Dear Representative Chang,
I am writing regarding the proposed House Bill 4498 which you introduced in response to the brutal murder of two Detroit area children by their mother and their subsequent concealment in her freezer for two years.
Like you, we were horrified by this story--grieved for the children, grieved for the fact that their family was so disconnected from the surrounding community that their absence went unnoticed for that long, grieved that they had fallen beyond the notice of their CPS workers, DHS, and the local school system they had attended, grieved that a mother could even be capable of such a thing.
What I was not prepared for was your contention that part of the blame for this tragedy lies with the lack of homeschooling regulations in Michigan, and that the remedy is to immediately curtail the educational liberty that so many Michigan families have thrived under for so long.
It is with all due respect that I say, "WHAAAT?!?!"
As I understand them, the facts of the case are as follows:
1. Stoni and Stephen Blair were brutally tortured and murdered at the hands of the person who should have protected them with her own life--their own mother. This was a breakdown of a basic human instinct on a catastrophic level.
A horror.
I struggle to even contemplate how this crime could have been prevented, legislatively speaking, since it is outside the scope of what most human beings can even imagine.
Although come to think of it...as things now stand, we allow new, often inexperienced mothers and fathers to leave the hospital in possession of their own babies with little to no government oversight until the child reaches the age of five!
So maybe a law that covers ALL parents/potential murderers would be in order if you are in the mood for drafting cumbersome, expensive, intrusive, insulting, and ineffective bills, but honestly I can't think of any legislation capable of stopping a person who is truly determined to do evil, so...
2. Allegations had been made against their mother in the past, and she already had a record with CPS. I suppose a case could be made for more careful follow up of children who have been victims of abuse by their parents, although I suspect there is no social worker on the planet who would be able to prevent every evil act conceived by the heart of a depraved individual, even with lifelong follow-up. So I'm not sure more legislation would have helped there either.
3. The children had absent fathers, both of whom were too busy working on diverse and extensive criminal records and evading child support to wonder where their children had gone to for TWO YEARS.
How about some legislation to encourage fathers to actually stick around and parent? Like a bill making it so that low income families don't profit more from being without a dad than with one for starters?
How about not making it so cumbersome for church and community groups to navigate the legal and government requirements to serve needy communities? Many of these faith-based organizations long to create one-on-one, community-based mentorship and support mechanisms to help families stay together, but are tied up--or shut up--by red tape.
I know of one local charity that has to burn up valuable volunteer hours recording EVERY SINGLE DONATED ITEM on a government created spreadsheet, which is then submitted to some "circumlocution office" drone, even if the donated items are not usable or are expired and must be discarded. The goal of this organization is to help create and maintain strong and healthy families in our community, but they are encumbered and distracted.
By government.
Hmmm. Maybe we could draft a bill for THAT.
4. The Martin Luther King Housing Complex, where the murdered children lived, is subsidized housing, which means that their mother had to have applied for it through DHS at some point in the past, obtaining it and keeping it via her income and number of children.
These units are eagerly sought and dearly held. Was there no verification of her occupancy claims by state agencies?
Were there no neighbors willing to report (anonymously or otherwise) that she was keeping a unit with too few children?
Was she on public assistance? Is that not also based on means testing and family size? Where is the oversight due the taxpayers? They are paying for the housing and food of their needier neighbors. Are they not at least owed the assurance that they are not subsidizing fraud and abuse?
What about the truly needy? Aren't they too owed the diligence of the state in these matters?
Maybe we could have a bill for that?
5. As far I know, murder is already illegal in Michigan, as is child abuse and torture. I believe Ms. Blair has already showed her disregard for the law on every level. Are we so naive as to believe that the way to stop people like this is by adding another layer of legislation to the law abiding citizens of this state?
Do we really need another layer of bureaucracy for busy families to wade through?
How about another expense for the hard-working taxpayers of a struggling state...
...while at the same time saddling a large, generally decent segment of the population with the burden of proving their innocence in matters of child abuse?
This, Ms. Chang, is the thing I cannot let go. Your bill would require a group of dedicated parents, who have shown their commitment to their children by their sacrifice of years, earnings, and extra effort, to prove that they are not guilty.
I might remind you that in our constitutional republic, we citizens operate under the presumption of innocence in matters of law. Or as the old Latin phrase goes (Latin being a popular subject in many homeschools), "Ei incumbit probatio qui dicit, non qui negat" -- "The burden of proof lies on he who declares, not on he who denies".
Just legislation then, would seem to require that large swaths of the population not be singled out and forced to prove that they are not child abusers--especially when the state's evidence rests on a lunatic.
This mother was never a homeschooler. She was a murderer who needed a quick and plausible defense, and not one of the public servants she already had "connections" with thought to call her on it.
Ms. Chang, I would not presume to demand an entrance into the private world of your family life based on the monstrous actions of someone else, utterly unconnected to and having nothing in common with YOU. The logic (a subject many homeschoolers still actually study--along with Latin) does not hold.
Unless YOU give me reason to think otherwise, I would presume you to be competent and caring in your family interactions.
I am asking that you offer me and others in the homeschooling community the same courtesy by reconsidering your support for this bill.
If Joe Schmoe poses as a state representative and runs through the halls of the Capitol building waving a musket and yelling, "The British are coming!" I would not think of asking you and your colleagues to go to extraordinary lengths to somehow prove that you all are not dangerous anti-British revolutionaries.
