I'm an avid reader (understatement of the century), and so, if I were to overthink this topic, this blog would never get written. The top three on my list are the standing top 3, they'd never change, and would always be on my list in this order. Probably a blog on "If I Could Give Everyone Just 10 Books" would have been more accurate, but most folks won't read one or two, so shoving 10 at you would just be overkill.
So, If I could give everyone just 5 books, I'd give these:
1. "The Bible", by God - Red Letter of course, probably New International Version or the New Living Translation, for teens I'd give "The Way" Bible, it's what I used as a teen myself and is my most used and abused Bible to date.
2. "To Kill a Mockingbird", by Harper Lee - I can't say enough about how beloved this book is to me. The story is never old, it always touches a deep place inside the heart and conscience. No wonder Harper Lee never released another book to the world, she didn't need to. It doesn't get better than this.
3. "The Littlest Angel" by Charles Tazwell - the family tradition for my immediate family of two, is to read this book every Christmas Eve night. I dare anyone to read it outloud all the way through without at least choking up a little. Me, I bawl. Give yourself the gift of this book, you'll be glad you did.
4. "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn" by Betty Smith - full of hope and inspiration, a story of a family living in less than ideal circumstances, how one sucummbs to those circumstances, how some survive them, and one who overcomes them. *
5. "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller - I have such an intellectual crush on Donald Miller I can barely stand it. His writing is just like cool, soothing water. Ever been disillusioned with church? With a parent? With life? Yeah, well so had Don - and he ain't afraid to tell you about it and to also tell you how he moved through it and on to the brighter side. I LOVE THIS BOOK. (Thanks Kelly!)
* Number 4 was really a toss up. I could have easily included "The Grapes of Wrath" by John Steinbeck here. If you haven't read any Steinbeck, do yourself a favor and add this book to your reading list. It will take some real effort, and a copy of the Cliff Notes (there's an entire chapter on Dust - deeply moving believe it or not), but it will be worth it. I promise.
What 5 books would you give?
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
If you can read this, I'm not last!
I wish I'd had that on the back of the T-shirt I was wearing during the Atlanta Thanksgiving Half Marathon 2010 last Thursday. I actually did it, I finished - via run/walking - my very first 1/2 Marathon. That's 13.1 miles for those who don't know, and trust me, the .1 counts! I didn't finish fast, but I sure didn't finish last - what a good feeling to set a goal and accomplish it. I haven't felt that feeling in a VERY long time.
I won't lie. I was a WRECK for quite a while leading up to the race. When I'd signed up for the Half, a total allowable time limit was given of 5 hours, I put down that I'd be able to finish in just 4. Two weeks before the race, I learned that the website was now indicating an allowable time limit of only 3.5 hours! I had missed a crucial 6 weeks of training just a month out from the big day, and those 6 weeks were lounging around in the front of my brain like big ol' couch potatos, systematically wearing down any shreds of confidence I'd built up earlier in the summer about finishing 13.1 miles on foot (my own foots!). The shorter amount of time combined with the lack of training had me in a terrible place mentally.
The final three days before race day, I had to fight myself almost continually to stave off tears. I was so afraid. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to start and finish the race running. I was afraid that I'd not be able to finish all 13.1 mi. which would cause feelings of shame and almost total mortification when my friends found out. I was afraid I'd let my daughter down. I was afraid that I'd be the very last person to finish (This was, hands down, my biggest fear. I now know that even had this been the case, in the very personal battle the Half was for me, I'd have still acheived something huge. And so did whoever did end up finishing last.)
5:00 a.m. Thanksgiving Morning arrived. Rebecca and I were on the interstate headed to Turner Field by 5:45 a.m. We got really close to the stadium, and I was about to bust up into a full on bawling cry-fest. Just then, I took a wrong turn and ended up in... well, in an area of Atlanta you REALLY don't want to end up in. Isn't it funny how God knows just what you need right when you need it? I was forced to stop thinking about my own ridiculous fears and focus on getting to a safe and recongnizable area of Atlanta and to Turner Field. We got there, parked and stepped outside onto the parking lot.
