parenting

For the Moments When We’re Not Ready

For the Moments We're Not Ready
Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash

“I’ve been waiting for this moment and now it’s here and I’m not ready.”

This is what my daughter said to me the night we sat in our car on a dark street, waiting for another soccer family to pick her up and take her away for a weekend tournament.

The weeks ahead of that one moment were marked with anxiety, not knowing the family well, wondering how she would do without me.

So often life feels like that. Moments we knew were inevitable, but we just aren’t ready for them.

I Wasn’t Ready Either

Back then, I wasn’t ready for our son to drive on his own (could I just always be in the back seat?). I wasn’t ready for colleges to send him invitations (back, vultures, back!). Our kids were gearing up to fly to South Africa (SOUTH AFRICA) without us on a mission trip for 6 weeks. Life just kept coming at us.

If I thought I felt unprepared then, how much more now, as those college invites DID come, and he just left? And his sister, who also just got her license, and a job, will follow him before we know it.

Life relentlessly marches on, and these moments that feel unbearable keep happening.

I Thought I Would Be Ready

When they were little, I thought I couldn’t wait for these moments. I couldn’t wait for them to do it on their own. I couldn’t wait for my time back. I couldn’t wait.

I’ve been waiting for this moment – the moment when our kids would grow up and stretch out, becoming independent, learning to live without us.

And now it’s here, and I’m not ready.

But just like I told her at that moment, He is with us.

He has brought us to this moment, and He will carry us through.

And just like I promised He would be with her in those moments when I wasn’t there, I have to tell myself the same truth – He will be with them when I am not.

When we said goodbye to our kids that day at the airport, our friend who accompanied them saw the fear in my eyes for my 14-year-old and gently said, “We’ve got her. She’ll be okay.” And she was.

We walked through that, and college applications, and teenage drivers, and we’ll get through this too.

He’s Always Ready

Sometimes we’re just not ready, but He is.

From that first day of kindergarten to the last day of the place you love.

The first scary step into a new dream, or the death of an old one.

The last goodbye.

The first anything.

[ictt-tweet-inline]He is more than enough for those moments we feel inadequate to face. [/ictt-tweet-inline]

The next season that feels so huge, scary, undesirable even, you will get through.

So we do it scared. But we never do it alone.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you . . . for I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” Isaiah 43: 2, 3

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Why I Love Parenting Teenagers

Why I Love Parenting Teens
Photo by Patrick Buck on Unsplash

“Just wait until they’re teenagers.”

This is the phrase older parents throw out to younger ones when our kids are little.

As if it’s not enough trying to figure out how to sleep through the night, let alone do the dishes or laundry, now you have this forecast of impending doom. Fabulous.

It’s like when you start a new exercise program and people say, “Oh, just wait until you get to week 5. Week 5 will kill you!” Now I don’t want to get to week 5.

I used to imagine that our sweet, enjoyable children would turn into zombies when they became teenagers. All we had invested in them would be wiped clean. Despite our best efforts, they would slide into the inevitable. I kept waiting for it to happen.

I waited. And I waited.

Friends, I would like to report that, contrary to these dire predictions, I really, really, really love being a parent of teenagers. Let me tell you why:

Why I love being a parent of teenagers

  1. They are independent

    The day we realized we could leave our kids at home alone felt like the clouds parted and the angels sang. Sure, there are phone calls like, “Hey-you told me to go to the dentist, but you didn’t leave me a car,” and “help! I left the cardboard under the pizza and now the top’s done but not the bottom!” (seriously, these things happened), but it’s all good. Not having to meet all their day to day needs means we have more energy to simply enjoy being with them. They’re learning to figure out life on their own, and we get a little bit of life outside of parenting back. Win-win.

  2. We have adultish conversations

    Gone are the days when I’m desperate for an adult conversation because I get to have them on a regular basis with these kids who suddenly have minds of their own. More and more, we get to engage in deeper topics with them-faith, politics, relationships. Bonus? While they can talk on this level, they’re still willing to listen to our viewpoints and generally believe them. One of my greatest joys? Our kids are versed in Enneagram, which is one of my favorite things in the whole world. It’s like they just showed up to my party.

