The End of "The End"

I remember standing under the owl tree in our back 40 as the last fingers of sunlight lost hold on the sky.  I was a child.  It was late summer, the end of another good day on our farm, and behind me the lights from our windows made bright squares on the lawn.

Beyond the tree, the stars began to prick holes in the smooth blue dome which stretched above and around me, and it felt to me then as it had so many other nights before--like I was resting in the cupped hand of God.

 I had been taught about Him from birth, and I knew Him as my Father. And so I stood with my whole life stretched before me--secure in the love of my family, at rest in the peace of the twilit farm--and I was overwhelmed with praise for the goodness of this Great God and Father of my heart, whose face I had never seen, but who had written Himself into the fabric of my life so inextricably that I saw His fingerprints in the beauties all around me.  

Back then, I had the habit of speaking aloud my childish delight in His marvelous creativity whenever I chanced upon it.  I spoke to Him that evening--sang actually--from the fullness of my little heart, and I felt His answering affection spring up inside me. 

But something different happened that night.

As I sang, for the first time in my life my childish joy was pierced with a nameless and almost palpable grief.  It spread over me like a shadow or a chill, and suddenly the coming of the darkness, although still beautiful and serene, seemed not as much the birth of an evening as it did the death of a day.  

My song caught in my throat, and I stood and looked as far as I could--over my father's fields, past the jagged rows of trees which rimmed them, all the way to where the distant edges of our county broke into gentle hills against the sky--and felt the tug of something which was at the same time both invisible and irresistible.

It felt like a relentless force was pulling me beyond my sight into a vast and mysterious future, and I sensed that the urgent transcendence of this moment and the loveliness opening within it, were at the same time passing away and being replaced by...

...what?

I didn't know.  And it made me afraid.  

I suddenly saw that Life would only ever travel in the direction away from the bright wonders that daily broke upon me with such compelling freshness, and for the first time my spirit rebelled against the death of these small beauties and the absolute futility of trying to hold them still and safe.

And just maybe I caught a foreshadowing of the end of me--that incomprehensible certainty that one day I too would vanish like a sunset or a pretty wave on the beach.  

Whatever the cause, that night I lost my childish ability to completely revel in the wonderment of a perfect moment without simultaneously grieving its loss, so that the loveliness of the sky and the warmth of the air were infused with a sadness which sent me running from the mysterious twilight to the safe and familiar distractions of my home and family.

I don't mean to imply that from that day forward, I was not able to completely fully enjoy a moment while I was in it.  I have had a life so far marked by more joys than sorrows, and I am grateful for it.  I still sometimes stand under the stars and feel the pleasure of being the child of a Great God in a vast and glorious universe, but I do not think any of us can be completely happy here, nor do I think we are supposed to be.

You see, we were not made for endings, and try as we might, down here we cannot escape them.  

We were made for the garden, for eternity, for unbroken fellowship, for walking with unveiled faces with God and with each other.  (Genesis 2:7-15)

When that was destroyed by the corruption of sin, we were able to hold onto the shadows of the life we were made for, but not the substance. (Genesis 3:16-24)

From that day, we grasped the pieces of what we were to have had, but not the perfection, and we became in many ways the most pitiable of creatures: blind to our own deformities, eaten up by our own passions, unsatisfied by our gluttonous consumption, and imprisoned by our futile search for meaning and purpose and fulfillment in our confused, one-dimensional, materialist philosophies of life.  (Romans 1:18-32)

With all our science and psychology, we have not been able to explain why we are the only creatures who are routinely tortured by the "wrongness" of what we see around us.  

Other species seems to be accepting of "what is", but not us.

Look around you.  How many animals inebriate themselves on drugs and alcohol to escape the perceived horrors of reality?

How many are incapacitated by fear, anger, depression, and anxiety?  

How many choose self-mutilation or even self-extermination due to the unbearable weight of their own thoughts? 

I think the metaphysical reality of eternity rings in our hearts and demands an answer, and when we refuse to look for one, we doom ourselves to walk in an increasingly jarring landscape of grinding gears and slipping cogs.  

And here is what I also think:  God designed it to be that way.