Everywhere I looked I saw people who looked like professional athletes! Rebecca caught me staring at two of these "pros" and I must've had a terrified expression on my face becasue she said "Mom, you can DO this! Don't worry, you're gonna do fine." I felt sick to my stomach. My legs felt wobbly. Even so, we made our way pretty quickly to the front of our corral. We were in the last (read: slowest) grouping of runners. A nice jewish man named David helped me get my timing tag onto my shoe - my hands were shaking something serious! I got my headphones plugged into my iphone so I could have music to help pace myself. I dropped my inhaler, somone picked it up and handed it to me. The announcer announced that it was 20 minutes until race time. I took two puffs on my inhaler. People were smiling, so I tried to make my grimace look as cheerful as possible. I noticed 4 arms flailing and 2 heads bobbing in the corral just ahead of us - Bryan and Becky! They looked THRILLED to be there, and so I tried to look thrilled too as I waved back.
All this time, I kept telling myself "Are you crazy? You cannot do this! Why are you here? You're gonna look like an idiot soon." Then I hear the announcer saying that the wheelchair participant had just left the starting line and that the on foot runners would start in waves momentarily. Rebecca says "Mom, if that wheelchair guy can do this, you can so do this." I said "I know, I know, you're right." But inside I was saying "Yeah, riiiight." The race begins. They move through each corral. Before I knew it, we found ourselves at the starting line about 12 minutes after the first group of runners left. Rebecca hugs me and readies herself. The announcer says "Runners, Ready. . . GO!"
My feet started moving - running in fact - almost without me even realizing it. I see Rebecca shoot ahead and I lose her in the crowd. It seemed like several hundred folks passed me, but when I looked back, the start line was a good clip behind me and so were a TON of people. I just kept running. During training, I'd run 1/4 of a mile and walk the rest, but I just kept running on Thursday and before I knew it I'd reached the 1 mile marker and I'd run the ENTIRE WAY! That was my first accomplishment of the day - the first full mile I'd ever run without stopping to walk in my entire life!!!!
I walked and ran, walked, walked, walked, and ran some more for most of the duration of the race. We'd pass random people on the street and they'd shout "Melissa, you've got this girl! Way to go!" (They could read my name on my bib.) Every time we'd pass a cop working the race, they'd say "Happy Thanksgiving!" The volunteers handing out water, Powerade, and sports beans would say "You're doing great Melissa!" "You're almost half way girl!" "Lookin' Good!" Somewhere between mile 7 and mile 8, I started thinking "I cannot do this, I can't make it to the end." And I kept thinking it. Over, and over and over. My legs felt like lead, my feet like boulders. My shoulders hurt, my arms ached. My attitude, it SUCKED.
At about 8.5 miles, a young man missing the bottom half of his legs and wearing sports prosthetics jogged by and he smiled as he passed me. The first slice of pie I was served on Thanksgiving was Humble Pie. I mean, come on, the guy is missing half of his legs and he's RUNNING and SMILING and I am here to tell you that this race was not his first time at the rodeo.
I immediately asked God's forgiveness for taking my own working legs for granted, for doubting the ability He's given me to use my body to do physically hard things, for not treating my body as the temple He tells me it is. I picked up the pace, when I'd find myself thinking I can't run, I can't jog a second longer - I'd pray, asking God to help me run just a few steps farther.
By mile 9 the running crowd had thinned out considerably. We passed a couple of young guys with a megaphone, shouting "Every single one of you inspires me! You inspire my friend too - don't let his Iron Man Medal fool you, He's inspired!" We passed a soup kitchen, some of the beautiful homeless people there shouted encouragements. As we passed the home of an elderly black woman in the Ebenezer Baptist Church area, she'd say "There you are Baby! I just knew I'd be seein' you today! You're gonna make it Baby!" I wanted to cry, I wanted to hug her, I wanted to ask her if she was 'Mother Abagail' from Stephen Kings "The Stand". As I walked passed Ebenezer Baptist Church I offered a prayer of Thanks for Martin Luther King, Jr. and for how far race relations have come in our country and asked God's help with all that's still left to do in this area.