  3. They challenge me

    While I love seeing them, our daughter, in particular, keep up with my snarkiness, that’s not the only reflection of my character I observe in them. Nothing like seeing your own faults in a mirror, right? Yet it’s a good check in my spirit to reflect on myself and what I’m modeling for them. But more than that, our kids are gaining wisdom of their own. One day, my husband walked into the kitchen and commented on the challenges of leadership. Our then 16-year-old replied, “If you’re leading, and everyone still likes you, you’re probably doing it wrong. ” Indeed. They drop these wisdom bombs on us from time to time.

  4. They still need their mama

    Despite all the independence and adulting that’s happening around here, they still come to us for advice, encouragement, and help, and I love it. Most mornings, our son’s first stop is on the couch next to me, content to just be. I’m still the go-to for problems our daughter encounters (cause she still thinks I’m smart. That may change. Fingers crossed it doesn’t). They’re walking that line between child and adult, and it’s such a blessing that they still want us to walk it with them.

  5. They are becoming their own people

    One day after we checked out at Walmart, our daughter immediately opened our newly purchased box of Quaker Oat Squares and started eating them, which is exactly what I had been thinking to do. “We’re literally the same person,” she commented. Yes, but no, in so many ways. She can’t understand my love for the spotlight. I am baffled by our son’s engineering mind. She has far surpassed my athletic ability (didn’t take much, but still). They struggle with different Achilles heels (after all, they are different types than me on the Enneagram!). More and more they know who they are and who they are not. I love seeing their uniqueness unfold in this season.

I won’t pretend that parenting teenagers isn’t hard. Some days it’s, “I’m not cut out for this, where’s the counseling degree I need? Calgon take me away!” kind of hard. I’m fully aware that for many people, this is a turbulent, heart-wrenching season. Trust me, we’ve had some rough patches too.

But my desire in writing this is to call us to hope. Dire predictions can slide into self-fulfilling prophesies if we do not hope for better. My point is that it’s possible to enjoy this season, especially if we’re on the hunt for the good in it.

So chin up, future parents of teens. It might just be better than you think.

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Surviving Your Child’s Senior Year

Surviving Your Child's Senior Year
Photo by Cole Keister on Unsplash

It’s finally here: our son is a senior in high school. This thought instills in me an equal mix of terror and grief. We have to help our son navigate all the craziness of this year to do the very thing we don’t want him to do, which is to leave us. Cue tears.

I want to do this well, though. Hopefully, we look back and say we navigated this year with grace, wisdom, and hope. We feel like we made the most of it. I’ve been pondering what that might look like, and I’ve decided on four words as our mantra:

  1. Celebrate

    Let’s begin with a hearty celebration for getting to this place. He’s come a long way from the boy who put an unpopped kernel of corn in his own ear because his sister wisely wouldn’t let him put it in hers. He has learned to navigate life in three countries, discovered life passions, learned to drive, held down a job, made deep and lasting friendships, and embraced his own walk with Jesus. This is all worth celebrating.

    But God’s goodness to him has only begun, and it is sure. The word “celebrate” leads us to a mindset of gratitude and expectancy. When we are tempted to be overwhelmed and we need prayer, begin by thanking God for what He is doing.

    And after we plant ourselves in God’s goodness, we need to:

  2. Breathe

    It is easy to look at the business of AP classes and college applications and financial aid, and run for the hills. But getting through this year will be the kind of journey that is “one day at a time,” and probably “each moment at a time.”

    So when it all feels like too much, take a deep breath and be in the moment, both to experience it fully, but also to remember that it’s all going to be ok. This breathing has already begun in our house, in earnest. I’ve grabbed my son by the shoulders and done it with him. Lots of deep breathing happening around here.

    We breathe in God’s strength, wisdom, and guidance in every second. Then breathe out the fears and uncertainty, letting His presence with us be our rock of refuge and rest. Next, we:

  3. Trust

    Easier said than done, but what a great opportunity this year will be to grow in our trust that God is greater than anything we face. The older our kids get, the greater the challenges. We could let that cause us to up the control ante, or we could release the reins altogether. Trust that even though we have to release them more and more, His grip on them is greater than ours, and never loosens.