He uses the internal struggle between the finite world and our eternal souls to drive us more fully and eagerly to Himself, to pry our fingers off a dying earth, and to lift our eyes toward our true home in heaven.  2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Because we are not living the lives we were created to inhabit as image bearers of the holy and eternal God, and only He can fix it.  (Romans 5:8)

I believe that God, in His mercy, sent the shadow into my childhood song as the first, gentle warning that despite my contentment here, all was not right. 

When you are young, the small griefs, small deaths (of perfect days, seasons, years, stages, moments with friends, passing accolades in academics and sports) are muted by the seemingly endless parade of beginnings (new skills, new teachers, new privileges, new friendships, new knowledge, young love, first jobs, new babies, new houses, fresh opportunities) which follow close upon one another--and the apparent distance of the ultimate end of oneself.

But then one day you wake up and the strength and vigor which once masked your mortality is replaced by visible lines on your face, gray in your hair, and weariness in your bones.

The children who once revolved around you like bright planets around a burning sun are creating new orbits which leave you sometimes feeling like a distant moon in a strange sky.

The career which defined you is not the ultimate fulfillment you imagined it would be, and your company's relentless hiring of 12 year olds who are smarter, fresher, more innovative, and more tech savvy than you are reminds you daily of your looming obsolescence.

The parents and mentors on whom you relied for wisdom and advice and comfort are growing older and weaker, and maybe aren't there at all anymore.

And your mind finally blinks awake to the truth that has been lurking around the edges for as long as you have been alive--the truth that broke over me on that quiet night so many years ago as a happy child on a peaceful farm:

That life is a story of perpetual loss in an ever-expanding corridor of endings.

That no good thing on earth lasts.

Children grow up.  Friends move away.  Love fades.  People change.  Jobs end.  Spouses die. Things break. Strength fails.  Buildings crumble. Nations fall.  Whole civilizations melt into history, and our hearts scream, "No!  Not yet.  Not now. Not me."

And often that truth is so enormous and incomprehensible that we burrow hard into what we know.  Distraction.  Denial.  Despair.

My impulse so many years ago was to run from the fields when the shadows fall, and too often it still is.  

I get scared and I run from the song I was singing.

Run from the close, cupping hand of God.  

Run from the hard truths of intimate communion with a Holy God to the bright, busy distractions of earth. 

I am not alone.  We humans are almost universal in our gluttonous appetites for too much of a good thing. We order our lives around the new and the novel, the safe and the comfortable.  We gorge on entertainment and busyness and we nurture our frantic obsession for belonging.

But eventually, even our gilded cages cannot keep out the sound of closing doors and what then? Denial?  Despair?

Yes. Just look at us.  

The old often embrace denial, cutting and recreating their faces and bodies into caricatures of youth and shaking a fist at the physical, financial, and logistical limitations that come with age.  

The young do it by throwing off responsibility, maturity--even biology--in a vain attempt to wrest the power of definition from the hand of an omnipotent God.  

All of us play at this grotesque game of dress-up to some degree, pretending that reality is not what is, but rather what we want it to be.

And when our sad little games fail, too often we choose despair.  We drown our sorrows, numb our pain--or worse, gorge ourselves on pain until it defines us, thinking that since life hurts, we will make it hurt on our terms.  Sometimes we even make it end on our terms.  

And still, still, still, this is simply us running from a loving, merciful, truthful God.

A God who is only closing doors so that we will not ultimately be satisfied with broken things in an alien land. 

A God who gives us good gifts down here to whet our appetites for the divine, but is kind enough to show us the dangerous, painful, shattered places underneath so that we might try find our way back to the garden, and back to Him. (Matthew 7:11, John 3:16)

I want to grow strong enough in my faith that I can stand in the field and watch the day die and the shadows fall and still sing from a full heart.  

I want to be unable to see beyond a horizon in any direction and still rejoice in the small wonders around my feet and the brilliant mysteries over my head.  

I want to feel a chill in the air and instead of running away, lift my face to the tender gaze of my Heavenly Father, who made me and loves me and is willing to break open my pale and narrow ideas of beauty and comfort and peace in order to one day restore to me what is beyond my imagination. (Philippians 3:17-20)

I want to be fearless at the dying of the light because it means the end of all endings. (2 Corinthians 5:6-8)

****************

Once upon a time I had a dream, or maybe it was a vision.  I was walking on a winding path in a little green wood.  A woman was walking ahead of me, and I could only see her from behind.  She was human, like me, but I cannot describe the beauty of her form or the grace and joy with which she walked.  

It was as if she had fallen from the fingers of God, and I felt pale and shabby and worn out by comparison--and utterly embarrassed to be in the presence of something as wonderful as she.

I wanted to run off the path and hide, lest she see me in my dilapidated state, but then she turned and looked at me over her shoulder.  

And shined a smile from her eyes and lips that left me breathless with wonder.

I knew it was my Grammi--not the Grammi who at that time was still alive next door, ticking off painful days in wizened body with a clouded mind--but Grammi as she would be when she finally came to the end of all endings, made perfect and going home.  

I don't know how I knew it was her, because she was incomprehensibly wonderful in her other-worldliness, but I knew.  

And I was just behind her, walking the same trail toward the same good end.  

From that time on, though this sounds odd, if it were not for the grief of the ones left behind, I would in some ways prefer a funeral to a wedding.

  
I feel like I was given a tiny window into the real "happily ever after" and now, nothing else will do.

As lovely as a wedding is with all its wide-eyed innocence and the hopeful dreams of youth, my heart grieves for the all the ways in which the two dreamers will one by one have to put to death their visions of how this union will bring about their ultimate fulfillment.  

Of course, in the process their relationship will mature from the heady emotional attraction which brought them to the altar, into the profoundly deep, self-sacrificial, and satisfying love which paints such a vivid picture of Christ and His church.  This is very good!

But how much better for the one who has come to the end of all endings--the one who has stepped out of his apparent finitude into the perfected fullness of eternal life. Psalm 16:11

*********************

To the dear ones in my life facing endings of various kinds right now, please know this: 

You are still before the face of God.

In His hand. Under His care.

He is still the God of truth, of beauty, of wonder.

He is the God of a love so great it drove Him from heaven to a bloody cross.

For You.

To an ending so enormous that it brought about the death of death, and the end of all endings for His little children.

For Us.

And He is speaking that Love to you in His word and in His world.

And if you let Him, He will lead you home. 

"So Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many; and he will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him."

Hebrews 9:28

"But as Scripture says, 'No eye has seen, 

no ear has heard

 and no mind has imagined

 the things that God has prepared for those who love him'."

 1 Corinthians 2:9 

How Do I Love Thee?

If you are not a Christian, this blog post will not interest you and does not apply to you.  (Just trying to save you some time:)

If you are a Christian, it still might not apply to you.  I wish it didn't apply to me, but I am regrettably susceptible to culture-creep, so it was an uncomfortable experience to write this post.

Actually, this blog pretty much wrote itself in one night several months ago after I experienced a particularly dark reminder of what I have been delivered from, followed by an overwhelming sense of the glorious relationship I have been saved for.

I have been actively NOT posting it ever since.  

For one, I don't think it has the right tone.  Too strident? Most likely. Too hard? Probably.

Secondly, I am a people-pleaser at heart.  I like to be liked.  I go all sleepless and weepy if I even think I smell a critical tone in an email, for goodness sake, so I don't tend to rush into crowded rooms and shout, "WAKE UP, YOU SELF-SATURATED SLEEPERS.  YOU DRANK THE KOOL-AID.  YOU'RE BEING POISONED BY YOUR OWN HAND. THROW IT OUT AND RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"

It just doesn't set well with one's friends to do that too often.

But ultimately I wonder if there is a way to scream a warning without actually...screaming a warning.  So I'm doing it.

Please know that I am writing this as a gut-check reminder to myself that every act of my life is worship--either of God, or of something else. 

"So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do ALL to the glory of God," says the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians.  

Or as John Piper expounds, "sin is not just a list of harmful things (killing, stealing, etc.). Sin is leaving God out of account in the ordinary affairs of your life. Sin is anything you do that you don't do for the glory of God." 

So let me ask you--


What if I wrote a song?

And it was the prettiest song in the history of songs?  What if the notes melded together in the perfect marriage of beautiful and bittersweet, and the melody moved the hearts of everyone who heard it? 

And then, what if I wrote into it a poem about the sweet satisfaction of drinking myself into a stupor and then going home and beating up my little girl?  

And then I sang it to my adopted daughter?