With three miles left, I got a text from my awesome daughter...
"I just finished!!!!!! Good Luck Mom, I'm waiting for u!!! When u cross the finish they're gonna give u a medal!"
(Rebecca finished in 3 hours! I'm so proud of her!)
I had to walk almost all of those last three miles, but I never once stopped moving forward. I was sad to see many people within less than 2 miles of the finish hop on SAG wagons - I can't imagine giving up so close to the goal! Too many other times in my life I've done just that, I wasn't about to do it Thursday.
When I had only 1 mile left to go, I got a text message from Bryan...
"How did u do?"
"I've got one mile to go"
"U can do it!!!!"
"I'm dying! A grandpa passed me, I almost spit on him!"
"Quit texting and RUN!!!!!!!!"
Um, point taken. I kept moving forward, one very painful step at a time. Did I mention the last half of the route was ALL UP HILL? And it didn't just seem that way, it really was. Ask anyone who participated, that was a rough route.
Rebecca sent me one last text...
"Channel your Inner-Kenyan!"
And so I did. I somehow managed to find it in myself to run the last 1/2 mile! People were walking across the finish before me, and after me. That's just not acceptable! You can't finish a race WALKING. Some guys who had long finished the race (and who I came to find out were among those who finished the race in under 2 hours) were on the sidelines yelling at me "That's it Melissa! That's how you finish a race! That's it girl!!!!"
The clock read 3 hours and 52 minutes as I passed the Finish line. Take the 12 minute delayed start from that, and I finished the race in 3 hours and 40 minutes - 20 full minutes under my goal time!!!! Yet, not enough under to be considered "within time limit" for the race. I'm totally OK with this. I faced my fears, I tried something really hard for an overweight (but 34 pounds lighter than when I started training), sedentary woman facing 40! I am stronger physically than I even knew! I can do hard things! I can see something through to the finish, even if it hurts! I am able to take on a challenge and beat it! I am fearfully and wonderfully made! I can do ALL things through Christ who strengthens me!
I. Am. Woman. HEAR ME ROAR!!!!!
I won't lie. I was a WRECK for quite a while leading up to the race. When I'd signed up for the Half, a total allowable time limit was given of 5 hours, I put down that I'd be able to finish in just 4. Two weeks before the race, I learned that the website was now indicating an allowable time limit of only 3.5 hours! I had missed a crucial 6 weeks of training just a month out from the big day, and those 6 weeks were lounging around in the front of my brain like big ol' couch potatos, systematically wearing down any shreds of confidence I'd built up earlier in the summer about finishing 13.1 miles on foot (my own foots!). The shorter amount of time combined with the lack of training had me in a terrible place mentally.
The final three days before race day, I had to fight myself almost continually to stave off tears. I was so afraid. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to start and finish the race running. I was afraid that I'd not be able to finish all 13.1 mi. which would cause feelings of shame and almost total mortification when my friends found out. I was afraid I'd let my daughter down. I was afraid that I'd be the very last person to finish (This was, hands down, my biggest fear. I now know that even had this been the case, in the very personal battle the Half was for me, I'd have still acheived something huge. And so did whoever did end up finishing last.)
5:00 a.m. Thanksgiving Morning arrived. Rebecca and I were on the interstate headed to Turner Field by 5:45 a.m. We got really close to the stadium, and I was about to bust up into a full on bawling cry-fest. Just then, I took a wrong turn and ended up in... well, in an area of Atlanta you REALLY don't want to end up in. Isn't it funny how God knows just what you need right when you need it? I was forced to stop thinking about my own ridiculous fears and focus on getting to a safe and recongnizable area of Atlanta and to Turner Field. We got there, parked and stepped outside onto the parking lot.