    Isaiah 26:3 says that the perfect peace we seek for this year is found as we depend completely on the One we trust. And as our school administrator shared with us during orientation, “You feel like you’ve been dropped in the deep end of the ocean. But remember that God is the Creator of the ocean.” He will guide each step. He can be counted on to carry us.

  4. Savor

    When life feels tough, it’s tempting to rush through the stress and exhaustion to reach the finish line, but if we do that, we will miss the journey God has for us along the way.

    Instead, let’s savor every moment. Linger over meals and family times and the last ponderings of each day. Live this year fully present, putting aside our tasks to make space for just being together. Hold each minute just a little longer and recognize the gift it is. We want to slow down time, but if we can’t, at least we can relish it like the richest of fare.

If you’re with me in this boat, let me know. I’d love to hear how you hope to journey well as you launch your child. If you’ve already been through this, I welcome wisdom. If this is your future, it’s never to early to start practicing these attitudes.

Wherever are you on your journey, would you pray for me? With God’s help, we won’t just survive this year, but it will be a year when we experience Him deeply.

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When You Just Have to Do One Day at a Time 

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When You’re Angry with God

What to Do When You're Angry with God
photo by Ben White

“Mom, what do you do when you’re angry at God?”

This was the question I had to field one night before bed (why can’t they ask these in the morning, when I’m fresh? Haven’t they learned by now that mama’s useless at night?)

The question came after a time of tears over unanswered prayer. He’d been exploring the idea that God cares about even the small details of life. He’d been praying about each of them, trusting that even though they seemed “silly,” they mattered to God because they mattered to him.

Until that one. That one thing that was more important than anything else. In that, he got the shaft. That question was accompanied by so many others, “Why is the answer no? Why this time? Why, when He knows how important it is to me? He could have said no to those other things and I wouldn’t care. Why this?”

And my answer to all those was, “I don’t know.”

But, “What do you do when you’re angry with God?” That one I’ve learned a little about.

When I was his age, I didn’t think it was ok to be angry with God (but I was). God is infallible, never makes mistakes, everything’s got a purpose, right? So we should thank Him and trust what we do not see. All true.

All hard to swallow when life isn’t what you thought it would be.

So I told my son that I tell God about my anger. I’ve told God at times that I don’t like Him, that I hated Him even. I have accused Him of abandoning me. I have refused to talk to Him.

He can take it. Like someone beating their fists against another’s chest, He patiently holds us and won’t let go while we vent. All our anger, our doubts, our questions – God can withstand them. And when I have poured it all out, then I can just collapse in His arms and rest.

After all, He knows them anyway. It’s not like we can pretend with Him. What is the alternative? As our son jokingly put it, “I could stuff all my negative feelings deep down inside into a dark place where I’ll never see them again?” Ha. Right. Except he will see them again. They must come out.

It was heart wrenching to witness this spiritual struggle. On the one hand, it was good for him to learn that God is not a cosmic Santa Claus, a genie in a bottle, a butler to ring for more towels. I am thankful that he was learning to pray, learning to make this faith his own.

On the other, it is hard and terrifying to see people teeter on the edge of doubt and frustration with God. I wanted to grasp our son by the shoulders and out of desperation cry, “No, really, He’s pretty great once you get to know Him!” But it was a necessary battle.

God can handle our anger. Rather than live a false faith, pretending we’re ok, trying to ignore our doubts and questions, we can bring them to His feet and know that He will listen, for as long as it takes. And when we’re done, we collapse in His arms and let Him be all that we need.

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The Sanctifying Work of Motherhood

The Sanctifying Work of Motherhood
Photo by Xavier Mouton Photographie on Unsplash

Motherhood has been one of the greatest instruments that God has used to sanctify me.

It makes me vulnerable and helpless. It terrifies me at times. It stretches my heart and mind. It flattens me with the gravity of the responsibility to shape a soul.

My children delight me. They teach me. They make me laugh and cry. They infuriate me.

My children deepen my faith.

Discovering I was pregnant just months before moving overseas was not my plan. But through that God taught me that His assignments for my life are good, His timing is perfect, He knows what He’s doing with me.