What if I commissioned a perfectly exquisite marble statue of my neighbor's husband...

...at the exact moment when he succumbed to the sexual advances of his secretary?

And then presented it as a gift to his betrayed wife?

What if I discovered the most inspired piece of artwork ever to grace a canvas?  And the technical skill and the use of color and shadow and boldness and nuance was universally acknowledged to have brought about the one painting that could make the Old Masters lay down their brushes and kneel at the artist's feet.

And it happened to be a painting of a terrorist beheading a child?

And I gave it to a Syrian refugee?

What would you think of me as a person?

What kind of horrible blog post is this anyway?

Just hear me out.

What if I insisted that I LOVED my daughter SO MUCH!  

And my neighbor's wife too.  Honest, I would do anything for her.  She's so amazing.  So selfless.  With such a heart for her family.

 And the Syrian refugee!  Oh!  She had absolutely captured my heart with her story, and I was committed to spending the rest of my life making her happy.  I had heard that her whole family was killed by ISIS and that just moved me so much that I didn't even care about my own life any more.  I just wanted to live for her.

And that is why I hung the gigantic, bloody reminder of her ultimate pain in her living room where she could be amazed by what a masterpiece it was.  

Because it is just art.

Because it stands apart from real life as ethically neutral.  Beyond judgement.  Sophisticated.  Inert. And thus, able to be appreciated in some sort of moral vacuum.

Ok.  Now I am talking to Christians.  And to myself as a Christ-follower.

So, what if I claimed to know Jesus?  Not "know about Jesus" like the historical figure or a storybook character.

But KNOW Jesus.  And love Him.  Like a person.  Like I know my daughter.  And my neighbor.  And my friends.  

And by know, I mean, I understand them--what they love and hate.  What makes them happy.  What hurts them.  

And by love I mean, my heart is for them, toward them.  Protective of them.  Anxious to please them.  Made sad by what makes them sad.  Made joyful by what brings them joy.  

And let's say this person, Jesus--this real, living, all-knowing, all-seeing, all-loving, sentient being--is with me all the time.  Let's say we are supposed to be best friends.  Let's say He proves it to ME every day.  

And lets say that He is mortally offended by certain things.  Literally.

Like they caused him to actually have to leave heaven and sinless perfection and perfect communion with His father, and DIE.  

And I know this.

But then, whenever the mood strikes me, I proceed to trot out a hit parade of everything that is most painful and repugnant to Him.  

Everything that distorts what He has made, and mangles His designs.

Everything that was responsible for putting real nails through his real flesh and causing His real Father to turn His face away and abandon Him to real evil.

I want to ask you a real question, fellow Christian.

How is that not like hanging a picture of Hitler in the home of a holocaust survivor?

Or putting together a slide show of her crime scene photos for a rape victim?

How can I stand before a Holy God and sing:

The club isn't the best place to find a lover
So the bar is where I go
Me and my friends at the table doing shots
Drinking fast and then we talk slow
Come over and start up a conversation with just me
And trust me I'll give it a chance now...

... I'm in love with the shape of you
We push and pull like a magnet do
Although my heart is falling too
I'm in love with your body
And last night you were in my room
And now my bedsheets smell like you...

... One week in we let the story begin
We're going out on our first date
You and me are thrifty, so go all you can eat
Fill up your bag and I fill up a plate...  --"The Shape of You" by Ed Sheeran

--without so much as blushing at the affront?

I am sick and tired of hearing Christians say that art and music and movies and books are elevated forms of expression that do not have to bow the knee to Anyone or anything.

"Get your legalism off my Deadpool."  

"Keep your moralizing out of my Grand Theft Auto."

"Let me sing my sex-saturated songs and read my horror-soaked books and laugh at the comedization of all manners of perversity in movies and television." 

And then say my choices are exempt from scrutiny or judgment because, after all, it's all art and entertainment.  And we are grown ups.

Well.
  
The only thing in the universe that does not have to bow to the standards of a Holy God is...God. 

 So, if art is exempt from the same kind of stringent, ruthless, critical, love-driven analysis that everything else in a Christian's life is supposed to undergo, then I guess that would make "art"..."God".  

And what does that make God?

And what are we really worshiping?
 
I can no more enjoy the glamorization of adultery or fornication in a movie (or a song or a painting or a sculpture or a book) than I could laugh over a comedy about child abuse or a comic book about ISIS.  

These things killed Someone I love, and because I love Him, I want to distance myself from everything that hurts His heart and my relationship with Him.   

And it's not just Jesus I want to love and protect.

Lets talk about the people down here.

My childrens' birth moms bought the distorted vision of what their bodies and minds were worth from a culture that soft-pedaled evil.  It was delivered via smooth pop and clever sitcoms and cheap novels and raunchy movies with happy endings.  And smooth-tongued players satisfied their appetites with them and left them and their babies to fend for themselves in a hungry world.

These women bought it all for cheap and it destroyed them and almost destroyed their children. 

I cannot wink at the carnage that sin has wreaked in the lives of the ones that I love.

If something is "not that bad" then why did hurt my babies and their mamas?

Why did Jesus have to die over it?  

If it IS that bad, then how can we justify listening to it, watching it, or reading it for amusement? 

 Ever.  

No matter how pretty or funny or entertaining or clever it is?

Just because there might be a jewel of truth buried in a mountain of lies, doesn't mean I am going to waste my life chopping through worthless rock looking for it.  

Especially when there is a mountain of treasure for the taking right behind me. (James 1:17, Ephesians 2:3-5)

And just because there might be a chocolate Whopper in the rabbit pellets, doesn't mean I'm going to suck on them until I find one.  

Particularly when there is a banquet full of every good thing already laid out for me. (Philippians 4:8, Psalm 84:11)

Call me a legalist.  Call me weak.  Call me judgmental.  Call me anything you want.  As a person who loves art, I have struggled as much as anyone with wanting to give myself to the appreciation of creativity--even when it is corrupted by smatterings of things which God, in His word, has called evil.  

But I live before His face, in His presence, for His glory, by His power.  I killed Him once.  

But He forgave me and took me into His family and gave me a hope and a future.

And nothing I might see or hear here is worth compromising the sweetness of His pleasure ever again.  

*************

Philippians 3:7-10

But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. 

What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. 

I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.

Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Launching Young Adults

Hahaha!  Gotcha!

If there was a "successfully launching well-rounded adults from your home" continuum ranging from "novice" to "expert", I'd be the one at the starting line waving a rattle and blowing spit bubbles.  

I freely admit to being new at this, but what I have been surprised by is the unsolicited horde of experts who have suddenly come out of the woodwork to openly tell me I am doing it wrong.

If I had a nickel for the number of raised eyebrows, pursed lips and cynical comments we have received from people who learn that our girls have not immediately flown the coop upon reaching the ripe old age of 18, I'd have almost enough to buy one college textbook;)

"You know, you're going to have to let them go sometime."

"Eventually they're going to have to learn to stand on their own two feet."

"You can't shelter them forever."  (Patronizing verbal head-pat.)

First of all, I don't lay claim to knowing the one and only absolutely foolproof method of raising children to adulthood and ensuring that they never make stupid decisions.  (Actually, I'm pretty sure there isn't one, seeing as how all children are humans, and all humans make at least a few regrettable decisions during the course of a lifetime.)

As for why our girls are still living at home, at this time both of our adult daughters are engaged in meaningful, productive activities both outside and within our home.  They work hard and contribute to our household and their community.  They have active social lives, but also seem to enjoy being with their parents and their siblings, and we certainly enjoy being with them.  

For these and other reasons, we have felt very comfortable in saying they are welcome to live here until God calls them elsewhere.  What I wasn't prepared for was the number of people who have openly intimated that we are doing it wrong.

I'm sure we are.  We have done certain things wrong at every state of parenting and there's no reason to think anything has changed, but neither are we just flying by the seat of our pants without any sort of plan or rationale for this phase of life.

We are trying to nurture our young adults by following the example of others we know who have raised fine, godly children, and for now, this is what it looks like. 

I freely admit that I am at the grammar stage of learning to launch young adults.  What this means is that I am mastering the facts of the situation, gaining vocabulary, and becoming familiar with the foundation of the concept before I build a house on it.  

And like anyone who is a grammar student in a subject, I need to look around and identify the people who have done this already and done it well, and then try to see what, if anything, they have in common with each other, and hopefully gain some wisdom from their methods.  