Everywhere I looked I saw people who looked like professional athletes! Rebecca caught me staring at two of these "pros" and I must've had a terrified expression on my face becasue she said "Mom, you can DO this! Don't worry, you're gonna do fine." I felt sick to my stomach. My legs felt wobbly. Even so, we made our way pretty quickly to the front of our corral. We were in the last (read: slowest) grouping of runners. A nice jewish man named David helped me get my timing tag onto my shoe - my hands were shaking something serious! I got my headphones plugged into my iphone so I could have music to help pace myself. I dropped my inhaler, somone picked it up and handed it to me. The announcer announced that it was 20 minutes until race time. I took two puffs on my inhaler. People were smiling, so I tried to make my grimace look as cheerful as possible. I noticed 4 arms flailing and 2 heads bobbing in the corral just ahead of us - Bryan and Becky! They looked THRILLED to be there, and so I tried to look thrilled too as I waved back.
All this time, I kept telling myself "Are you crazy? You cannot do this! Why are you here? You're gonna look like an idiot soon." Then I hear the announcer saying that the wheelchair participant had just left the starting line and that the on foot runners would start in waves momentarily. Rebecca says "Mom, if that wheelchair guy can do this, you can so do this." I said "I know, I know, you're right." But inside I was saying "Yeah, riiiight." The race begins. They move through each corral. Before I knew it, we found ourselves at the starting line about 12 minutes after the first group of runners left. Rebecca hugs me and readies herself. The announcer says "Runners, Ready. . . GO!"
My feet started moving - running in fact - almost without me even realizing it. I see Rebecca shoot ahead and I lose her in the crowd. It seemed like several hundred folks passed me, but when I looked back, the start line was a good clip behind me and so were a TON of people. I just kept running. During training, I'd run 1/4 of a mile and walk the rest, but I just kept running on Thursday and before I knew it I'd reached the 1 mile marker and I'd run the ENTIRE WAY! That was my first accomplishment of the day - the first full mile I'd ever run without stopping to walk in my entire life!!!!
I walked and ran, walked, walked, walked, and ran some more for most of the duration of the race. We'd pass random people on the street and they'd shout "Melissa, you've got this girl! Way to go!" (They could read my name on my bib.) Every time we'd pass a cop working the race, they'd say "Happy Thanksgiving!" The volunteers handing out water, Powerade, and sports beans would say "You're doing great Melissa!" "You're almost half way girl!" "Lookin' Good!" Somewhere between mile 7 and mile 8, I started thinking "I cannot do this, I can't make it to the end." And I kept thinking it. Over, and over and over. My legs felt like lead, my feet like boulders. My shoulders hurt, my arms ached. My attitude, it SUCKED.
At about 8.5 miles, a young man missing the bottom half of his legs and wearing sports prosthetics jogged by and he smiled as he passed me. The first slice of pie I was served on Thanksgiving was Humble Pie. I mean, come on, the guy is missing half of his legs and he's RUNNING and SMILING and I am here to tell you that this race was not his first time at the rodeo.
I immediately asked God's forgiveness for taking my own working legs for granted, for doubting the ability He's given me to use my body to do physically hard things, for not treating my body as the temple He tells me it is. I picked up the pace, when I'd find myself thinking I can't run, I can't jog a second longer - I'd pray, asking God to help me run just a few steps farther.
By mile 9 the running crowd had thinned out considerably. We passed a couple of young guys with a megaphone, shouting "Every single one of you inspires me! You inspire my friend too - don't let his Iron Man Medal fool you, He's inspired!" We passed a soup kitchen, some of the beautiful homeless people there shouted encouragements. As we passed the home of an elderly black woman in the Ebenezer Baptist Church area, she'd say "There you are Baby! I just knew I'd be seein' you today! You're gonna make it Baby!" I wanted to cry, I wanted to hug her, I wanted to ask her if she was 'Mother Abagail' from Stephen Kings "The Stand". As I walked passed Ebenezer Baptist Church I offered a prayer of Thanks for Martin Luther King, Jr. and for how far race relations have come in our country and asked God's help with all that's still left to do in this area.
With three miles left, I got a text from my awesome daughter...
"I just finished!!!!!! Good Luck Mom, I'm waiting for u!!! When u cross the finish they're gonna give u a medal!"
(Rebecca finished in 3 hours! I'm so proud of her!)
I had to walk almost all of those last three miles, but I never once stopped moving forward. I was sad to see many people within less than 2 miles of the finish hop on SAG wagons - I can't imagine giving up so close to the goal! Too many other times in my life I've done just that, I wasn't about to do it Thursday.