If I am a lunatic, but I claim to be a pilot and I somehow take a jet through the roof of the local 7-Eleven, would you draft legislation which would require real, practicing pilots to prove they won't do the same?
If this line of reasoning seems absurd, that's because it is. You are not protecting anyone with this proposed legislation. You are insulting us, wasting our time, and casting a dark cloud of suspicion over an entire group of well-meaning, hard-working, dedicated and loving parents.
There are exceptions, as there are in EVERY SINGLE subset of the human population (including legislators) but studies indicate that homeschooling is a viable and profitable educational option for--not all--but many families across our nation, and that children are thriving because of their access to it.
One would think that if a public servant truly had the best interests of children at heart, he or she would want to remove barriers and create access to successful educational models of all types, even those outside the government funded public school system.
And this is, I believe, the real heart of the matter.
I will now try to explain why I think you are receiving
such heated resistance from so many Michigan families over this bill,
and it is not because we all have something to hide or because we are
too lazy to comply with the proposed stipulations.
Before shooting me a politely dismissive form letter, I ask you to please give the following your careful consideration.
In any free society there are going to be differing ideas about the way things ought to be. One of the true beauties of the American experiment has been our ability to live tolerantly with one another, while at the same time remaining free to express dissent in our speech, in the press, and by the way we conduct our lives. In this way we can observe the outcomes of various belief systems and either grow to embrace a different view or become secure in our own.
There is, however, a segment of the population who is uncomfortable with diversity of ideas, frightened by unorthodox methods, and irritated by a perceived lack of control over outcomes. They see the same problems we all do in humanity and look for cures from a little-g-savior (government) full of little-l-lords (legislators).
When these individuals gravitate toward politics and attempt to alleviate social ills by means of more and bigger government, too often the rest of us feel the squeeze until we agree to march in lock-step.
It is one thing when "lock step" affects just us grown ups. Sometimes we can overlook it and find ways to run our businesses and spend our money and live our personal lives in compliance with yet another government mandate.
It is another thing entirely when Washington or Lansing bureaucrats presume to come between us and our children, interfering with the decisions we make within our primary relationships and in the best interest of our families.
Most parents within the homeschool community only want the freedom to help their children use their gifts, skills, passions, interests, and intellects to become the best possible leaders, thinkers, writers, speakers, citizens, artists, farmers, engineers, etc.
We resent the implication that we need Lansing's oversight to achieve that goal, simply because we have chosen a different (legal!) option for our children's education.
As you would if we offered the same "oversight" to you.
If you are comfortable leaving children in the care of their parents up until age five, entrusting them to make decisions regarding proper care, feeding, emotional nurturance and education, is it that much of a stretch to assume that those parents could continue to make those decisions for their own children beyond that point?
Are you asserting that a group of legislators, social workers, or state approved professionals --basically paid strangers--knows better how to raise, nurture, and educate a child than do his parents?
Why? Do they love my child more than I do?
Are they the ones putting the time, effort, and love into his life from birth until death?
Are they the ones caring for him when he is sick, teaching him how to walk and talk, kissing his boo boos, helping him to navigate friendships, first jobs, and broken hearts?
If so, then we are engaged in shared parenting and they all owe me for back child support.
If not, by what right do they claim oversight and jurisdiction over the primary relationship between a parent and a child? Are we a nation of criminals and imbeciles, that we need to have paid professionals telling us how to manage our families from cradle to grave--what to feed them, how to dress them, how (and what and where) to teach them, what medications they must take, and (if you have your way) establishing a schedule by which we are forced to open our private residences to the prying eyes of government employees?
I am not diminishing the fact that there are serious problems in our society, and that many of them originate within the hearts of selfish and neglectful grown-ups. Many of them end up hurting children, but the solution is not to create a dragnet which casts suspicion upon and restricts the freedoms of thousands of compliant, peaceful, industrious, law-abiding parent-educators in the wild hope that you will dredge up a few stinky fish.
Unless that is not really your goal at all.
Maybe you are just one of the many people who live in fear of people who hold opinions that are different from yours, who do things differently, and who won't stop sharing their zany ideas about God and freedom and basic human rights.
Maybe you have identified homeschoolers as a pocket of people still trying to swim upstream in a culture which has largely abandoned its founding principles, and you want to put eyes on us.
Homeschooling is ever and always a target for well-meaning(?) individuals who are
threatened by diversity of thought and practice. Maybe this horrible case is just a smokescreen for an existing agenda. That would only add a layer of duplicity to an already tragic situation.
Whatever. You know your own heart, but let me tell you a secret.
No matter how many laws you write, you cannot eradicate evil. It comes from hearts that have thrown off God and bowed down at the altar of their own selfishness--not from lack of good laws, good jobs, good food, good neighborhoods, or even good schools, but from the desire to become gods unto themselves.
Patrick Henry once said, "Bad men cannot make good citizens. It is when a
people forget God that tyrants forge their chains. A vitiated state of
morals, a corrupted public conscience, is incompatible with freedom. No
free government, or the blessings of liberty, can be preserved to any
people but by a firm adherence to justice, moderation, temperance,
frugality, and virtue; and by a frequent recurrence to fundamental
principles."
Similar sentiments were echoed by our second president, John Adams, when he wrote, "We have no government armed with power capable of contending with human passions unbridled by morality and religion."
So, Ms. Chang, although you were right to lament the loss of Stoni and Stephen, you are looking in the wrong place for a solution.
And let me tell you another secret.
You want people like us around you.
In fact, you ought to be cheering us on. Many homeschoolers are people of faith, and our hope and goal is to raise a generation of children who will go into communities that are struggling with hopelessness, addiction, anger, and loneliness and live there, and love the people and offer them hope--the hope found in a relationship with the big-G-God.
We hope our children will grow into caring and committed citizens who live outside themselves and share their blessings with others and belong to communities filled with people who can learn to love one another and look out for each other...
...without being forced to...
...in the hopes that you legislators can take a break from slapping random laws all over a broken and bleeding culture like a group of frantic deck hands pasting band-aids onto the Titanic.
Evil always affects the most vulnerable elements of our society first--the unborn, the children, the weak, the ill, and the elderly.
It is right to grieve for them, to remember them, to celebrate the beauty of their lives, and to realize that at some point in our own journeys we will all BE members of that group.
It is not right to exploit their memory by using this tragedy as an excuse to draft insulting laws aimed at innocent people.
Please, Ms. Chang, reconsider your bill.
Sincerely,
Sandra B., Michigan Homeschooler, Mother of Seven
5.05.2015
Ode to Jude
Today Jude celebrated his eighth birthday. As usual I was thrilled and sad at the same time. I want my babies to live and thrive and grow. And I also want them to be tiny and chubby and sticky forever.
It is the lot of all mothers everywhere.
So I was flipping through some of my "Jude stuff" tonight--drawings, mementos, pictures, etc. and came across an entry I wrote three years ago. It reads:
"My baby just turned 5 years old and I was sitting here smiling over thoughts of him. He has the quintessential '5th born' personality--so laid back and joyful. He walks with a little spring, a little lifting off the toes, as if he is launching into the next moment of his life in great anticipation. But he is by no means incautious about it. His thumb is still his best friend and he sucks it with so much enthusiasm that I am surprised that there is still skin on it.
Some of my favorite things--
The way he pushes his upper lip out into a 'V', like a tiny turtle.
The way he smiles up at me from underneath his ridiculously long eyelashes.
The way he sleeps with his knees tucked up under him and his rump in the air.
The way he runs to greet me when I am gone for even two minutes to take out the trash or get the mail. He comes with his arms stretched out and says, 'Mommy! You're here. I'm so glad!' Or (my favorite), 'Mommy! I love your face!'
The way he loves Keira. He plays with her all morning, every day. He greets her with joy each morning. He feeds her her breakfast, whether she wants him to or not:) He pushes her in the swing and pulls her in the wagon. He tells her he loves her at random moments all through the day.
Tonight, I heard him singing to her in the garden--just four words. 'Keira, I love you, love you, L-O-O-O-O-O-VE (on a high note) YOOOOOOU.' And then with a flourish, 'Oh, Keeeeeira!'
She appears to think that this level of adoration is normal and to be expected in the life of every two year old, since she takes his declarations of love in stride, barely looking up from her play. Or maybe that is just her way of playing it cool, because if Jude ever wanders off without her, she rushes over and inserts herself into whatever project he has started. With a flourish.
He is a good friend. He tolerates her penchant for stealing his toys. He cries when she wrecks his train tracks and block towers--but not usually in anger. More in the spirit of 'how could you?' than 'I'll GET you!'
I love the way he shares ALL his things with Kaiden. They wear the same clothes. They have the same interests in toys and books. And although they have their share of normal squabbles, Jude is not proprietary with his stuff. He heart is as big as the world. Like his Papa."
And now he is eight, and no longer sucks his thumb (for which I am grateful), and he sleeps in an exhausted, big boy sprawl instead of tucked up like a toddler.
He still loves his Mama and his sisters, but is a bit more reserved about it, choosing to slip up next to us for quiet hugs at random moments rather than screaming his devotion to the four winds.
He has grown even closer to Kaiden, looking to him for approval, sharing every frog and joke and drawing with his little "twin" first. They are full of plans for tomorrow and the next day and next year and forever, and I love that. I don't think Jude remembers a time before Kaiden, although he told me today that he remembered that he was cold when he was born and wished the sun was out that day.
I remember being cold when he was born too. I delivered him in a metal-coated surgical suite under garish lights with a team of physicians standing by so he could be rushed off to fix the deformed artery in his little heart. We knew it had to be so, but it hurt my heart to watch them take him away from me.
And they put him into the PICU with so many other little broken babies and I was one of so many worried parents praying over my tiny child.
And as we prayed, we waited for the blood flow to diminish through the defective aorta--the sign that he would soon need to have his chest opened, his tiny heart cut and the damaged artery pieced back together.
It should have diminished. His anatomy was all wrong. We had been told so for months.
We had the pictures to prove it. The surgical team kept waiting for the crisis to occur.
But it didn't. His heart did what there was no medical explanation for. It fixed itself. (Or rather Someone fixed it.) And suddenly there were flurries of tests and puzzled expressions and specialists looking to other specialists for confirmation of this strange thing.
A healthy baby in the PICU with no need for their services and no protocol in place to let him leave.
"No babies are ever discharged right from the PICU," the nurse told me, as I finally nursed my little boy for the first time. "We don't even know the procedure for releasing him to go home."
But they finally let us go, and like so many of the things that we have waited for, struggled for, and prayed for, the homecoming was all the sweeter for the pain.
I will never forget the feeling of crossing the threshold of my house, weeks ahead of when I should have, with a healthy, pink baby boy--no follow ups, no medications, no precautions--and weeping with gratitude for such a gift.
For so you are, Jude! Your sense of wonder is contagious. Your smile irresistible. Your passion for frogs is...apparently limitless. I love how you LOVE--drawing, baseball, police cars, chicken Alfredo, Hank the Cowdog, Isaiah's jokes, numbers, Legos, flowers. Your heart is full of the joy of life and your mouth is quick to bring praise to God.
Your very name means "praised", and from the beginning you have inspired praise. You received a miracle at your birth and brought praise to your Maker. May you always do so!
Happy Birthday, sweet boy. We love you!
It is the lot of all mothers everywhere.
So I was flipping through some of my "Jude stuff" tonight--drawings, mementos, pictures, etc. and came across an entry I wrote three years ago. It reads:
"My baby just turned 5 years old and I was sitting here smiling over thoughts of him. He has the quintessential '5th born' personality--so laid back and joyful. He walks with a little spring, a little lifting off the toes, as if he is launching into the next moment of his life in great anticipation. But he is by no means incautious about it. His thumb is still his best friend and he sucks it with so much enthusiasm that I am surprised that there is still skin on it.
Some of my favorite things--
The way he pushes his upper lip out into a 'V', like a tiny turtle.
The way he smiles up at me from underneath his ridiculously long eyelashes.
The way he sleeps with his knees tucked up under him and his rump in the air.
The way he runs to greet me when I am gone for even two minutes to take out the trash or get the mail. He comes with his arms stretched out and says, 'Mommy! You're here. I'm so glad!' Or (my favorite), 'Mommy! I love your face!'
The way he loves Keira. He plays with her all morning, every day. He greets her with joy each morning. He feeds her her breakfast, whether she wants him to or not:) He pushes her in the swing and pulls her in the wagon. He tells her he loves her at random moments all through the day.
Tonight, I heard him singing to her in the garden--just four words. 'Keira, I love you, love you, L-O-O-O-O-O-VE (on a high note) YOOOOOOU.' And then with a flourish, 'Oh, Keeeeeira!'
She appears to think that this level of adoration is normal and to be expected in the life of every two year old, since she takes his declarations of love in stride, barely looking up from her play. Or maybe that is just her way of playing it cool, because if Jude ever wanders off without her, she rushes over and inserts herself into whatever project he has started. With a flourish.
He is a good friend. He tolerates her penchant for stealing his toys. He cries when she wrecks his train tracks and block towers--but not usually in anger. More in the spirit of 'how could you?' than 'I'll GET you!'
I love the way he shares ALL his things with Kaiden. They wear the same clothes. They have the same interests in toys and books. And although they have their share of normal squabbles, Jude is not proprietary with his stuff. He heart is as big as the world. Like his Papa."
********
And now he is eight, and no longer sucks his thumb (for which I am grateful), and he sleeps in an exhausted, big boy sprawl instead of tucked up like a toddler.
He still loves his Mama and his sisters, but is a bit more reserved about it, choosing to slip up next to us for quiet hugs at random moments rather than screaming his devotion to the four winds.
He has grown even closer to Kaiden, looking to him for approval, sharing every frog and joke and drawing with his little "twin" first. They are full of plans for tomorrow and the next day and next year and forever, and I love that. I don't think Jude remembers a time before Kaiden, although he told me today that he remembered that he was cold when he was born and wished the sun was out that day.
I remember being cold when he was born too. I delivered him in a metal-coated surgical suite under garish lights with a team of physicians standing by so he could be rushed off to fix the deformed artery in his little heart. We knew it had to be so, but it hurt my heart to watch them take him away from me.
And they put him into the PICU with so many other little broken babies and I was one of so many worried parents praying over my tiny child.
And as we prayed, we waited for the blood flow to diminish through the defective aorta--the sign that he would soon need to have his chest opened, his tiny heart cut and the damaged artery pieced back together.
It should have diminished. His anatomy was all wrong. We had been told so for months.
We had the pictures to prove it. The surgical team kept waiting for the crisis to occur.
But it didn't. His heart did what there was no medical explanation for. It fixed itself. (Or rather Someone fixed it.) And suddenly there were flurries of tests and puzzled expressions and specialists looking to other specialists for confirmation of this strange thing.
A healthy baby in the PICU with no need for their services and no protocol in place to let him leave.
"No babies are ever discharged right from the PICU," the nurse told me, as I finally nursed my little boy for the first time. "We don't even know the procedure for releasing him to go home."
But they finally let us go, and like so many of the things that we have waited for, struggled for, and prayed for, the homecoming was all the sweeter for the pain.
I will never forget the feeling of crossing the threshold of my house, weeks ahead of when I should have, with a healthy, pink baby boy--no follow ups, no medications, no precautions--and weeping with gratitude for such a gift.
For so you are, Jude! Your sense of wonder is contagious. Your smile irresistible. Your passion for frogs is...apparently limitless. I love how you LOVE--drawing, baseball, police cars, chicken Alfredo, Hank the Cowdog, Isaiah's jokes, numbers, Legos, flowers. Your heart is full of the joy of life and your mouth is quick to bring praise to God.
Your very name means "praised", and from the beginning you have inspired praise. You received a miracle at your birth and brought praise to your Maker. May you always do so!
Happy Birthday, sweet boy. We love you!
4.16.2015
Whatever Happened to Fun Mom?
It occurred to me on our recent drive back from vacation in Florida that there's nothing quite like 22 hours in the van to stimulate one's thoughts.
My kids are to the ages now where I am not spending half the trip picking up sippy cups, stuffed animals, and fruit snacks as fast as they can drop them. My torso is no longer twisted backwards and wedged between the front seats for hundreds of miles at a time.
As much as I enjoyed those opportunities to test out the limits of my physical and psychological endurance (and sanctification), I must say I am enjoying the new views out the front windshield.
And Jamey (I'm sure) appreciates my helpful observations about how fast he is driving and what constitutes a safe tailing distance, although sometimes he accidentally turns the radio on so loud that he has trouble hearing me. Silly guy!
Whenever he does that, I give up and just start eating trip snacks and thinking about stuff...
...and so it happened that I spent a blissful two days grazing my way across six states, pondering the universe.
Don't worry. I won't burden you with all my ruminations--just two or three states' worth.
I wrote a blog a few weeks ago about the unique challenges of homeschooling boys, and since then I have continued to observe them, and observe myself with them, and analyze what could make things better because, frankly, none of us is having much fun this year.
This became clear several weeks ago when I playfully threw my arms around one of my sons and asked, "Who's your favorite mom?"
In the past, this move has elicited laughter and a warm, enthusiastic, "You are!"
This time, my sweet boy thought for a minute and said, "Aunt Nichole."
Ouch.
Additionally, numerous references have been made to a so-called "Fun Mom" who reportedly used to live here and roast pumpkin seeds and play board games and go on field trips and smile a lot. I'm not sure she ever existed, but I'm getting tired of hearing about her.
Actually, let's be honest. I want to be her, but right now I am too busy walking around telling people to pick up their laundry and finish their math pages and stop hitting each other--in addition to worrying that I will not have Christina's high school transcript done until she is 25. (Ha ha, Sweetheart! Don't worry! I'm almost totally kidding.)
So last week somewhere between Kentucky and Georgia, I mentally pulled out the two women and compared them. What does Fun Mom have that I don't?
Well first of all, Fun Mom was ten years younger than I am which absolutely does make a difference, but other than that what is her secret?
Here is what I came up with. Fun Mom was a parenting Pollyanna...er, optimist. She had done her research and had developed a vision--and a "fool proof" plan to achieve it. She had small children who were malleable and manageable, and still took naps when she wanted them to.
Mistakes were made, but she rested in the knowledge that there were still years ahead in which to correct them. There were frustrations and battles of the will, but deep down she and her children still thought she probably knew everything, and her kiddos gave her countless sticky hugs, and sweetly upturned eyes, and their undivided loyalty to prove her right.
And life was good! How can you not be perky and happy and fun and energetic when you know you have life by the horns and you're winning?
Fast forward to the present day. I still have some of that sweet affirmation from the younger set, but now I am looking at Fun Mom from the other end of that "decade of dreams", and guess what? I didn't know everything and my older kids are beginning to figure it out.
This revelation may be one of the explanations for my sudden decrease in cheerful (over)confidence. It could also explain the uptick in worrying and fretting, and the increase in irritation.
I have begun to question myself.
My vision was great, but it turns out there are no "fool-proof parenting plans" which can guarantee perfectly perfect kids, and that scares me.
Children can grow up in a community of faith, and eat well balanced meals, and have a million, billion questions answered, and be loved and nurtured, and read good books, and be protected from evil, and learn from watching other people get hurt by bad decisions, and have everything explained and discussed and analyzed and contextualized--and still decide to chuck it all someday and dive 20 feet headfirst into a kiddie pool.
Now, I am not intending to scare anyone with this post. Grandparents, you can rest easy! I promise I'm not writing this on my way down to spring one of the kids out of juvie.
It's just that as I pondered the differences between myself and "Fun Mom" on our recent trip, I realized a few things.
My parenting mistakes are becoming more and more obvious. It appears I did have some bad ideas after all and the number of years I have left to make up for them is dwindling. That is just a fact, and I never should have thought that I could overcome sin nature (mine or my children's) with perfect parenting tricks.
Meanwhile, I now see that my children are not cute, cuddly extensions of myself. They are not accessories. They are not machines. And they are not simple.
They are large, hungry, willful mysteries. They are less malleable than I thought they were ten years ago and less manageable than I expected they would be by now.
In short, they are a lot like me.
I am seeing many good things in my almost-growns, but because they are developing minds of their own, making more and more decisions on their own, and often navigating friendships, jobs, and classes without me, I am feeling a little bit panicked and powerless.
I made some mistakes they could learn from, but are they really listening? I know some things that could save them from pain and heartache, but are they interested? I love them enough to die for them, but will that be enough to keep them safe?
I still think that many of my children hold me in high esteem, but I know they have begun to see my feet of clay and they no longer think I am infallible. Will they still respect me? Will my failings obscure the truth I have tried to speak into their lives?
I can (and do) observe them and cultivate relationships with them and draw them into conversations, and offer them counsel and support and direction, but I am seeing that I don't have as much control of their inner landscapes as I thought I did.
My finger is not so surely on the spiritual pulse of every child as it once was when they parroted back Awana verses and catechisms at my knee.
To top it off, the world has also begun to offer up competing philosophies. Words and images and ideas are coming at them faster than I can ever hope to filter them. Will they buy in? Will truth speak louder? Only God knows.
So where do these musings leave an earnest and well-meaning Mama?
First, there are a few things I would like to tell "Fun Mom". What you may lose over the years in relentless positivity you will gain in compassionate humility. Better moms than you have "done it right" and watched a beloved fledgling fall from a feathered nest into a pit of vipers.
You will learn to love those ladies more and judge them less as you experience what it means to release your babies one by one into a dangerous world. As careful as you have been, one day it might be your child hurt and your broken heart and love is what you will need.
Secondly, you need to pray more and plan less. You may get glimpses inside your children's hearts. You may be able to bend their ear for a season. You may earn their trust and experience their love, but only God can save them. Give them to Him on your knees, every day, as often as you can. This will keep you from becoming trapped in either pride or panic.
And you can't try to do everything, or you will burn out (like I did) and stop doing anything. If you don't sign up for every single field trip, or check every single box on the curriculum guide, or volunteer to help for every single church and co-op event, the world won't collapse. Really!
Fun Mom, if you are not careful you can wear yourself out trying to give your older children every possible experience--to the point where your little ones are getting crumbs. I did that.
The inside of the public library is a place shrouded in mystery for my youngest kids, and I'm pretty sure they think a field trip is when I am dragging them through the grocery store on the way back from the dentist. It wasn't like that for my first few children. I am now having to discover what balance looks like, and it is not easy.
On the flip side, I could learn a few things from Fun Mom. Part of my general, overall discouragement and crankiness comes from selfish irritation over my kids' failures. After all my good-faith efforts, they still disobey me, give in to laziness, thwart my plans, and fail to meet expectations.
Frankly, that irks me. It bothers me that after all my hard work and careful planning, my kids didn't sign on. How can this be? I gave them the rules, the road map, and the rationale, and yet...?
It turns out they are cut from the same willful and unpredictable cloth as the rest of humanity.
And I am taking it personally.
But it is not about me. If they fail or sin or stray, they are more apt to hurt themselves than anyone else. And of course they are missing out on the great blessing of living under the perfect, protective plans of God.
So why am I taking such offense? Why are my hackles raised so easily? Why is it so tempting to blow out my personal frustrations on this small, captive audience?
Let's go back to Fun Mom for a moment. For all her faults, she was a natural encourager. Her heart was toward her children even as she corrected them, and this often made her discipline into a form of nurture.
And isn't this how God interacts with us?
Despite the fact that He had the ultimate right to take offense at our sin, He chose to lay down His rights on our behalf, taking the burden for our souls upon Himself. Philippians 2:5-8
His love was costly and lavish, and in the same way His discipline is for our benefit. He chastens us to mold us, prune us, and make us flourish. He desires to loosen our grasp on the things that hurt us and return us to perfect, loving communion with Him.
His correction has always had restoration at it's heart, and that is how mine should be as well.
Fun Mom looked on the bright side, expecting that each failure was a temporary lapse which would be followed in time by a return to the loving connection that she and her children shared.
She had faith.
Now, too often her faith was misplaced--put into plans and methods and theories, sometimes even in herself, but the impulse was right.
Each infraction my children commit does not have to be viewed as a personal affront, or horriblized into a projection for a bleak future for the offender.
If God's grace is sufficient to cover and correct my many failings, then it can do the same for theirs.
If His forgiveness and encouragement can outlast my perpetual stubbornness, then my forgiveness and encouragement should be freely given as well.
As I see it, my job should be to administer only as much discipline as is needed to remind my children's hearts where the good path lies--without any of my own punitive, self-centered irritation and ego mixed in.
This leaves space for calm consideration and measured responses, and for lighthearted, hopeful interactions--even in the midst of correction. Fun Mom was good at this, and my hope is that I can re-learn what she once knew.
So, here is the one word summation of my cogitation: Encouragement.
I had it. I lost it. I need it back.
It is such a powerful force! Essential, really.
It is a gentle but powerful weapon, able to soften hearts and change minds, but it can only be wielded by souls who have learned the art of loving beyond themselves.
As I thought through the times in my life (like right now) when I have been bowed under the weight of natural consequences or self-condemnation, I realized how refreshing it has been to look up and see that someone is there, willing and waiting to help me up. As Christians, this is what we are called to do for each other.
Galatians 6:1-2 speaks about it directly.
It says, "Brothers and sisters, if someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently. But watch yourselves, or you also may be tempted. Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ."
Although there is no question that we should be helping each other through the external burdens of grief, sickness, financial hardship, etc. the particular "burdens" mentioned in this passage refer directly back to painful situations caused by sin.
If am to "gently restore" a grown-up brother when he is caught in sin, what about my own vulnerable and dependent children? Shouldn't they be the first to receive gentle, encouraging, grace-filled correction from me?
Shouldn't I be willing to speak, and wait, and love with soft eyes and a patient heart? Shouldn't I carry their "burdens" a little farther before I give in to frustration or give up in despair?
Isn't that what I want others to do for me? Yep.
So here's to Fun Mom! Or at least "A-Little-Bit-Funner-Mom." (Baby steps) May her smiling face once again be seen in my home...
...minus her delusions of invincibility, her serious over-confidence, and her tendencies toward over-commitment, of course;)
My kids are to the ages now where I am not spending half the trip picking up sippy cups, stuffed animals, and fruit snacks as fast as they can drop them. My torso is no longer twisted backwards and wedged between the front seats for hundreds of miles at a time.
As much as I enjoyed those opportunities to test out the limits of my physical and psychological endurance (and sanctification), I must say I am enjoying the new views out the front windshield.
And Jamey (I'm sure) appreciates my helpful observations about how fast he is driving and what constitutes a safe tailing distance, although sometimes he accidentally turns the radio on so loud that he has trouble hearing me. Silly guy!
Whenever he does that, I give up and just start eating trip snacks and thinking about stuff...
...and so it happened that I spent a blissful two days grazing my way across six states, pondering the universe.
Don't worry. I won't burden you with all my ruminations--just two or three states' worth.
I wrote a blog a few weeks ago about the unique challenges of homeschooling boys, and since then I have continued to observe them, and observe myself with them, and analyze what could make things better because, frankly, none of us is having much fun this year.
This became clear several weeks ago when I playfully threw my arms around one of my sons and asked, "Who's your favorite mom?"
In the past, this move has elicited laughter and a warm, enthusiastic, "You are!"
This time, my sweet boy thought for a minute and said, "Aunt Nichole."
Ouch.
Additionally, numerous references have been made to a so-called "Fun Mom" who reportedly used to live here and roast pumpkin seeds and play board games and go on field trips and smile a lot. I'm not sure she ever existed, but I'm getting tired of hearing about her.
Actually, let's be honest. I want to be her, but right now I am too busy walking around telling people to pick up their laundry and finish their math pages and stop hitting each other--in addition to worrying that I will not have Christina's high school transcript done until she is 25. (Ha ha, Sweetheart! Don't worry! I'm almost totally kidding.)
So last week somewhere between Kentucky and Georgia, I mentally pulled out the two women and compared them. What does Fun Mom have that I don't?
Well first of all, Fun Mom was ten years younger than I am which absolutely does make a difference, but other than that what is her secret?
Here is what I came up with. Fun Mom was a parenting Pollyanna...er, optimist. She had done her research and had developed a vision--and a "fool proof" plan to achieve it. She had small children who were malleable and manageable, and still took naps when she wanted them to.
Mistakes were made, but she rested in the knowledge that there were still years ahead in which to correct them. There were frustrations and battles of the will, but deep down she and her children still thought she probably knew everything, and her kiddos gave her countless sticky hugs, and sweetly upturned eyes, and their undivided loyalty to prove her right.
And life was good! How can you not be perky and happy and fun and energetic when you know you have life by the horns and you're winning?
Fast forward to the present day. I still have some of that sweet affirmation from the younger set, but now I am looking at Fun Mom from the other end of that "decade of dreams", and guess what? I didn't know everything and my older kids are beginning to figure it out.
This revelation may be one of the explanations for my sudden decrease in cheerful (over)confidence. It could also explain the uptick in worrying and fretting, and the increase in irritation.
I have begun to question myself.
My vision was great, but it turns out there are no "fool-proof parenting plans" which can guarantee perfectly perfect kids, and that scares me.
Children can grow up in a community of faith, and eat well balanced meals, and have a million, billion questions answered, and be loved and nurtured, and read good books, and be protected from evil, and learn from watching other people get hurt by bad decisions, and have everything explained and discussed and analyzed and contextualized--and still decide to chuck it all someday and dive 20 feet headfirst into a kiddie pool.
Now, I am not intending to scare anyone with this post. Grandparents, you can rest easy! I promise I'm not writing this on my way down to spring one of the kids out of juvie.
It's just that as I pondered the differences between myself and "Fun Mom" on our recent trip, I realized a few things.
My parenting mistakes are becoming more and more obvious. It appears I did have some bad ideas after all and the number of years I have left to make up for them is dwindling. That is just a fact, and I never should have thought that I could overcome sin nature (mine or my children's) with perfect parenting tricks.
Meanwhile, I now see that my children are not cute, cuddly extensions of myself. They are not accessories. They are not machines. And they are not simple.
They are large, hungry, willful mysteries. They are less malleable than I thought they were ten years ago and less manageable than I expected they would be by now.
In short, they are a lot like me.
I am seeing many good things in my almost-growns, but because they are developing minds of their own, making more and more decisions on their own, and often navigating friendships, jobs, and classes without me, I am feeling a little bit panicked and powerless.
I made some mistakes they could learn from, but are they really listening? I know some things that could save them from pain and heartache, but are they interested? I love them enough to die for them, but will that be enough to keep them safe?
I still think that many of my children hold me in high esteem, but I know they have begun to see my feet of clay and they no longer think I am infallible. Will they still respect me? Will my failings obscure the truth I have tried to speak into their lives?
I can (and do) observe them and cultivate relationships with them and draw them into conversations, and offer them counsel and support and direction, but I am seeing that I don't have as much control of their inner landscapes as I thought I did.
My finger is not so surely on the spiritual pulse of every child as it once was when they parroted back Awana verses and catechisms at my knee.
