parenting

Our Inside Out Moment

It started out rough, but it ended well, that day on the field. In fact, it called to mind a moment from Inside Out.

If you’ve seen the movie, you know there was a pivotal moment that formed one of the main character, Riley’s, core memories. It was the memory of her hockey team gathered around her cheering. What we learned later in the movie is that the moment happened because there were coming to cheer her up after a loss that crushed her. Here’s how it happened for us:

Our daughter’s soccer team played in the first of a series of three weekend tournaments a week ago. In order to progress to the next weekend, her team had to win their group of 4. I wrote the details of their weekend in my previous post. Suffice to say, they didn’t win.

My sweet girl met me after the game and promptly burst into tears. As I hugged her, she cried about how she had played poorly (not true) and how this meant they were out. I tried to remind her that everyone makes mistakes, it was a team effort, they played well, but she was, in a word, inconsolable.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that both her coaches had stopped and turned back, as had her teammates. Soon, one of her coaches stepped in to take her from me. He pulled her in for a hug and talked quietly to her for the next few minutes, telling her, “It’s good that you are sad. It means you love it, it’s important to you. That makes you play hard.” When he was done, her team gathered around her for a huge group hug.

Meanwhile, one of the girls who plays goalie on her high school team happened to be watching the game because she’d played earlier. When I told her Megan was disappointed with how she’d played, she asked if it would be ok if she talked to her for a minute. After her team dispersed, Sarah stepped in and encouraged Megan as well.

Watching it all, I was so grateful for the loss.

Sure, it was painful to watch her be sad. We were all disappointed – they’re a good team and could have continued. But in the world of youth sports where there is often so much criticism and pressure on kids, to see our daughter loved so well by her coaches and teammates, was a rare gift.

Sometimes the best memories are formed when someone loves us well in a hard place. I’m so thankful our daughter has one of those because of this team.

Related:

What Being a Soccer Mom Teaches Me About Parenting

Promises to My Children 

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I Am Not My Child’s Savior

I Am Not My Child's Savior

I am not my child’s savior.

This thought occurred to me yesterday as I walked around our neighborhood. Pondering the fact that our daughter’s team, playing in a tournament an hour away, was not doing well, left me unsettled.

First game was a bust. Second game they knocked two in the goal in the first ten minutes, but let their lead slip away into a tie game. Those two games meant advancing was impossible, regardless of the outcome of the final game. Our daughter walked away from the second game in tears.

Nothing is more important to her right now than this sport. All her future hopes are wrapped up in this. And while we both know that the hold on her heart is too strong, I remind myself it is not my job to make sure her dream doesn’t die. It’s not my job to make it all better. All my unsettledness was because I could. not. fix it.

Oh, but that’s what I want to do. Take away the pain. Erase the loss and disappointment. We all want that. We want wins, and good grades, and close friends, and safety. Eliminate everything that could hurt our kids.

So I set myself up in the position of savior in her heart.

Why We Try to Save

It’s heady stuff to have a person who thinks you can do anything. We slip into the superman complex because it makes us feel good about ourselves that we can be the rescuer, the savior, the protector.

Maybe if we just stay close enough, say the right words, step in at just the right moments, we can fend off disasters. We believe the lie that we can control their worlds.

It feels right. It feels like love, to protect others from pain. But then I look at God and His word and I remember that the path to maturity always involves suffering. It makes us like Him.

Ultimately, apart from putting way too much pressure on ourselves to be more to them than we can be, saving our kids takes away the opportunity for them to look to the real Savior, to learn to rely on Him and receive from Him what they need in times of struggle.

Why We Shouldn’t Save

Being away from my daughter this weekend was hard, but so good for her. She needs me to get out of the way so that she can learn to lean on the One who is always there, who knows the value of failure, loss, loneliness, and pain to mold a heart into His image, and whose wise hands guide her in ways I never could.

We do our people a disservice when we don’t encourage them to turn to Him in times of fear, hurt, discouragement. Our lives are meant to be lived in dependence on Him. Pain is a pathway to that dependence.

“It helps to resign as the controller of your fate. All that energy we expend to keep things running right is not what’s keeping things running right.” Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

All that energy we spend trying to keep others’ lives running right is not what keeping things running right for them. In fact, it might just be what keeps them from Him.

So let’s resign as the controllers, the rescuers, the saviors of our children. Let’s trust the true Savior and teach our children to look to Him in times of trial.

Related:

Where Faith Happens 

Promises to My Children

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To the Mother of a Special Needs Child

To the Mother of a Special Needs Child
photo by Jon Flobrant on Unsplash

To the mother with a special needs daughter next to me on the plane:

I don’t know what brought you and your daughter from the back of plane to sit next to me on that late flight from Chicago to Orlando. I hope it wasn’t that someone was displeased by your presence; your daughter did so well on that flight. I’m sure you had no idea all the thoughts and emotions that observing the two of your raised for me:

I hoped that the flight wasn’t too disturbing for your daughter. I know that can stir a lot of anxiety for someone who is challenged.

