Tag: 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. ↩︎

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.

the problem with rules

.Reading time 7 minutes.

“Hey! I told you to pick up that scooter!” I found myself hollering at one of the kids.

“I know, but that doesn’t seem fair! You said this morning that you wanted us to be responsible for picking up the things we got out and I didn’t leave that scooter out today! And, yesterday, I had to wipe the table down when it wasn’t my job!”

My blood boils as I let this child know that: (1) this response is disrespectful and disobedient; (2) child is correct that everyone should pick up, but (3) child should pay more attention to child’s own actions than child’s sibling’s actions (as my pastor would say, “drive your own car!”); and (4) everyone is driving me stark, raving mad.

It occurs to me that I am raising a bunch of lawyers. In a typical day, I go to great lengths to define my expectations for critical happenings and then spend the next 5 to 10 minutes clarifying what I’ve just said as the kids shoot questions at me. I define words (“well, mom. You said a “while,” but how long do you mean, exactly?”) and otherwise attempt to close all loopholes (“so, no candy this morning. But, what about gum? What if Bob’s mom offers us cookies? That’s not technically candy…and it would be rude to say no…”).

As I once again fight the urge to pull my hair out in frustration, I think of the apostle Paul — the lawyer. “I would not have known what sin was except through the law…apart from law, sin is dead.” (Romans 7:7).

Parenting these days seems to be a microcosm of this particular truth. The more I set specific rules, the more technical my kids have become about meeting those requirements. It’s as if something inside them comes to life that needs to defy the rules — or, at least get as close to the line as possible, without technically breaking the rules. This time. The kids are motivated to merely meet the standard rather than embrace the spirit behind the rules.

Aren’t we all like this?

The law, it turns out, was not enacted to save us; but to show us our natures. We are unable to perfectly meet the holy standard. We fail — both intentionally and by omission in countless, creative ways.

Focusing on the transgressions only; however, does not rescue us from the cycle. I for sure issued my child consequences that day. But it doesn’t get to the root of the issue.

The root of the issue is this sin that causes the child to focus on self.

Try as I might to persuade myself that this is primarily a childhood problem — as I hear my own words and phrases and logic repeated back to me through my kids — I realize it is not. I, too, have sin that causes me to focus overly much on myself. In that space, overly focused on “me,” I experience the law – and my own internal list of “do’s” and “don’ts” – raise to life a rebellion in which I perform mental gymnastics. Test loopholes. Ask God to define words. Then feel either smugness when I am victorious or shame, when I fail.

I’m beginning to learn, friend, that to begin digging at that root we do not need more rules. No, we must change focus to Jesus.

The first and most important commandment is to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. Delight ourselves fully in Him. To love Him in this way, we gaze upon Him and obedience follows naturally because we want to please Him. We act not to earn approval or mercy, but to be near Jesus. The specific do’s and don’ts lose their importance. What matters instead is the spirit behind the law.

Jesus taught: “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love-” (John 15:10-11). If we remain in Jesus’ love, obedience flows from that source.

So, let us be powered by love, not legalism, friend. Our question not, “what is permitted here?” But, “what does the Spirit tell me would please Him here?”

As you begin your week, wherever it finds you: suiting up to deal with arguing kids, pouring energy into a job that sucks the life out of you, sleepless from waking with baby and a marathon of cleaning up messes and praying for nap time — let us pray together, for one another. Lord, out of your glorious riches, we ask that we, your children would be, rooted and established in love so that we may have power together to grasp how high and wide and long and deep is the love of Christ. To know this love that surpasses all understanding–that [we] may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. (Eph. 3:17-18). Amen.

If you could use a reminder to pray to be rooted and established in love, click here to sign up for the free graphic I created.

p.s. If you, like I, sometimes need some practical tools to deal with your kids … I recommend several books, in no particular order: Loving our Kids on Purpose by Danny Silk, How to Talk so Kids Will Listen by Faber and Mazlin and any Love and Logic books.

Lessons from a Broken Dishwasher

.Reading time 2 minutes.

Monday night, we finally admitted that the dishwasher is broken. Over the last several months, we’d been noticing our bowls weren’t *quite* clean when the kids went to unload them. We made adjustments in our loading and rinsing, but there was no corresponding positive adjustment in the cleanliness of our dishes.

I — in typical pragmatic laziness — decided that although there were teeny flecks of food on the bowls after washing, the heat cycle of the dishwasher surely sanitized everything adequately. So, we persisted in use. Over the weeks, the bowls became flecked with larger food particles. The garbage disposal quit working. We could stand it no longer.

We pulled up a YouTube video and began poking around the disposal. And then the dishwasher. We came to realize that we needed a professional. I called the professional, and they will arrive to *hopefully* repair the dishwasher on Tuesday. So we have been washing all our plates, bowls, cups and utensils by hand since Monday.

It’s not life-changing. It’s a first-world problem. It’s annoying and frustrating all the same. And, it’s been a good reminder. For some reason, in the age of technology, we think that we can find the answers ourselves. No need for experts. No need for professionals. At times, we believe that we are omniscient. If we are savvy enough with our internet research, we can know all things.

We also seem to think that we are omnipotent. Since we can know all things, we should have the power to fix all things. Our marriages. Our kids. Our parents.

Except, my broken dishwasher. And my broken disposal.

Part of faith, I’m learning, is admitting that, although I could probably know more, I am not held to the omnipotent standard. Part of faith, too, is trusting that I can’t do it all. Although the information is out there and we could probably fix this or that, God does not expect us to be omniscient or omnipotent. He’ll do that part, and take all the broken things and make them beautiful in His time.

Go ahead, call the Professional. Wait for Him to arrive, and trust His expertise.