When I had only 1 mile left to go, I got a text message from Bryan...
"How did u do?"
"I've got one mile to go"
"U can do it!!!!"
"I'm dying! A grandpa passed me, I almost spit on him!"
"Quit texting and RUN!!!!!!!!"
Um, point taken. I kept moving forward, one very painful step at a time. Did I mention the last half of the route was ALL UP HILL? And it didn't just seem that way, it really was. Ask anyone who participated, that was a rough route.
Rebecca sent me one last text...
"Channel your Inner-Kenyan!"
And so I did. I somehow managed to find it in myself to run the last 1/2 mile! People were walking across the finish before me, and after me. That's just not acceptable! You can't finish a race WALKING. Some guys who had long finished the race (and who I came to find out were among those who finished the race in under 2 hours) were on the sidelines yelling at me "That's it Melissa! That's how you finish a race! That's it girl!!!!"
The clock read 3 hours and 52 minutes as I passed the Finish line. Take the 12 minute delayed start from that, and I finished the race in 3 hours and 40 minutes - 20 full minutes under my goal time!!!! Yet, not enough under to be considered "within time limit" for the race. I'm totally OK with this. I faced my fears, I tried something really hard for an overweight (but 34 pounds lighter than when I started training), sedentary woman facing 40! I am stronger physically than I even knew! I can do hard things! I can see something through to the finish, even if it hurts! I am able to take on a challenge and beat it! I am fearfully and wonderfully made! I can do ALL things through Christ who strengthens me!
I. Am. Woman. HEAR ME ROAR!!!!!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Do Nascar Drivers Have Room To Breathe?
First, a disclaimer: I am not an expert. I don’t parent my teen or relate to any other teens I know from a place of PhD intellect and “expertise”. I parent and relate from my gut and my heart - and I screw up. A lot. But not always. I don’t know for sure what works any more than the next over-worked, over-tired, and over-stressed out Mom knows. What I do know is, my kid does talk to me. And I do mean REALLY talks to me. We’ve had conversations that began with a question of hers which caused a little throw-up to threaten at the back of my throat. She’s only 14, but so far, we’ve lived through it and come out on the back end of those talks both sighing in relief, with a better understanding of the topic and of each other. Thank you God for those late night conversations – Please keep them coming.
When I stop to think about it, and I often do, it’s incredible the amount of stuff teenagers today have to take in, process, deal with, be responsible for, face, learn, un-learn, do, or not do. They have instant access to more information, opinions, ideas, music, and images than I could’ve even fathomed during my own teen years – more than I can fathom now. As a parent it’s like steering them down a slick and winding road in a stock car approaching full speed with a death grip on the steering wheel while barely breathing. It’s hard sometimes to know when to relax and let off the brake a little, and when to buckle up and slam the brake to the floor.
I’m the first to admit that it takes an act of sheer will to “Mother” my daughter rather than “Smother” her. I have to verbally remind myself repeatedly, “Yes, she is my baby girl – but she is no longer a baby.” I worry about bullying. I worry about drugs. I worry about teen sex. I worry about alcohol. I worry that she’ll have her first kiss too soon, then I worry that she won’t have one until she’s 30. I worry about broken hearts, then I worry she’ll never have a boyfriend. I worry about… EVERYTHING.
Often, I think it’s easy to give in to our fears about all these things and to almost allow those fears to guide us in our parenting. We think, if I don’t talk about these things, if I don’t tell my child that this exists - my child won’t know it and will be spared. We convince ourselves, if I don’t let my child talk to anyone outside of a certain group, if I don’t let my child know anyone who doesn’t fit a certain mold – my child will be spared. In church circles, we feel security in finding a “Holy Huddle” for our children. It’s a false sense of security. Allowing our fears to drive our parenting is surely a failure on our part. I can’t think of a more sure or quick method of crippling and smothering a child on almost every level.