I learned how to speak English from those who speak it well.  I learned to read, write, and do math from people who were fluent in those disciplines.  I took piano lessons and played volleyball, learned how to play the drums, and ran track in high school under teachers and coaches who knew their fields better than I did, and I grew in skill under their tutelage.

In the same way, my parents took care to nurture my young faith by putting before me good role models, pastoral teaching, books, sermons, discussions, and mentors, and I learned how to walk in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

By the grace of God, I continued to follow the same model of purposeful discipleship into adulthood.  When I was married, Jamey and I attended marriage conferences every year without fail, and actively sought the fellowship of older couples who were "doing marriage well".  

As a new mom, I read voraciously and again set myself under veteran mommies and sought the wise counsel of my own mom.

And now again, I find myself at a new stage of parenthood, and a new stage of learning how to do it well.  

Let me be clear--I am under no illusion that if I just "do everything right", I will magically end up with a perfect marriage, perfect kids, or a perfectly running household.  Human beings are quirky, unpredictable beings and formulas are only foolproof in math and physics:)

But God has given us principles--a moral framework within which human thriving is accomplished--and those principles are inculcated within a system of community marked by consistent accountability and discipleship, wherein (ideally) the elders take the younger men and women in hand and help cure them of the remnants of childish folly, pressing them gently and firmly toward the life of love, service, and sacrifice to which we are called as Christians.  (Titus 2, Hebrews 13:7 , Philippians 3:17, 2 Thessalonians 3:7-9 )

As in so many other things, our culture has managed to get this concept completely backwards.  We have adopted the "youth-as-god" model and allowed the students to become the teachers in everything from the mundane (fashion) to the monumental (faith).  

Around age 14, this generation has begun pushing away the very people who have the experience, wisdom, and knowledge to help them grow into healthy, functional adults.

Parents have been made to feel guilty for exercising some measure of oversight of their teenagers in matters of music, movies, and social media.  Instead of pulling their children up into the world of adult conversation, industry, and responsibility, we immerse them in a youth culture which glamorizes selfish irresponsibility and hedonistic consumerism of both people and things.  

At their demand, we give them unfettered access to devices full of unprofitable, immature, and often dangerous material.  We fill their eyes and ears with powerful images of sex without boundaries or consequences.  We gratify their whims and remove the expectation of hard work and sacrifice from their shoulders.  

We bless the intrusion of social media into every crevice of their existence and allow it to push our kids out of the warp and woof of family life, so that they effectively trade the community of individuals they were born into for a tailor-made posse of hand-picked admirers.  

Is mom demanding?  Are siblings annoying?  Is grandma boring?  With the flick of the thumb our babies can instantly connect with a throng of cheering fans, ready to "like" every selfie they take in the bathroom mirror, as well as the avalanche of artsy Instagram posts of their toes in the sand, their fingers curled around coffee cups, and delicate strands of hair wafting in front of cynically arched eyebrows.

We allow our teenagers to develop an addiction to electronic endorphins and foster an unrealistic appetite for adulation.

And then, at the ripe old age of 18, we drop these over-praised, over-sexed, over-stimulated, under-disciplined baby adults into a college culture packed with other over-praised, over-sexed, over-stimulated, under-disciplined baby adults (overseen by a gleeful band of career visionaries and academicians), wave goodbye, and yell, "Live long and prosper!" over our shoulders are we drive away.  

What?  Is it any surprise that the campus life at most colleges is awash with young men and women flaunting their nascent sexuality with reckless abandon, getting drunk, making permanent, life-changing decisions with half-formed frontal lobes, abusing drugs, committing suicide, and generally wreaking havoc with their lives and the lives of others?

Should we really be shocked that these "snowflakes" we have unleashed on the world are exhibiting all the thoughtful self control of a class of grammarians whose teacher has been locked out of the classroom?

This generation is having so much trouble adjusting to reality that, in addition to some of them not even being sure if they are boys or girls, they also need pet therapy and cry rooms to cope with the lawful results of a democratic election process. 

Could it be they are only living out the consequences of skipping the grammar stage of adulthood?

They are trying to speak a language they have never been taught, and I think that we parents are in large part responsible for putting that impossible burden on them.  

We cannot completely blame our children for acting like hedons when we as parents have been cowed into silence on the "ought to's" of adulthood.

