Ragged breaths. . .burning legs. . .parched throat. As I glided up the driveway after a long ride, I headed toward the front door to grab a large glass of water. Then, I turned.
Instead of the front door, my first stop was the barn--where we park our bikes. Though the water called, I could envision the scolding I would give my son if I had come out of the front door and found my his bike lying by the porch. In our house the “I’m just going to leave this here and put it away later” approach usually leads to lost objects and hours of frustrated search. So, we created the firm rule: when an object’s in your hand, put it where it goes—mom and her bike included.
Rule one of discipline—parents shouldn’t make a rule they don’t follow. Why?
- Hypocrisy kills discipline. When parents make a rule seem irrelevant by ignoring it, children will be hard pressed to push themselves to comply.
- Further, when parents must comply, we tend to have fewer rules. We also tend to show more grace with occasional lapses as we personally experience the difficulty of restraining our desires in order to obey.
- Finally, our compliance offers a concrete example to our children of what obedience to the rule looks like—invaluable.
Though my parched throat begged for relief, the three minutes it took to put my bike away first reinforced the rule, “when something’s in your hand, put it where it goes.” More importantly, I’ll be able to find my bike for our next outing.
“[God] will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.” Zephaniah. 3:17. What a picture of how God relates to His children—with delight, joy, and singing!
Does this portray your relationship with your children?
Because of busyness, ignorance, or poor examples, often parents fail to come to parenting from a starting point of delight. Rather, we often begin with a sense of duty. “I have a duty to feed my children breakfast. A duty to help with their school work. A duty to teach about God.”
While duty may get the job done—it hardly inspires a loving relationship. Duty orients us to think of everything we do for our children as a "have to." Duty drains our energy and limits our focus to getting through the task. Duty kills joy.
Further, parenting from duty shapes our children to expect that others will care for them only because of an obligation. Children raised in this atmosphere struggle mightily to believe that anyone can abundantly love them--even God. They miss both His delight in them and the joy of relating to Him.
Instead, they picture God acting solely out of some holy responsibility He must fulfill to remain righteous. Because they sense only duty—God’s grace, mercy and offer of relationship are received cautiously, begrudgingly, and in as limited quantities as possible to gain heaven and get through life. No one wants to be the object of duty.
What a difference delight makes. If we delight to fill our children's tummies with a warm start to the day, delight to create opportunities for them to learn so they can grow into the people God made them to be, delight in sharing the treasures of God’s love—our children experience the reality of our delight in them. This shapes them to receive God’s delight. Everyone wants to be the object of delight.
When we sense delight—grace, mercy, and relationship are received openly with a continual desire for more. The more we receive the more we want. As you parent from a framework of delight in who your children are and who they are becoming—they want more of you. As they grow in understanding of this relationship and the joy it brings, they take these expectations into their relationship with God. They are shaped to believe and accept God’s delight. What better gift can we give our children?
To create a healthy home—begin with delight in your children.
When I ask how people are, the most common response I get? “So very busy.”
What is the impact of busyness? When multiple tasks compete for the same moment, we must choose. Some say these choices reveal our true priorities. If we can do only one thing, we gravitate toward the most important. Do we?
As I sat in my front porch rocker beginning my time with the Lord, I noticed my plants. They needed water—desperately. As I rose to get the water can, a voice spoke, “Are you going to put me off again?”
Already I had delayed getting alone with God in order to empty the dishwasher, fold laundry, and ensure the coffee was brewing. Was I going to delay Him longer? Was it truly more important to water plants than talk with God? Than to be filled for the day with His love and presence? Than to ask Him what I was to do with the day He had given? I knew that if I interrupted my time with God for one more task, the day’s demands would escalate and I would never return to that rocker.
So often we attend to the immediate rather than the important. Sometimes we have no choice. The immediate must happen—or nothing happens. If the gas tank is dry, the children hungry, or the bill due—we must attend to those immediate concerns in order for the rest of life to keep going. Yet, our lives are ultimately defined by our actions. Where we put our energy and time becomes our legacy. If our actions attend solely to the immediate, we create a legacy we live to regret.