I prayed she would feel ok and not be nervous. I prayed you would have patience and strength to do this journey.

I wondered if you were taking her to Disney, and I imagined her childlike wonder and joy if you do.

I thought about how this has been your life for a few decades, watching her, keeping her happy, caring for her most basic needs.

I loved watching her care for her baby doll.

I wondered how I could help her be at ease – if she would appreciate interaction, or if the attention of a stranger would disquiet her.

But mostly, if I could have sat next to you, I would have wanted you to know simply that I saw you.

I saw you patiently making sure her legs didn’t drift back into the aisle where they might be bumped. I saw you point out pictures in the magazine to hold her attention. I saw you when you had to speak for her to the flight attendant, knowing that must happen day after day, you communicating for her. I saw when you recognized that she was getting agitated, and you knew she needed her baby to calm her down.

I saw that you are a good mother. I know most people don’t give much thought to what it means for you to love and care for her day in and day out. I’m sure I don’t know the half of it, but I want you to know that there are people who see you, and want to support and help you in what you do. I hope you know that. I hope you have those people, people who can offer much more than just a prayer and a smile on a late night plane. You are seen. 

Related:

Promises to My Children

When You Love Someone with Special Needs

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What Parents Really Need to Hear

What Parents Really Need to Hear
Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

 

Erik and I were in a baffling parenting moment recently.

We struggle to find activities that all four family members enjoy together. It’s not surprising to us – for the 13 years we lived overseas, we lived in such a tight community with an abundance of like-minded people that we were almost never alone as a family. Vacations, meals, you name it – we had company. Now we’re in the states looking at each other thinking, “So now what do we do?” It’s hard to know how to fill the space sometimes.

We were pondering this issue as we drove to have dinner with friends one night. We decided to take advantage of the wisdom of other couples and ask them what they thought we should do about this.

They listened. They asked good questions. They gave a few suggestions. But what they seemed to realize, and we quickly did too, is that what we needed wasn’t a solution. We needed to hear two things: “You are not alone in your struggle,” and “you are doing a good job.”

Google “parenting advice” and you’ll get “about 106,000,000” hits. Hope you have a lot of time to read every opinion under the sun. Do this. Don’t do that. You can read opinions that vary so widely it will make your head spin. We all want to do it well.

Some of us like to think we’ve found the answers, and can be dogmatic or defensive about them, depending on the day. Or we hide in the shadows, afraid to ask our questions, thinking we’re the only ones who just can’t seem to figure this parenting gig out. We forget that our situations and our children and the way we are individually wired means that there are so few methods that universally apply.

But what we can say to one another is this: You are not alone. You are doing a good job. God is on your side. He will help you. Keep trusting Him.

Let’s say that to each other, and I think we’ll all find it’s true.

Related posts:

Promises to My Children

It’s Worth It

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Promises to My Children

Promises to My Children

Kids, you have a lot of life ahead of you. You have big dreams and hopes for how that all will go. There are so many things I want to promise you about that life.

I wish I could promise you, sweet girl, that you will become a world-famous women’s soccer player. Or that you, brilliant son, will someday live on that space station (though you know I want you to stay on this planet).

I wish this world would always love you, no harm will ever come to you, you will have an easy path, life will be fair, and you will be happy and carefree.

I can’t promise any of that.

Here’s what I can promise you:

I promise you will always be loved.

I love you so much sometimes I can’t stand it. It spills out all over you in hugs and kisses you don’t necessarily want. Other times it’s harder because our sin gets in the way, but I promise I will always make it my aim to love you well.

And when I fail, which I will, remember that you are unconditionally loved by the One who made you. His is the one opinion that will never change. He’s wild about you. Let that be your solid place, even more than me.

I promise I will love your dad.

He’s a good man, your dad is. I’m blessed. But neither of us is perfect and marriage is hard work. I promise I will love him and fight for what we have. We will show you that it’s all worth it to have someone who is with you for the long haul. We want that for you.

I promise God will always be with you.

If I could, I would always be with you (probably even when you’d rather I wasn’t). I will always try, but there will be times that I cannot be there, or should not be there for your own growth. God has no such restrictions. He will always be there with all you need.

I promise to get all up in your business.

Hey, I’m your mom. So yes, I’ll ask about who you hang out with and what you talk about. I’ll put restrictions on what you can watch and play. When you’re emailing and browsing online, I’ll be looking over your shoulder. I’ll stick my nose in your room when you aren’t expecting me. I’ll make you eat your vegetables and do your chores. Get used to it. It’s because of #1.