Those first months of motherhood, my eyes were opened to how intertwined my value was with what I do and how well I do it. Through the years, God has been using motherhood to slowly pried my fingers from that lie.

In the dark hours of the night, when no one (including my deep sleeping husband) knew that I was awake with our son, God knew. He drew my heart into knowing His character, seeing Him see me.

Trying to fill the endless hours of toddlerhood with meaning, while so much of it was mundane, slowed me down. I found God’s delight in the over and over. He taught me that faithfulness in the small moments is of great value in His eyes.

Homeschooling undid me. It brought me to my knees, to absolute helplessness before Him. It daily asked of me more than I had, while reminding me that He is more than enough for all I lack. It taught me that I am dependent on the manna of His strength and wisdom every day.

Walking our kids through the heartache of transition wrecked me. How do you help someone navigate a heart flooded with emotion when you’re drowning too? God was the anchor I needed to be a life preserver for our kids. For all that was asked of me, He poured in more.

And in the hairy moments when our kids have resisted my mothering, I have learned about the love of God. When I sting with anger and hurt, He reminds me over and over again to stay the course; this is how He loves us. He has taught me to take deep breaths and keep on loving.

When I see my sin and shortcomings mirrored back to me in their behavior, I am humbled. God has used it to keep me honest, telling me again and again that what I need to give them is not a perfect mother, but a confessional one who owns her mess and points them to the One who has redeemed it all.

As they step closer and closer to that door to adulthood and further from my grasp, motherhood has taught me to pray desperate prayers. It has pushed me to trust that God loves them more than I do, and He goes with them when I cannot.

God has used motherhood to reveal my weaknesses, my idols, my self-saving ways. And He has used it to redeem me, to pull me close to Him, to teach me dependence, to give me a greater picture of His love. It has been a holy pathway to Him.

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Focusing on the Right Goal (I’m talking to you, sideline parents)

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Focusing on the Right Goal
photo by Aaron Burden

It’s that time again, when we parents get to drag our camp chairs to the sidelines and cheer on our future professional hopefuls in various sports. A few weeks ago I got a taste of this again when I spent 2 hours in the rain with a 104 heat index (thanks Orlando) watching our daughter play an end-of-soccer-camp scrimmage. Based on the reactions of parents around me, though, I might have thought I was at the World Cup finals and there were endorsement deals riding on the outcome of the game.

Fellow parents, we have got to take it down a notch.

As we enter another season of sports, can we all just keep a little perspective?

We are not put on this earth to play sports. Our purpose is to learn how to navigate the world with confidence, grace, and character. The goal is to learn to live as loved people, and to love others well.

The vast majority of kids will not play sports beyond high school, even middle school. They are going to be doctors and salespeople and teachers and baristas and parents and a host of other roles. They are meant to discover their gifts and talents, most of which will not be sports related, and to use them to His glory.

Our job as parents is to help them become these loved, confident, grace-filled, gift-sharing people of character. 

So the one question we should be asking ourselves is:

Do my actions and words in watching this game reflect that goal?

If that’s our goal, then we will celebrate who they are more than what they do. We will praise teamwork and good efforts. Our focus will be their attitude more than their skills. Encouraging words will flow out of us, rather than blame and criticism. We will teach them to be gracious in victory. And failure. What they are learning through playing this sport will translate to living bravely in the world. Afterward, we’ll remind them that is it just a game, and there’s a whole big other world out there.

Let’s keep the big picture in mind, fellow sideline parents. There’s a goal we’re aiming for and it’s not the one on the field.

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As the Ride Winds Down – Thoughts on the Last Moments of Childhood

As the Ride Winds Down - Thoughts on the Last Moments of Childhood

This summer I spent a good amount of time with my niece and nephew, who have a combined age of 3 1/2, and I was taken back to those early days.

Days when it felt like time stood still. When I never actually finished a story in a conversation because someone was suddenly tugging on my leg (they were such good stories too). When I was proud that I showered or made dinner. (Who am I kidding? I’m still proud when I make dinner).

