By default, we’ve let the question become “Why not?” rather than “Why?” making it a matter of acquiescence rather than choice.

I mount my soapbox and continue to build a defense of our position.  I think of the vast number of messages our children are subjected to, input that is shaping their thinking and in turn their character.  I am realistic; I can’t put blinders on my children, and even if I could, I wouldn’t.  TV is only one of the many voices that shout their conflicting messages, that have something to say about everything.  But it happens to be one influence I can still control.  There is so much at stake.  When you cut through it all – the mundane activities surrounding mothering – my deepest concern is the kind of people our children are becoming.  They cannot help but be influenced by the values that bombard them.  Values so often in conflict with what we are trying to stress; the importance of the inner man, the person we really are – in a word, character.

I don’t want to tune out other messages altogether.  I just want to keep up with their input so I can help them learn to be discerning.  I will not always be able to screen their TV input, but I refuse to abdicate my filtering role while my children are still so moldable simply because of their demands, or because it is expedient for me.

By now I am gesturing eloquently from my soapbox and am becoming increasingly possessed with a desire to dismount and rip the TV from its life line on the wall.  Show it a thing or two.  But I begin to cool as I consider how it has enriched our lives:  the concerts we’ve enjoyed in the comfort of our sitting room, our trips to faraway lands, the exposure to values and life-styles of another time and place, drama that has carried our emotions the full gamut – together . . . When I hear Jonathan count to thirteen, I have to admit he didn’t learn his numbers from me!  So I kick my soapbox aside, and reassume a more realistic posture, that of a mother simply trying to make decisions that will be in the best interest of her family.

No, like most everything else, the TV is  not inherently good or evil.  It holds the potential for either.  The fundamental issue is, who is in control?  The TV?  Or are we in control?  I believe it places far too great a burden on the grade school child to have to make these quality-of-life decisions.  As parents, we will continue to assume the responsibility of determining the amount of time spent watching TV and the kind of programs watched.  We will continue to allow our children choices within our choices, knowing the day will come when they must exercise their own judgement.  I would hope by then we will have established a pattern of selection that will provide a kind inner monitoring for their own positive choices.

*This exerpt from my mom’s book, Keep These Things, Ponder Them in Your Heart, is posted in response to my previous post, “Out of Touch.”  Without a TV for one week (yes, that doesn’t seem long, but it was…trust me!), I had plenty of time to ponder the role of TV (and all things “screen”) in our home.  It also gave me a chance to appreciate the value of being “out of touch” and how this truly allows us to actually be in touch with our inner lives…our soul.  And our Creator.  If you enjoyed this post, I’d love for you to read that one, too.  Just click here.

Posted in Children and Family, Heart Ponderings, Media, Mothering | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments