Category: parenting

The Mid-Life Paradox (Or, on Parenting Teenagers)

.Reading time 11 minutes.

Since April, every time I turn around, I’ve been running headlong into one end or another of the same intractable paradox while stumbling upon the actual word “paradox” and what some philosopher, theologian or researcher has to say about yet another paradox.

Paradox was not my word for the year. I’m over here anyway, repeatedly bruising myself against this emphatically mid-life paradox and, like a magpie, hoarding references to every other paradox I happen on. Maybe one of these shiny paradoxes will unlock the secret to what ails me?

My bruised soul sure hopes so.

The contours of the mid-life paradox that I keep stubbing my toes on are this: I know as much about life as I’ve ever known, but the more I learn, the more I recognize that there is still SO MUCH I haven’t figured out. And. I’m simultaneously over here attempting to manage my teenage offspring realizing, deep in the marrow of my bones, that I know so much more than my kids. So. Much. More. 

In short my midlife paradox1 is just that: knowing so much, understanding it’s so little, and concurrently realizing I absolutely know significantly more than my spawn who act as though they actually know everything and know very little. 

Now, ok. I always knew that I know more than my kids. When they were babies they didn’t know anything. Babies maybe don’t even know why they’re crying, just that something’s wrong. So they cry.

And then you teach them and help them every single day for years and years with all kinds of tasks. Essential human tasks (from how to use a spoon to how to wipe their own behind) and more abstract-concrete things like reading, writing, arithmetic and then even more abstract things…philosophy, ideas, time management… And as a Christian2, I’ve gone around and around trying to teach my kids about Jesus. Attempting to introduce them to Jesus, really. Yeah. I like thinking of Christian discipleship in terms of introducing my kids to Jesus.3 It sounds noble, but my implementation of this goal has been humble, at best.

In fact, as they’ve grown, the sweet lessons I would pat myself on the back for having taught them — the obvious life lessons I’d underline for them, the kinds of things that I would regularly write about on the internet — well, they’ve come to feel like moralizing. Sermonizing. And I’m not sure of the “results.”

So I’ve been over here on the East side of Kalispell intermittently trying to introduce my kids to an invisible God who put on flesh … who walked the earth in a time and culture that I don’t understand very well… who said and did a great number of things that I can’t explain very well…who left a collection of writings ranging from ancient to extremely ancient explaining His plan for humanity4…and how I can interpret it all to make suggestions for how it might apply to the specifics in my kids’ lives when life is messy and sometimes painful and confusing.

When I put it like that, it’s no wonder I’m having trouble making sense to the kids. I’m overcomplicating things. I can’t help it.

Lest you imagine my life as a stay-at-home, homeschool mom in terms of someone else’s beautiful Instagram page, please picture our reality: a middle-aged woman in small-town Montana, burned out from practicing law, bad at keeping the house, regularly taking a nap in the middle of the “homeschool” day because she can’t drum up the patience to deal with getting the younger two through their literature5 after accidentally reverting to a shrill 17-year-old version of herself whilst trying to get a handle on where the eldest wants to drive to, who she’ll be with, for how long, and whether everyone’s partaken of too much technology today.

Yeah, I’ve been trying to introduce my kids to Jesus but I don’t yet live enough like Him to feel adequate to the task. And even the little I do have a handle on seems to fall flat or otherwise be lost in translation. (Feel free to ask my teenagers about how “unfair” and “restrictive” we are and witness the giant eye-rolls as I attempt to dispense my actual wisdom…Will they rebel because we’ve set boundaries in the wrong places? Have we failed to provide a safe space for them to bring their feelings and problems? Do I actually cave too much? Am I too inconsistent?)

This is the backdrop for my mid-life paradox. And yet. It’s not all I know, this floundering as I parent teens.

Cushioning the impact of all my running into the edges of the mid-life paradox is His abiding Grace. I used to have all.this.angst about whether God exists and whether Jesus’ claims about Himself were true. I counterbalanced my Angst6 with earnestness and certainty. When I had moments of sheer existential terror that I didn’t *know* whether God was real, I would study harder, pray more and attempt to persuade all the people of the authenticy of my faith.

I realized not too long ago that sometime in the last 5ish years, this Angst has dissolved. In its place is a knowledge that I feel in my body that God sees the world’s turmoil, feels our individual aches and pains and sent Jesus to redeem us. I have experienced times where I know in the marrow of my bones that this ancient-yet-present Yahweh of the Bible was feeling with me the sad things and sometimes, I’ve experienced circumstances where He’s smiling at me with a twinkle of delight.

With the loss of the Angst, I’ve also lost my earnestness and certainty. I’m ambivalent about whether this has been a good exchange. I enjoy the lack of existential Angst and I certainly enjoy the abiding existential peace, but, here I am parenting teenagers and don’t teenagers respond to earnestness? Certainty? I just can’t with the earnestness and certainty anymore. I don’t know what God’s playing at here.

So, I long for a tidy lesson I can apply to parenting teenagers and give to people with three action steps. But, I can’t pin any down. All I can tell them is that I’m a middle-aged mom raising teenagers who has the life experience to know a lot of things, the wisdom to know there are that many more things she doesn’t know while simultaneously knowing she knows SO MUCH MORE than her kids.

In the months I’ve been struggling to finish this essay, casting about for a closing in the midst of unseemly ambiguity, I happened upon one of my teen’s willful flirtation with a sin that is firmly labeled in my mind: “if allowed to fully grow can blow up your life.7“

Once again, I addressed the issue with said teen who deflected and rationalized, “Mom, it could be so much worse.” Right. I exclaimed, somewhat tearfully, “it hurts my heart that you are continuing to be unwise in this area of your life. I feel no peace about this.”

Cue the rolling of eyes and stonewall.

We continued the evening and, as a family before bed a bit later, we prayed. It got to this teen’s turn and said child interceded as follows: “Jesus, please help Mom with her anxiety. Help her trust in You, like pastor talked about today, You take care of the sparrows and lillies. She doesn’t have to worry.”8

I don’t have answers to the persistent questions of how to raise teenagers. I have no tips or tricks.

But. What I can confidently testify to is this: after this kids’ supercilious prayer for me, my anxiety has decreased significantly. Apparently, there is power in prayer. (And, this whole situation that night was God, once again winking at me).

  1. Or is it my mid-life crises … both/and? mid-life criradox, paracris? paradoxises? I’d coin them all! ↩︎
  2. I feel like adding a modifier here to explain…born-again Christian?, evangelical Christian?, Jesus-follower?, Jesus apprentice?…None of these is quite right, but not all wrong, either. See? I know that I don’t know….Mid-life paradox. ↩︎
  3. I could get really in the weeds here and say, “apprentice” to Jesus, as John Mark Comer has helped us understand the goal of Christian life. This feels pretentious for me to talk about, particularly in light of how things have been going this summer. So, I’ll leave it at “disciple,” even though “apprentice” makes much more sense to my 21st century self. ↩︎
  4. Tell me your an Enneagram 6 wing 5 without telling me your an Enneagram 6 wing 5 😉 ↩︎
  5. Yes, it’s currently August and no, we aren’t doing literature in August. I started this post in May when we were still doing literature. Sorry for the delay. ↩︎
  6. Yes, it was Angst with a capital “A” ↩︎
  7. This teen has not blown up their life. This teen is amazing. But the potential they might blow up their life wakes me in the middle of the night. Clearly, my Angst has morphed into parental angst. ↩︎
  8. Did it take everything in me at that moment to not laugh, cry, tear my hair out and strangle this teenager? Why, yes. I’m chalking up my heroic non-response to Jesus’ continuing sanctifying work in my life. ↩︎

Transforming Thoughts on the River

.Reading time 11 minutes.

Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me. (Psalm 42:7)

They flow, curving through Northwest Montana.

The North Fork, Middle Fork, South Fork.  Swan. Whitefish. I most appreciate these rivers in late July. August, if the smoke hasn’t settled in like a thick, wool blanket.

The hot sun bakes my shoulders. Sweat trickles down my back. My eyes blink, squinting in the sudden brightness as I step out from the dappled darkness of the trees to the rocky “beach.” Thorns and bushes scratch my legs and my feet twist, walking over flat, large stones. This place was riverbed not two months ago.

An old favorite chorus at church growing up proclaimed, “I’ve got a river of life, flowing out of me. It makes the lame to walk and the blind to see. Opens prison doors sets the captives free. I’ve got a river of life flowing out of me. Spring up a well!”

How freely does that river flow through me now? Have I somehow dammed it, leaving only a trickle?

I tuck the thought away. 

Deep, slow breath.  It smells cooler here, immediately next to the river. I smile, it always does.  My baseball hat feels like a winter stocking cap. Now sweat drips between my brows, furrowed as I squint. It is sweltering.

Still, I hesitate at the edge of the water. The rushing, constant roar of the water muffles the little voices behind me.

A step.  The initial shock of icy cold is unpleasant, 90 degree heat and all. I always have to pluck up my nerve.

Another thought surfaces:  The kids were babies.  Yesterday, wasn’t it?  We were bleary-eyed.  Arms locked in a clutching position.  Our voices gentle, babbling noises and delighted smiles.  Shhh and da-da-da-da.  Repeating words with delight – “leaf” “rock” “river!”

It carries us. 

I have been trying to grasp and hold.  Slow it.  Stop it.   Sometimes I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day.  Waking every morning to the same everything…mind-numbing, monotony.  But then it rushes by, dizzying.  When did my oldest spring up, nearly as tall as me? There are no toddlers or babies in the house anymore.

I cannot control how it flows.  We are out here in the middle, being carried forward.  We can’t go back upstream.  We can only position ourselves to navigate what’s ahead.

I realize that my feet and shins are now comfortable.  I am exactly the right temperature.  Red, brown and grey rocks are clearly visible beneath the clear water.  It’s low today.  Shallow. 

A yellow leaf floats past.

The red raft drops next to me.  Half ashore, half bobbing in the current.  Sides streaked with grey mud.  The kids shriek as they splash into the water, too.  The littlest slips on a rock, barely keeping his balance.

Jesus’ words to the woman at the well now rise to the surface of my mind, “whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.   Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” 

We climb aboard.  One paddle per person.  He shoves the raft out from shore, holding it momentarily from drifting downstream as he swings his legs over the side.  We’re off!  Slowly following the leaf downstream.

Ahead, the water spits and churns.  “Everybody paddle!”  Our paddling is uneven, adults on one side, kids on  the other.  The raft responds, turning to the left.  For several moments we head toward the spitting, churning section sideways.  From the back, Kagan dips his oar a few times and we right.   Nose forward we now squarely face the “rapids”.

The boat jerks violently several times.  The youngest begins to cry.  He huddles in the bottom of the raft, chewing on his life vest. 

Minutes pass.  We now face only a long stretch.  We are moving swiftly, but there are no more bumps to face.  I attempt comfort.  The illusion of safety has been lost.  He is impervious to my assurances.

I think of the disciples, long ago on the sea of Galilee.  Grizzled fishermen terrified by a powerful storm. Jesus, sleeping in the boat. 

Half an hour later, our youngest child’s continued crying is now under my skin.  It feels like a splinter, uncomfortable and annoying.  It’s self-indulgent.  Sharp words rise to my tongue.  As they begin for form, I feel a nudge in my spirit. 

“You can be very like him, Becky.” 

The sharp words evaporate before I release them.

In life, I am swept in the current.  I am tossed and jostled and dropped in the rapids.   I have fastened my life preserver.  I clutch my oar. But, just like this little one, like those disciples, at times I find myself huddling in the bottom of the boat.  Eyes screwed shut against the sun and scenery, ignoring the Parent who rides with me.

At those times, terrified questions leak from me:  “what’s next?”  “Remember that trouble!?!” 

Our raft floats to the edge of the river, now caught in an eddy, gently turning.  The crying continues.  So do my thoughts.  We paddle, just one side, and the raft turns another circle.

I find my thought swirling, too.  “I’ll always be like this” “Who do I think I am?” “It’s already too late…”  Vivid embarrassment, guilt and shame from past failures color the thoughts and the circles are no longer lazy, but frenetic.  All that remains now is those feelings.

A new thought pierces the barrage.  The oar of Scripture gently slows the swirling:

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.”  (Philippians 1:6).  My ineptitude will not defeat God’s good work.

“The Counselor, the Holy spirit, whom  the Father [has] sent will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.”  (John 14:26).  I will not forget.  I will hear.  I will see.  I will proclaim.

The Spirit carries us along. Jesus knows what rapids lay ahead.  Those rapids I did not anticipate yesterday?  They were no surprise to Him. He positions me to navigate.  He gives me the oar and guides my strokes. 

We paddle on one side, then the other.  Our arms burn slightly with the effort.  It’s work.  Forward  motion now. 

The boat noses back into the current, and begins again downstream.

It’s slow now, barely moving.  The littlest one’s tears have slowed, but he is still huddled there in the bottom of the raft, clenching his life vest for security.  His big brother jumps off the side of the boat with a shriek of delight.  Cool water splashes us. I laugh at his joy. 

I remember Paul’s words, “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.  And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with every-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”  (2 Cor. 3:17-18).

The youngest looks up.  His sister offers him cherry, her own teeth stained with the juice.  Conflicted for a moment, his desire for one of his favorite fruits wins out and he lets go of his vest to take it.  Soon, he is reaching for more with both hands.

He might have fun yet. I think I will, too.

You?

Sign up here for the free download, “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”

The Weapon To Use Against Fear of Scarcity

.Reading time 5 minutes.

They feast on the abundance of your house, you give them drink in your river of delights. For with you is the fountain of life. In your life we see light. Psalm 36:8-9.

Each of my three kids get the same allowance every week. For some reason, this trip to Target, only two of the three kids chose to purchase gum for themselves. Twenty minutes later during our visit to Gramma Jean, the kid who brought newly purchased gum into the apartment offered a piece to one of the other two. The third child, asked for gum as well.

“What do you have to trade?”

“Nothing.”

“Then, no.”

“What!?! That’s no fair! Mooooooom….”

“It’s MY gum. I bought it with MY money. I only have EIGHT pieces left.”

*sigh*

There were so many things about this situation that were driving me crazy. We got through it, but I was tempted to wish the kids back to school. Tomorrow, please and thank you.

Rather than let me marinade in annoyance, though the Spirit nudged me. Granted, it was later that day. Maybe that’s how long it took Him to get through. Anyway, the nudge asked, “just how well do you share when you feel there is a limit to how much there is to go around?”

See, there are some challenges at work and changes to our schedule coming this fall. Challenges and change kick up my fear response. And when I am afraid, I tend to hunker down and hoard. Hoard my money, energy, time…Withdraw. Take no chances.

In short, after the Spirit nudged, I had to admit that my kids aren’t the only ones who don’t want to share when it may be costly. To look at another child who has trouble sharing, I just need to pull out my mirror.

Anybody else? Anybody else look at life as though there’s not enough to go around when they feel scared? Not enough time, not enough resources, not enough energy? Anyone else’s bodies seem to freeze up in the face of change and cry out — too little! We must conserve!

Things are running out!

Friend, I don’t share this to shame us. Heaven’s knows, the last thing we need is guilt and shame sprinkled over fear. Instead, let’s recognize this undercurrent in our self-protective tendencies. Let’s see our hoarding for what it is. Let’s tune our ears to truly hear God’s voice. Listen to His heart, friend.

His heart richly overflows with grace and mercy. He desires us to know this love that surpasses knowledge — that [we] may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:19).

His heart yearns to heap provision on us when we turn to Him. He is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. (Ephesians 3:21).

In His kingdom, there is already more than enough, and when we step out in faith, the more multiplies. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed own, shaken together and running over will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. (Luke 6:37-38).

May we allow the Spirit to helped us identify the subtle lies. Especially those lies that sounds so much like our own voices speaking that it’s hard to call them into the light. May we draw near to the Source of all good things. May our hearts receive, eyes see and ears hear the abundant, delightful life that is showered on us.

I created this graphic to cue us to fix our gaze on God’s abundant, generous nature when we find ourselves pulling back and hording. Click here to sign up to receive the graphic as a free download.

Work in Progress

.Reading time 2 minutes.

Quiet morning, busy week.

Feeling the pressure mounting and experiencing every of minor thing gone wrong as particularly annoying.

Dishwasher? Still broken. Printer? Offline. Kids? Bickering.

Anybody else facing challenges these next few days?

The mix of challenges is as different as we are. Personally, I found myself rushing home hungry to a house of tired kids, thinking of the work I didn’t *quite* get to finish, vaguely anxious about the logistics of traveling by plane Wednesday (should I try to carry on all my luggage? will all those 3 ring binders fit? do I have travel-size shampoo?).

I caught myself yelling, “STOP YELLING!” at the kids the other night. Shockingly, it did not stop the yelling and about the second time, I yelled my directive, I realized that my modeling on the issue was leaving something to be desired.

We all desperately need a reset at times, don’t we?

When we find ourselves yelling or avoiding or ignoring or whatever our particular “tell” is, let’s take a deep breath. Right when we realize it.

Then, let’s remind ourselves: when our time, energy, patience and smarts just aren’t enough, it is there Jesus shines through all the more. Friend, we still have to show up, we still might have to bite our tongue, or talk when we would rather pretend we weren’t actually present…Yes, yes. But the first step of faith, friend, is stopping in our tracks right then to listen to Him speak over us, “my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (1 Cor. 12:8).

The power of the “the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. [Who] is before all things and in [Whom] all things hold together.” (Col. 1:15, 17) gives us His power in our weakness so His glory is shown.

That’s the next step of faith: showing up, with this belief in hand, giving it our best, and surrendering to Him the results.

Easier said than done, I know. So let’s breath Him in deep and encourage each other — His power is perfected in our weaknesses and He is more than enough.

His Grace

.Reading time 5 minutes.
“But he said to me, my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect through weakness.  Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in persecutions, in difficulties.  For when I am weak, then I am strong.”  1 Corinthians 12:9-10.
 ‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,‘ Zechariah 4:6

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.”  Ephesians 6:10

I was not, nor will I ever be, ready to be a parent.  Whenever I feel as though I am starting to get the hang of it, my heart and mouth spew out impatient anger or ignore that little foolishness and defiance one time too many and I fail myself, my kids — and the Lord.  

I’ve been particularly concerned about my oldest these days.  She’s shifted out of her preschool years and into her young childhood imperceptibly this last year or so.  I am so proud of her, but I see within her a reflection of myself sometimes … My self-righteousness.  Inclination to judge others while completely ignoring my own wrongdoing.  Vanity.  Exclusion of others.  The world is this child’s to conquer and she has all the right stuff to do it — but I desperately don’t want her to conquer and achieve in the world’s economy while utterly failing to understand, appreciate and welcome her place in God’s economy.

So, as we approached registration for kindergarten, I panicked.  What had I been doing this entire 5 years she has been with me nearly every minute of her life?  Had I trained her to make wise decisions choosing her friends?  Had I impressed upon her that the heart of her actions is what really counts, not merely the level of outward obedience?  Is she kind and loving?  

I thought that, perhaps, the best thing to do would be to keep her home for another year.  Or, at least only send her to half-day kindergarten — so that I could have more control over her circumstances than full-day kindergarten.  Particularly in light of the fact that our smallest baby boy is due in August.  How could I possibly keep track of what was going on with Jubilee in school in a sleep-deprived zombie state?

I still haven’t — Kagan and I still haven’t — decided which schooling option is the best for her.  But I see now, how some of my concerns were utterly foolish.  I cannot know everything that is going on in my child’s heart.  I cannot shield her from making wrong decisions — I cannot even shield myself from that!  God can use my weakness.  Me being weak is what He needs to do His best work in me, because then I am out of the way and He can truly be my power and strength.  That I am so arrogant to feel that my best mothering is done in times I feel good and am making wise decisions shows how little I tend to trust Him day to day.

What if my best mothering occurs by God’s grace?  Sampson was the strongest man on earth — but it wasn’t ever because of anything He did — it was because God caused his strength to grow as his hair grew!  What if my best moments as a mom are those which occur by ‘dumb luck’ (aka, God’s engineering and nothing of my own).  

I think this might just be so; so, give me Jesus.