Fast forward to me now. The seasons go by like the days used to pass. Now it’s their stories and jokes I love to hear. They’re making dinner (praise Jesus). But I’m realizing that this ride is starting to slow down.

In a few weeks, I will sit in the silence of a house void of children as they head back to school. I know that I will blink and it will be my reality every day.

I no longer have to buy sippy cups or crayons or children’s toothpaste. We don’t go to the library or playgrounds to pass the time. I’m staring down the last years of their childhood. Like a kid who feels the carnival ride is winding down, I want to eke out the last moments of this precious ride.

Enjoying the Last Moments

That’s why, kids, I want you to just come and sit with me in the evenings. No, not even to do anything, but just to be together. I linger for end of the day unexpected questions at bedtime. And I sneak back in after you’re asleep just to look at you (I’m creepy like that. And also because, sweet girl, you say wonderfully nonsensical things when you’re half-awake).

I love that I get to drive you to school. It gives me just a little more time with you. I look forward to seeing you every morning and I thank God that I get you one more day. Those moments when you do still need me are so precious.

I want to go crazy making sure we do all those last “we said we would” activities and vacations. Let’s play games and go for walks together. I will fight for weekly family time, even if all we do is sit around together and wonder what we should do.

This is when I wonder if we’ve taught you everything and how you’ll do without us (I’m sure you’ll be fine – it’s me I’m worried about). I want to tell you everything I think you’ll need to know for all time (I realize you’ll just be graduating though and we will continue to communicate, but just in case).

I question if we’ve loved you well and if you will say you enjoyed the ride too.

It’s slowing down, but it’s not over yet.

I’m sitting alone one night and she comes in to say, “I was turning on my fan and thought, ‘I just want to see my mommy.'” He’s at home alone and decides he’s bored enough to clean the whole house for me. She has a hard day of school and decides the best place is my lap, curled up just like she used to when she was just that little. He starts each day by finding me for a hug.

I’m going to cherish every last second.

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What Will We Tell Our Children About These Tragedies?

What Will We Tell Our Children About These Tragedies?

Our kids return tonight from a month long mission trip during which they have been out of contact and presumably unaware of all that is happening in the world. I wish the only thing I had to explain to them is why people are looking at their phones even more than usual, to the point of running into other people and walls and such.

Instead, after sending them off just after the Pulse shooting in our own city, we have to tell them that while they were gone, the nation was in uproar over the sudden deaths of two black men at the hands of police. We have to explain to them that during the protests that followed, five police officers were shot and killed. There were bombings in Baghdad and Turkey that killed over 300 people combined. And last night in France, more than 80 people were killed during a celebration. Lord, have mercy.

How do we deal out this information? How do we help them understand why? Part of me wants to shelter my kids from knowing the horror that this summer has brought, but they must know. They must know because we want them to be people of compassion, people of the world, people who enter in to the sorrow of others and weep with those who weep.

Will it make them fearful? I don’t know. Maybe. But I know the path to peace is not to ignore reality or choose to only see the parts of it that make us comfortable, that we agree with, that directly affects us. We cannot hide from the truth, but we can choose how we respond to it. 

We can choose, as a family, to be people who cling to God. We can’t explain to our kids why all this is happening, but we can remind them that there is always hope because of who He is. We can cry out to Him for mercy, healing, strength, wisdom, compassion, guidance, help. We can be people who remember that this is not our home, He is.

So we will tell our children about the atrocities our world has seen this past month. We will tell them, not to make them fearful, but to make them aware that this is the world we live in. We will tell them that this is when we look up, not for answers, but for help, to navigate this world as people who love it well but hold it loosely.

We will cry together for the world. We will pray together for it. We will live, not in fear, but in hope, in trust, in faith. We will face the truth and respond by looking to the One who alone can save.

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What No One Told Me About Parenting Teens

What No One Told Me About Parenting Teens

Since we have two teenagers in the house, I’ve realized there are pieces of information about what this parenting teens gig entails that no one told me.

I suspect this is because the ones who know are too busy trying to manage it themselves, those who are past it have forgotten, or maybe people have tried to tell me but I just didn’t listen. All viable options. Regardless, here is what I’m learning no one told me:

It’s tiring.