And here again is where I start talking to Christians alone.  A pagan culture is being true to itself when it lives as though every man is his own god.  We ought not be surprised when we see it because God has told us it would be so. 

 Jeremiah 17:9 says,  "The heart is more deceitful than all else And is desperately sick; Who can understand it?"  

 Mark 7:21-23 reiterates, "For it is from within, out of a person’s heart, that evil thoughts come—sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly. All these evils come from inside and defile a person.”

As with most things related to human thriving, God has not been silent on either the pitfalls or the protections we can choose.

Here is what we know.

1).  No human is as spiritually strong or morally unassailable as they think they are.  (Galatians 5:17 "For the flesh craves what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are opposed to one another, so that you do not do what you want.")

2). We never outgrow our need for community and accountability, which means that we are ever in the roles of both discipler and discipled.  (Philippians 3:17 Join together in following my example, brothers and sisters, and just as you have us as a model, keep your eyes on those who live as we do.)

Because of the two previous points:

3).  We will become like the community of people we choose to closely surround ourselves with.  (Ephesians 4:17-25  "You must no longer walk as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their thinking. They are darkened in their understanding and alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them due to the hardness of their hearts. Having lost all sense of shame, they have given themselves over to sensuality for the practice of every kind of impurity, with a craving for more. But this is not the way you came to know Christ. Surely you heard of Him and were taught in Him in keeping with the truth that is in Jesus.  You were taught to put off your former way of life, your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be renewed in the spirit of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.

Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to his neighbor, for we are members of one another.")

4) At every new stage of life, we need to humble ourselves and learn how to do it well from the people who are doing it well. (1 Corinthians 11:1 "You are to imitate me, just as I imitate Christ.")



I am not saying that your adult children should never leave home without you, or that no one should ever send their kid off to college or into the work force, but for goodness sake, send them with the expectation that they will need to continue to live lives of connection and accountability.  

Check on them.  Ask hard questions.  Strive to maintain the heartstrings you have tied for 18 years.  Exhort them.  Encourage them.  Remind them gently of your mutual need for spiritual connection and Biblical instruction.  It is through this sharpening process that grammarians master their discipline and transition from being "snowflakes" to becoming spiritual leaders of the faith.   

Of course, with the learning of any new grammar, be it Latin declensions or "living holy as a young adult in a pagan culture", there will be missteps and errors, but for the Christian person, the Holy Spirit in conjunction with the Word of God and fellow believers walking in fellowship will faithfully redirect a willing heart when it falters.  

My prayer for my youngsters is that they will mature with the expectation of needing and welcoming that guidance throughout every new season of life-- not because they aren't grown up, but because they are creatures made for community, made to be both teachers and the taught from the moment of their birth to the moment of their death.  

This includes how to be a child, how to be a student, how to be a young adult, newly married, young parents, old parents :), empty nesters, grandparents, widows and widowers.  

There is a grammar stage for how to be godly when you fail and how to be godly when the world is your oyster, how to be strong, how to be sick, how to be young, how to be old, and ultimately how to die well.

For all of those stages, if we are willing to be humble enough to seek counsel from the faithful who have walked before us, we will conduct ourselves as the Apostle Paul wrote, " in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. [so that] whether I come and see you or hear about you in my absence, I will know that you stand firm in one spirit, contending side by side for the faith of the gospel."

 This is what we are trying to give our children for as long as they will receive it.  For now, it looks like all of us living under one roof, but even when that changes, my prayer is that they will always be willing to live under accountability--both to those who share the bonds of family and to those who share the bond of faith. 

Despite what our independence-obsessed culture says, interdependence is actually a gift we give one another.  

--A gift designed for us by a benevolent and wise God because He knew it would be the path to inner peace, true freedom, and human thriving. 

***************

Proverbs 3:1-8

My son, do not forget my teaching, 
but let your heart keep my commandments,
for length of days and year of life
and peace
they will add to you.

Let not steadfast love and faithfulness
forsake you;
bind them around your neck;
write them on the tablet of your heart.

So you will find favor and good success
in the sight of God and man.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.

In all your ways acknowledge Him,
and He will make straight your paths.

Be not wise in your own eyes;
fear the Lord, and turn away from evil.

It will be healing to your flesh
and refreshment to your bones.