When we are driven by our fears we respond to our teens asking point blank about sex by telling them “Mom and Dad go to sleep and wake up pregnant.” Or we have conversations with teens asking them to consider whether “Justin Bieber is a “real” Christian or has he begun to embrace the dark side”. (I couldn’t make this stuff up folks. Has the Beibs even claimed Christianity for himself?) Newsflash: They know we’re lying about sex. They think we’re crazy - not the fun kind of crazy, but the “Um, her eyes look like Manson’s” crazy - when we ponder a 15 year old pop sensation’s ties to the Devil. When they know we’re lying, and they think we’re crazy – they then begin to dismiss and doubt everything else we tell them also. Think about it, do we respect, trust and believe people we know lie to us, or those who come off as a tad too much panicky (i.e. “crazy”) about some passing trend? No. We don’t. And we don’t hold any stock in anything they tell us. Well, our kids aren’t stupid either.
Please know that I do understand there are BAD things in this world. There are things we should protect our children, ourselves and anyone we care about from. I’m just saying that if you’re kid has read the “Harry Potter” books (mine hasn’t), or the “Twilight” books (mine has – and I did too – and they’re GOOD) – you’re kid isn’t about to become a Wizard or a Vampire. With any luck, they’ll decide to be a good student who cares about his friends like Harry, or they’ll decide to wait until marriage to have sex like Bella. (Can we as Christian parents ask for more than virginal brides and grooms? I meant this to be funny, but it’s so what I’m hoping for. Seriously.) I’m not saying there’s no badness, no darkness in the world – I’m just saying we shouldn’t be creating evil where it doesn’t necessarily exist, we should be celebrating the stage of life they’re in and pointing to a vision for their road ahead. Fear has caused a great many of us to usher into our teens a deep sense of apathy and shattered innocence long before Justin Bieber, J.K. Rowling, or Stephenie Meyer did. Instead of creating evil where only imagination has existed, why don’t we focus more on the real evils they face? The scariest of which is that deep apathy that seems to be swallowing an entire generation (or two).
Apathy is like hard rain on the windshield – one can’t see through it to the truth and certainly not to a bright future. I’m saying that when we allow our parenting to be fear driven, we parent in a panicked frenzy, holding our breath the entire time. When we allow our parenting to be fear-driven we make it hard for our teens to breath – we truly smother them. We make it hard for them to see - instead of giving them a vision to hold on to, we give them a picture of ourselves as liars and crazies. We should enjoy some of the teen angst with them – assure them they’re normal and “OK”, remind them that these years don’t last forever and give them a vision for their future.
If we want our teens to come to us with their burdens, thoughts, cares – we have to be able to really listen (instead of mentally preparingour lecture against them to correct them). We can’t lie, withhold the truth or go off half crazy about sex, movies, and just LIFE. We can’t feign mini-strokes when they say something we don’t whole-heartedly agree with. Instead we must hear them out and then calmly and honestly share our thoughts, opinions and beliefs. If we want our teens to have a strong, real faith – we can’t simply cram Bible verses down their throats and force them to worship when they’re “chill-axin” with their friends. Memorized verses don’t prove a relationship with God, and forced worship is no worship at all anyway. We can’t tell them that Edward Cullen is Evil (he’s not, he’s just HOT!). Most importantly we have to display real faith through our own trust of God. Truth is, if we are busy controlling every aspect of our teen’s life, every single thing they see, hear, say, do, etc. – and if we’re busy telling them half-truths or making evil out of the truly harmless - then we are too busy to be trusting God. Do we trust our teens in His hands? Do we trust Him enough to take our foot off the brake a little? Do we trust Him enough to give ourselves and our teens room to breathe? Do we trust Him enough to let Him drive?
As for me, I’m buckled up – and trying my hardest to stay in the passenger seat (No really, I mean it!). I’ve got the windows down. I’m breathing in big gulps of fresh air and I’m trying to enjoy the ride.
When I stop to think about it, and I often do, it’s incredible the amount of stuff teenagers today have to take in, process, deal with, be responsible for, face, learn, un-learn, do, or not do. They have instant access to more information, opinions, ideas, music, and images than I could’ve even fathomed during my own teen years – more than I can fathom now. As a parent it’s like steering them down a slick and winding road in a stock car approaching full speed with a death grip on the steering wheel while barely breathing. It’s hard sometimes to know when to relax and let off the brake a little, and when to buckle up and slam the brake to the floor.