Really, really tiring. Suddenly we’re managing a thousand details of who needs to be where and when and what that means about how we’re going to eat and sleep and see each other. They no longer go to bed at 8 pm and in fact choose the hours between 8 and 10 to broach deep, emotional topics. Not my prime time, unfortunately.

It’s emotional.

Really, it seems to require a counseling degree which I, unfortunately, do not have. Teens have emotions – lots of them – and it’s a constant balance of affirming those emotions and not letting them take us for a wild ride. Boy, I hope we’re somewhere in the middle.

Suddenly it all matters.

When they were little and we wondered whether or not our five year old should play soccer or dance, it wasn’t that tough a decision. Now, it’s, “Should my child try to get into this development program that might lead her to that professional career she wants?” and “Where should our son go to college?” The stakes just got higher, people.

It can be lonely.

I don’t think I’ve found it this difficult to connect with friends since our kids were toddlers and I was tied to nap schedules. This might be a side effect of moving to a new place (hence losing the friends I’d made during the “let’s get the kids together so we can hang out” stage) but I find that coordinating time with friends in between work and practice schedules and just life is like finding a four leaf clover. I spend an inordinate amount of time in my car. Audiobooks are my new best friend.

I love seeing who they are becoming. 

It’s the coolest and scariest thing to see your kids be partly a reflection of you and your husband, and partly their own unique person. I am both proud and a little nervous that our kids have inherited my snarky humor. It’s a dangerous trait! They are us and they are not, and it’s a joy to be part of them learning to own their faith, their ideas, their dreams. They’re like our little padawans.

I don’t want it to end.

Oh yes, I heard from everyone that this would go by quickly. I heard, “the days are long but the years are fast.” I heard it, and I believed it, but I always imagined a sense of completion, of anticipation of the time when I would have my time back. I didn’t know how much I would not want this season to be done. I suggested to our son that he attend college nearby and live with us forever. He replied, “I could, but then I might not become a contributing member of society.” Ok, you win, you can go.

It’s been a surprising, exhausting, stretching journey so far, and we’re not done yet (thank goodness, cause I think I’m just hitting my stride). For those heading in to this chapter – hang on, friends, it’s a great ride.

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Promises to My Children

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What I Want More Than Your Happiness

What I Want for My Kids More Than Their Happiness
Photo by MI PHAM on Unsplash

“It’s not fair,” is a favorite phrase from an unmentioned child in our family.

It’s true. Life is so often not fair. I wish I could make it fair for you. Mostly because then I would be super awesome mommy in your eyes, and it’s always tempting to vie for super awesome mommy status.

But then I remember that I’m not just about your happiness.

I want more for you than that.

More than always wanting life to be fair for you, I want you to know how to handle unjust situations with grace and joy.

More than the blessing of friendship, I hope you learn to be content with loneliness. I hope you develop compassion for the outsider, because you know what it’s like.

More than you acing every test and paper, I want you to learn how to accept failure without it defining you. While breezing through school is fun, the discipline of hard work and time management will serve you better.

More than you winning every game and tournament, I want you to choose grace in defeat, holding your head up high and congratulating the winner with sincerity. That kind of attitude carries over into all of life.

I long for your heart never to be broken. But more than that, I want you to learn that being vulnerable is the way to live bravely and openly. May your broken places serve to make you softer and more compassionate.

At the end of the day, more than your comfort I want your character. More than your success I want your strength to get back up in the face of a fall.

But I know. I know that you think super awesome mommy should make you happy. I know, because this is exactly what I expect God to do with me.

But He wants more for us. 

Character over comfort.

Holiness over happiness.

It’s tempting for me to doubt His love when my prayers don’t land me in a comfortable, happy place, but instead right smack in the middle of growth.

I forget that giving me challenges instead of ease is proof of God’s love, not denial. He loves us too much not to make us more like Him.

I can’t aim for super awesome mommy. I need to aim for “do what is good for you even if it’s hard for both of us because I love you more than life” mommy (I need a shorter term for that). That’s where God’s aiming for both of us too.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

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I Am Not My Child’s Savior

When Falling Is Good

Promises to My Children

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