I promise to let you go your own way.

I know that might seem contrary to #4. It’s hard for me to write, but I know you need to be independent from us. I have ideas about who I’d like you to be, but those don’t matter. What matters is that you be you. I know there will be many times when I need to just let you go, maybe even let you fail miserably. I will. Or at least I promise I will try.

I promise to always be FOR you.

At every competition, every job, every relationship that means something to you, everything you attempt, I will be your cheerleader. I’ll be the last one standing even if everyone else has stopped watching. Even when you don’t believe in yourself, I will believe in you. I am your biggest fan.

I promise to be with you in the fight.

You know I can’t keep you from all the hard, painful, unfair experiences of life. That’s true. But I promise that whatever you are going through, I will be all in. I will weep with you, be angry with you, pray with you and fight the good fight with you. We will walk the hard roads together.

I promise to keep trusting God for you.

I know you think I’m a good mom. Thanks for that. But the fact is, I’m not enough, and I need to own that. Where I am powerless, I need to trust in God to grow you in ways I just can’t. I will keep prying open my sticky fingers to trust you back to Him, believing that He is doing good work in you.

I promise I will make mistakes.

You know I can’t be a perfect mom, but that’s not what you need anyway. You need a mom who is human and makes mistakes, but gives herself grace and picks herself up to move on. And when I mess up, I will apologize. I can model that for you. Thanks for always being gracious when I do.

I promise to point you to Jesus.

At the end of the day, He can give you so much more than I can. I hope you always believe that. I’m never going to stop telling you and showing you, because when you find a well in the desert, you take others there. He’s living water, your source of life. He’s the best I can offer you. I promise.

related posts:

What Being a Soccer Mom Teaches Me About Parenting

It’s Worth It 

Parenting is Hard 

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What Being a Soccer Mom Teaches Me About Parenting

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What Being a Soccer Mom Teaches Me About Parenting
Photo by Arseny Togulev on Unsplash

 

I have embraced what seems to be the natural calling of an American mom.

Outside the home, I watch soccer. That’s what I do.

Every weekend, sometimes more than once, I am in my camp chair with a water bottle and a phone in hand to text updates to my husband.

Each game brings a certain amount of trepidation. I hope our daughter will get to play the position she wants. I hope she will play well. Please God, I hope she will not get injured. I hope we will win, or at least play well and learn from it. I hope the girls will have fun.

We all do. All the parents sitting on the sidelines hope. What I’m noticing is that we all have different responses to that hope.

How We Hope

There’s a range of how vocal the parents on our team are. Some throw out only encouraging comments when the girls do well. Some restrict their suggestions to their own daughters. Others get more involved, particularly when the game isn’t going in our favor. And then there are the few who mistakenly believe that they need to make up for the lack of direction from our coaches, and sideline coach every. single. minute.

I get it. It’s hard to watch from the outside and see mistakes being made, opportunities lost, to witness fumbling right in front of the goal, and not be able to do anything about it.

The comments we parents make from the sidelines are not enlightening our girls in the slightest. They are fully aware that when the ball is centered in front of our goal, they should clear it. When someone else has taken the ball, they know some pressure might get it away from her. They are cognizant of how the game is going.

Our coaches embrace the philosophy that coaching happens at practice, and during the games they let the girls figure it out themselves. They want them to talk to each other, to realize what they’re doing wrong and correct it as a team. They took their U-17 girls to the state championship last year, so I think it’s working.

Where We Should Hope

The older our kids get, the more I realize that much of my parenting must feel like the overly enthusiastic sideline coach. They know when they are making mistakes, for the most part. They see the opportunities, they know how it’s all going. Do they need some direction now and then? Sure. But not the kind of micro-managing that comes out of a hope that has become an expectation that has become, “how you do reflects on me, therefore I must control the outcome of this.” We need to step back sometimes and let them make their own mistakes, figure it out for themselves.

Ultimately, it’s not our coaching or direction that will get our kids where they need to go in life. We cannot put our hope in our own ability to direct our kids. Our hope is in God, who is a far better coach and counselor than we are. Let’s trust in His guidance of them as we cheer them on from the sidelines.

 

related posts:

Focusing on the Right Goals 

Why It’s Good When We See Olympians Fail

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Parenting Is Worth It

It’s all worth it.

That’s the feeling I have while closing down this day. I spent the evening with a group of wives and moms who are about to go overseas to work. We talked about what it’s like to be moms in another culture, the ups and downs, the challenges, the joys.

I walked in the house after the kids should have been asleep (no fault of my husband’s – they’re getting older and summer hours are different). I found one waiting just to lay some of his emotions at my feet, needing to hear a good word to calm his anxious heart. I found the other so excited I thought something spectacular must have happened in my absence. Turns out she just thinks my return is worth that kind of reaction.

