"I don't want to grow up!" My daughter sobbed on my shoulder. Not sure where this meltdown was coming from, I took her into my arms for a cuddle.
"I want to stay seven. I don't want to leave first grade. I don't want to do multiplication. I don't want to grow up!"
Boy, if I could give her that wish--I'd grant it in a New York minute. Truth be told, I don't want her to grow up either. I don't want her to give up her childish wonder, her desire to cuddle, her love of teddy bears who are absolutely real to her. I'm amazed that, at seven, she even has an appreciation that moving on sometimes means giving up. How do I respond?
We can't stop time. We can only teach our children that time matters--so grab it.
"Honey, if you want to hang on to seven--then you need to take every day and give thanks for it. When you play with your teddy bears--really enjoy your teddy bears. When a friend comes to play, don't waste the time squabbling over turns or hurt feelings--instead, enjoy every moment with your friend. As you do your school, enjoy today's assignments. If you fully engage in each moment--then, you will be able to hold on to seven."
Not exactly the answer she wanted. She wanted all-powerful mom to wave a wand and promise she could keep the life she loves. I can't do that. I can only encourage her to love the life she has.
To give thanks in each moment. To pay attention. To not waste now with complaining or selfishness or worry. Perhaps in this, every moment becomes one she wants to hold on to. A life at every stage that she doesn't want to leave. What better gift can a parent give a child?

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As tornadoes tore through our area, a young mom headed to the basement clutching her 4-year-old. Before she could return to help her parents down the stairs, a tornado hit the house. The force tore her child from her arms.
Home gone. Parents gone. Son gone. Two minutes--max. Life completely unraveled.
As I tried to wrap my mind around such grief, I clutched my own children more tightly. Each day I fearfully watched the sky for signs of storms--edgy, scared, clutching.
How do we find that sweet spot between urgency and apathy? Between the fear-induced need to hold children a bit too tightly and the careless numbness that allows shared time pass without the wonder due each moment. How do we learn to squeeze the most out of every interaction without sucking the life from those around us?
Choose to engage. We can stop apathy by refusing to live with half our mind on a to-do list and half our mind on our child's conversation. We can stop believing the lie that multi-tasking makes us more efficient. We can stop putting off for later what is offered now.
Instead, we can choose to fully listen--going for more than the point. Focusing on the nuances, the humor, the amazing reasoning of our child's mind. We can take one task at a time and do it, only it, reveling in the joy of a work well done. We can live in the realization that life changes quickly, often without notice, so grab what is offered when it is offered.
Choose faith, not fear. So often, we slide into urgency out of fear. Fear comes from the Enemy. An enemy that cheats even the good moments with dread for what might happen next. Though we will face events that at times overwhelm, confuse, or numb--we also live knowing that they never surprise God. They are never out of the Father's control. If we live in the confidence that every day is planned by a loving, all-powerful Father, we don't live in dread. We rest in the confidence that when the bad comes, so will the provision.
Somewhere between urgency and apathy we find a way to live fully in each moment while trusting the coming moments to God. I pray for the mama who lost so much. To keep these prayers from ringing hollow, I also live grateful for all that I have rather than treat cavalierly all she would love to get back.

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A couple of days ago, my Your Family Matters post on Facebook was: "Great Moments in Parenting--Last night I'm making supper and can't find a pot to steam veggies to save my life. Not in dishwasher, cupboard, or on counter. In a hurry, I improvise. Later, as I go upstairs to tuck littlest in bed, I hear a rhythmic beat. You got it. All the pots are in her bed, and she's drumming to beat the band. Evidently, practiced all afternoon. Big points for creativity!"
I posted this as a funny moment in parenting. A comment shocked me.
One mom congratulated me on not punishing my daughter. She remarked that she knew many parents who would have seen the behavior as mischievous and punished. Really?!!
Though I often work with parents who don't understand how, when, or where to punish children and so choose to let their children run amok; equally concerning are parents who punish too much.
When not to punish:

• When children are being children. Children haven't yet lived the range of experiences you have. They don't know how to negotiate social situations or accurately assess choices. We don't punish when they act out of childish ignorance.