I’m the first to admit that it takes an act of sheer will to “Mother” my daughter rather than “Smother” her. I have to verbally remind myself repeatedly, “Yes, she is my baby girl – but she is no longer a baby.” I worry about bullying. I worry about drugs. I worry about teen sex. I worry about alcohol. I worry that she’ll have her first kiss too soon, then I worry that she won’t have one until she’s 30. I worry about broken hearts, then I worry she’ll never have a boyfriend. I worry about… EVERYTHING.
Often, I think it’s easy to give in to our fears about all these things and to almost allow those fears to guide us in our parenting. We think, if I don’t talk about these things, if I don’t tell my child that this exists - my child won’t know it and will be spared. We convince ourselves, if I don’t let my child talk to anyone outside of a certain group, if I don’t let my child know anyone who doesn’t fit a certain mold – my child will be spared. In church circles, we feel security in finding a “Holy Huddle” for our children. It’s a false sense of security. Allowing our fears to drive our parenting is surely a failure on our part. I can’t think of a more sure or quick method of crippling and smothering a child on almost every level.
When we are driven by our fears we respond to our teens asking point blank about sex by telling them “Mom and Dad go to sleep and wake up pregnant.” Or we have conversations with teens asking them to consider whether “Justin Bieber is a “real” Christian or has he begun to embrace the dark side”. (I couldn’t make this stuff up folks. Has the Beibs even claimed Christianity for himself?) Newsflash: They know we’re lying about sex. They think we’re crazy - not the fun kind of crazy, but the “Um, her eyes look like Manson’s” crazy - when we ponder a 15 year old pop sensation’s ties to the Devil. When they know we’re lying, and they think we’re crazy – they then begin to dismiss and doubt everything else we tell them also. Think about it, do we respect, trust and believe people we know lie to us, or those who come off as a tad too much panicky (i.e. “crazy”) about some passing trend? No. We don’t. And we don’t hold any stock in anything they tell us. Well, our kids aren’t stupid either.
Please know that I do understand there are BAD things in this world. There are things we should protect our children, ourselves and anyone we care about from. I’m just saying that if you’re kid has read the “Harry Potter” books (mine hasn’t), or the “Twilight” books (mine has – and I did too – and they’re GOOD) – you’re kid isn’t about to become a Wizard or a Vampire. With any luck, they’ll decide to be a good student who cares about his friends like Harry, or they’ll decide to wait until marriage to have sex like Bella. (Can we as Christian parents ask for more than virginal brides and grooms? I meant this to be funny, but it’s so what I’m hoping for. Seriously.) I’m not saying there’s no badness, no darkness in the world – I’m just saying we shouldn’t be creating evil where it doesn’t necessarily exist, we should be celebrating the stage of life they’re in and pointing to a vision for their road ahead. Fear has caused a great many of us to usher into our teens a deep sense of apathy and shattered innocence long before Justin Bieber, J.K. Rowling, or Stephenie Meyer did. Instead of creating evil where only imagination has existed, why don’t we focus more on the real evils they face? The scariest of which is that deep apathy that seems to be swallowing an entire generation (or two).
Apathy is like hard rain on the windshield – one can’t see through it to the truth and certainly not to a bright future. I’m saying that when we allow our parenting to be fear driven, we parent in a panicked frenzy, holding our breath the entire time. When we allow our parenting to be fear-driven we make it hard for our teens to breath – we truly smother them. We make it hard for them to see - instead of giving them a vision to hold on to, we give them a picture of ourselves as liars and crazies. We should enjoy some of the teen angst with them – assure them they’re normal and “OK”, remind them that these years don’t last forever and give them a vision for their future.
If we want our teens to come to us with their burdens, thoughts, cares – we have to be able to really listen (instead of mentally preparing
As for me, I’m buckled up – and trying my hardest to stay in the passenger seat (No really, I mean it!). I’ve got the windows down. I’m breathing in big gulps of fresh air and I’m trying to enjoy the ride.
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