What a gift.

Those are the kind of moments that make it all worth it, no matter where you raise your kids. We talked a lot tonight about how hard being a mom can be, and that is so true. But to get to be that person for your kids – the one who calms fears and brings joy and makes the world right enough to sleep . . .

It’s all worth it.

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Back to Normal, for Now

The other day, our daughter said, “If we could bring Scout out here, I would want to stay here forever.”

So it seems she is enjoying the summer. And why wouldn’t she be? Two of her oldest and dearest friends are here with her, along with a couple dozen other TCKs (Third Culture Kids), for six weeks. Weekday mornings we have meetings, during which the kids are together doing fun activities. The rest of the time we all live together in college student housing all centered around a common courtyard. We’re back to the days of, “I don’t know where the kids are, but I know they’re having fun. They’ll probably come home when they’re hungry.” In other words, it’s their paradise.

It’s also their normal. Our kids came into the world when we lived in a building with 29 other people we worked with, as well as nine kids under the age of 5, most of us within 5 stories of one another. We bought a security door with our American neighbors and placed it 10 feet down the hallway (instead of each of us having our own outside our doors) so that we could leave our own doors open for the families to go back and forth at any time.

When we moved to Singapore, we again had numerous families we knew all centered around a common courtyard, this time with a pool. Every day at 2 pm, that’s where we were. Our last two years in Asia, most of the people from our office lived within a 2 mile radius of one another. Between us there were 60 school age kids, and most of them were homeschooled. There wasn’t a day that went by without friends.

Then we came to the States, and our kids didn’t know what to make of it. Ethan’s managed to find some friends a couple blocks away, and they are over as much as possible, but we’re still praying for Megan to have at least one good friend in the neighborhood. They are realizing that what they grew up with just wasn’t the norm.

Throughout our transition, this has been one of the places of deepest grief for our kids. As much as they want life to be the way they knew growing up, they simply cannot make it that way. They are still trying to figure out how to do without.

And then we come here, and life IS that way, and we’re all kinds of happy and thankful and relieved (it’s hard to think of things to do without friends!).

So what is my conclusion? I confess I’m tempted to look ahead and gather my emotional energy for the fallout of losing this environment once again. I’m trying instead to simply be grateful for the gift of having this amazing community.

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At Least I’m Doing It

I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard someone make the comment, “You homeschool? Oh I could never do that. I’m not patient enough.”

Oh, is that what I’m supposed to have? Excuse me, then, I’m clearly in the wrong line of work.

I don’t know if I’ve ever had a job that asked more of me than parenting. Perhaps that’s why it’s easy to want to escape to something we feel like we do better, or at least something less demanding. It’s hard to stay in the midst of it sometimes, wholeheartedly, holding tight, giving it your all, let alone doing it victoriously.

But I’m realizing that staying in it is itself a victory. It’s saying, “You know what? Half the time I’m not really sure what I’m doing, but I love you so much that I’m going to keep doing it and trust that God will use what I give and pour grace over all the rest. I will keep pressing on because this is worth it.”

I was reminded sometime during the day of an old episode of Friends, where Monica (the one who certainly wanted to do it all the right way) takes a tap-dancing class.

When she first tries, she fails pretty miserably. By the end of the episode, she decides to go back and try again. I wanted to post the clip for it, but I couldn’t find it. Here’s the dialogue though:

Teacher: You by the door. In or out?

Monica : In. [She joins in the dancing. She still flounders]

Teacher: You in the back, you’re getting it all wrong!

Monica : Yeah, but at least I’m doing it!

Was I getting it all wrong today? No, not really. Probably sometimes – that’s just parenting. But at least I was doing it. That’s a victory in itself.

What are you calling victory today?

Continue ReadingAt Least I’m Doing It

Third Culture Kids

We just returned from watching the movie Gravity and I am convinced of two things:

1) Astronaut has always been low in my career ranking, but after seeing that it’s just not even in the running anymore, and . . .

2) My victory today is our kids.

See, I was reflecting, on the drive home, about the re-entry astronauts have to endure when coming back to earth, which got me thinking about the whole re-entry into American culture, and I thought, “Wow. Our kids are pretty amazing.”

It’s not easy as an adult to mentally and emotionally adjust back to the States after 13 years away, but for our kids it’s literally a foreign country that they’re trying to learn to call home. And they’re kids also going through all the normal stuff kids have to figure out. Yet they’re pressing on every day, making friends, learning how to do school, embracing what comes. I’m crazy proud of them and how they’ve endured. That’s no small victory.

What are you calling victory today?

Continue ReadingThird Culture Kids

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