I recently spoke with a man about his impending retirement. He looked forward to finally settling down to being a dad. Given that his children were 39 and 36 respectively, he worried that he might be too late. He knew the important had slipped by while he was attending to the immediate.
The answer? Have a clear vision of what is important—then plan for it. If spending time teaching your children about the truths of God is important, plan specific times in your day to teach your children.
If building intimacy with your spouse is important, set aside time to be alone together. Think about what you want your spouse to know and plan for moments to share those thoughts. Plan fun dates.
If staying close to a friend is important—reserve lunches, write letters, make time for phone calls.
These never seem immediate. They are easily pushed to the backburner thinking, “I’ll get to that later.” Because they are so important, we are sure we will. Yet, so often we don’t. The immediate just keeps coming—stealing moment after moment until we fall into bed resolving to do better tomorrow.
This morning I sat back in my rocker to continue my already too often interrupted time with God. If I had to choose, the flowers were going to die. The immediate would not rob the important again.
Fortunately, I was able to do both. In my time with God, He led me to set a priority of chatting with my daughter. I asked her to come onto the porch with me, and she noticed the plants. She loves watering so we spent the next half hour happily chatting and watering together. Choose the important. Once in place, you’ll find a way to get to the immediate, too. Even the flowers will survive.
My stomach clenched as the psychologist continued, "Oh, and you'll need to prepare for your husband cussing more. That just happens with stroke patients."
What?! After waiting for over a month for Mike to utter words--now I have to worry about censoring him in front of the children? I have to continue nurturing and responding to a man whose words may tear down rather than communicate? After all this work, why would this be what comes out?
Yet, I have to admit how often those same words come to my mind. When the loaded laundry basket crashes from the shelf onto my head, when the milk jug splatters to the floor, when the grocery line stalls. What if the part of my brain that stops me from uttering these out loud quit working and people really knew what was going through my head? "God, I don't want a condition that makes me less like You?"
As clear as a bell I heard God's voice saying, "Right now, are you becoming more like Me--or less?"
It hit me. Every situation, even how I respond to Mike's stroke, offers the chance for me to grow more like God or less like God. I'm so tempted to think about what's happening to me, how I feel, and how to get others to give me what I want. Jesus focused on what was happening to others, how they felt, and how He could get them what they need.
Do I see this situation as a chance to grow more like Jesus? Do I focus on the other people at rehab? Do I ensure I listen to all my children are going through? Do I continue to lovingly relate to Mike even though he can't relate back--just as Jesus continues to lovingly relate to me even when I can't relate back?
Every situation--every fight with our spouse, every disobedience by our children, every challenge in our finances offers the opportunity for us to say, "How can I walk through this growing more like Jesus?"
I'm learning it's not about God sending the right situations for me to grow--it's about using each situation rightly. Lord, let me use this to grow to be like You.
No more series!! That decision follows the third time I've tried and found that each time, some family crisis keeps me from going forward.
Instead, I'm simply going to offer insights as they come to me in the area of family. That usually means sharing my most recent goof in mothering or wifing and how God brought me through it so that you can avoid my mistakes--or at least find a way out if you are already there.
Today's insight--Tester vs. Teacher. My husband's stroke has offered amazing insights into how people work. One of the most telling--there are testers and there are teachers. Two of his therapists clearly demonstrate this dichotomy.
One therapist begins every session pulling out books, putting Mike through his paces, then detailing every instance where he got the answer wrong. Shes uses this to explain what that means about what he can't do and where he will struggle. Though enlightening, he leaves each session his shoulders slumped, his walk slower, his mood down. She discourages and breeds fear and a sense of failure.
The other therapist pulls out her books, puts Mike through his paces, then details every instance where he succeeded. She then builds on areas of success to increase his abilities in weaker areas. She shows him how one success leads to another. He leaves sessions with her standing a little taller, walking a little quicker, enthusiastic about trying again. She encourages and breeds security and a sense of hope.
"I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go." Psalm 32:8. God is a teacher. He encourages, nurtures, builds from where we are to where we need to go. In our families, if we are to model God--refuse to be a tester. Sure assessments are helpful and sometimes a gut check is needed. But, the atmosphere of our homes should be that of teaching. In this we build our families, encourage them, and offer hope that they can reach those seemingly impossible calls to which we aspire.