• We don't punish because a child's act inconvenienced, embarrassed, or put us in an uncomfortable spot. Just because child asks a question we can't answer, we don't punish. Just because child repeated a remark we made that we now regret, we don't punish. Just because child's plan for learning drums means the pots aren't on hand, we don't punish. We might have a discussion about a better choice. We explain what we would like to see instead. But, we don't punish. They didn't disobey--they merely acted in a way we didn't anticipate and don't know how to handle. We figure out how to handle rather than wreaking vengeance.

• We don't punish because we're tired, overwhelmed, or stressed. Too often, especially in homes where both parents work, both parents are strained to the limit. The best energy, attention, and emotion get expended for the person writing the pay check. We have only dregs to offer our family. When children demand more than this simply by needing our time or attention, we often snap. And punish. This is wrong. Our children deserve our best time, energy, emotion--not the leftovers. Parents must reserve their best for their family to avoid acting out of stress or tiredness. Don't let work become the excuse for being either a lazy parent or a wrongly punishing parent.

When to punish: Punishment should be given only when a child knows what he should do and refuses to do so. Punishment should be only a tool in the larger picture of guiding our children to live in unity with God--His love, His holiness, His righteousness. We focus on our child's heart--is her heart right with God. If not, we may need to educate. We may need to pray. We may need to punish an ongoing pattern of doing what she knows she shouldn't.

Our family has found that we boil punishment situations down to three:

• Punish when a child lies. Every time.
• Punish when a child fails to show respect--in attitude, voice, or action.
• Punish when a child disobeys a direct command or a standing rule.

That's it. That doesn't mean everything else goes. It just means we deal with other situations in different ways. With education. With prayer. With conversation about cause and effect.

When parents know when, and when not, to punish--we are freed to engage fully with our children. We are focused on which issues are their behavior and which are our own behavior. We are freed to delight in a daughter confiscating ordinary pots to create her own beautiful music.

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How is it that my children can compete over Lent? Yet, somehow they manage.
Each year we prepare a "crown of thorns" as part of our Lenten preparation for Easter. We make a salt-flour crown (recipe below) and stick with toothpicks to represent the thorns on the crown the Roman soldiers shoved on Jesus' head as they tortured Him. Each year we marvel again at how Jesus could have endured the real thorns pressing into His head. More than any other activity, I think this brings Jesus' sacrifice to clarity for our children.
Each day--every time a child deliberately goes out of their way to serve someone else, to show them Jesus' love, they get to remove a thorn. The goal: remove all the thorns by Easter. In this way we intentionally focus on sharing the love we received as a result of Jesus' death and resurrection. It seemed like such a good idea.
Yet, two days in--our children are vying for who gets to serve whom--not so much focusing on sharing God's love as on gaining bragging rights over who has the most thorns. How is it that an activity designed to draw us closer to God, to make us more like Him, has us competing? The very reason He died.
Jesus died because we so naturally think of ourselves rather than Him. We so naturally focus on ourselves rather than Him. We so naturally want top billing rather than give Him top billing. He died to save us from this.
So, it turns out the crown of thorns really does do its job. Each time the children focus on getting a thorn for their collection instead of passing the love God has given them, we have the opportunity to revisit the cross. We talk about how we need God's saving grace to get through each moment of the day. How we need His grace to save us from focusing on ourselves. How we need His grace even to engage in celebrating Him.
Fortunately, Lent lasts a while. Though the competition for thorns has our children trying to outdo each other for highest count, we have the time to let the crown work in us to retrain our focus. We have lots of days to focus our focus on Jesus and others.
Recipe for Crown of Thorns:4 cups flour1 cup salt2 cups water.
Mix into clay-like mixture. Divide into three balls and roll each into a long strand. Braid the strands, then form into a circle. Fill the crown with toothpicks. Bake at 350 degrees for an hour.

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