To top it off, the world has also begun to offer up competing philosophies. Words and images and ideas are coming at them faster than I can ever hope to filter them. Will they buy in? Will truth speak louder? Only God knows.
So where do these musings leave an earnest and well-meaning Mama?
First, there are a few things I would like to tell "Fun Mom". What you may lose over the years in relentless positivity you will gain in compassionate humility. Better moms than you have "done it right" and watched a beloved fledgling fall from a feathered nest into a pit of vipers.
You will learn to love those ladies more and judge them less as you experience what it means to release your babies one by one into a dangerous world. As careful as you have been, one day it might be your child hurt and your broken heart and love is what you will need.
Secondly, you need to pray more and plan less. You may get glimpses inside your children's hearts. You may be able to bend their ear for a season. You may earn their trust and experience their love, but only God can save them. Give them to Him on your knees, every day, as often as you can. This will keep you from becoming trapped in either pride or panic.
And you can't try to do everything, or you will burn out (like I did) and stop doing anything. If you don't sign up for every single field trip, or check every single box on the curriculum guide, or volunteer to help for every single church and co-op event, the world won't collapse. Really!
Fun Mom, if you are not careful you can wear yourself out trying to give your older children every possible experience--to the point where your little ones are getting crumbs. I did that.
The inside of the public library is a place shrouded in mystery for my youngest kids, and I'm pretty sure they think a field trip is when I am dragging them through the grocery store on the way back from the dentist. It wasn't like that for my first few children. I am now having to discover what balance looks like, and it is not easy.
On the flip side, I could learn a few things from Fun Mom. Part of my general, overall discouragement and crankiness comes from selfish irritation over my kids' failures. After all my good-faith efforts, they still disobey me, give in to laziness, thwart my plans, and fail to meet expectations.
Frankly, that irks me. It bothers me that after all my hard work and careful planning, my kids didn't sign on. How can this be? I gave them the rules, the road map, and the rationale, and yet...?
It turns out they are cut from the same willful and unpredictable cloth as the rest of humanity.
And I am taking it personally.
But it is not about me. If they fail or sin or stray, they are more apt to hurt themselves than anyone else. And of course they are missing out on the great blessing of living under the perfect, protective plans of God.
So why am I taking such offense? Why are my hackles raised so easily? Why is it so tempting to blow out my personal frustrations on this small, captive audience?
Let's go back to Fun Mom for a moment. For all her faults, she was a natural encourager. Her heart was toward her children even as she corrected them, and this often made her discipline into a form of nurture.
And isn't this how God interacts with us?
Despite the fact that He had the ultimate right to take offense at our sin, He chose to lay down His rights on our behalf, taking the burden for our souls upon Himself. Philippians 2:5-8
His love was costly and lavish, and in the same way His discipline is for our benefit. He chastens us to mold us, prune us, and make us flourish. He desires to loosen our grasp on the things that hurt us and return us to perfect, loving communion with Him.
His correction has always had restoration at it's heart, and that is how mine should be as well.
Fun Mom looked on the bright side, expecting that each failure was a temporary lapse which would be followed in time by a return to the loving connection that she and her children shared.
She had faith.
Now, too often her faith was misplaced--put into plans and methods and theories, sometimes even in herself, but the impulse was right.
Each infraction my children commit does not have to be viewed as a personal affront, or horriblized into a projection for a bleak future for the offender.
If God's grace is sufficient to cover and correct my many failings, then it can do the same for theirs.
If His forgiveness and encouragement can outlast my perpetual stubbornness, then my forgiveness and encouragement should be freely given as well.
As I see it, my job should be to administer only as much discipline as is needed to remind my children's hearts where the good path lies--without any of my own punitive, self-centered irritation and ego mixed in.
This leaves space for calm consideration and measured responses, and for lighthearted, hopeful interactions--even in the midst of correction. Fun Mom was good at this, and my hope is that I can re-learn what she once knew.
So, here is the one word summation of my cogitation: Encouragement.
I had it. I lost it. I need it back.
It is such a powerful force! Essential, really.
It is a gentle but powerful weapon, able to soften hearts and change minds, but it can only be wielded by souls who have learned the art of loving beyond themselves.
As I thought through the times in my life (like right now) when I have been bowed under the weight of natural consequences or self-condemnation, I realized how refreshing it has been to look up and see that someone is there, willing and waiting to help me up. As Christians, this is what we are called to do for each other.
Galatians 6:1-2 speaks about it directly.
It says, "Brothers and sisters, if someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently. But watch yourselves, or you also may be tempted. Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ."
Although there is no question that we should be helping each other through the external burdens of grief, sickness, financial hardship, etc. the particular "burdens" mentioned in this passage refer directly back to painful situations caused by sin.
If am to "gently restore" a grown-up brother when he is caught in sin, what about my own vulnerable and dependent children? Shouldn't they be the first to receive gentle, encouraging, grace-filled correction from me?
Shouldn't I be willing to speak, and wait, and love with soft eyes and a patient heart? Shouldn't I carry their "burdens" a little farther before I give in to frustration or give up in despair?
Isn't that what I want others to do for me? Yep.
So here's to Fun Mom! Or at least "A-Little-Bit-Funner-Mom." (Baby steps) May her smiling face once again be seen in my home...
...minus her delusions of invincibility, her serious over-confidence, and her tendencies toward over-commitment, of course;)
************
Romans 15:4-5
For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope!
May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus.
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