The Real Deal

A's cheeks flush and nostrils flare.  I watch as she lifts her hand in frustration and brings it down sharply to strike my arm.  I can't even recall what prompted the tantrum but whatever sparked the meltdown, it has now fanned into an all-out flame.  I know the routine well.  Mild-mannered and sweet most of the time, every few months my child draws the line in the carpet and digs her heels in deep, hands on hips, glaring a dare that would make a grown man tremble.  I catch her arm in mid-air and sharply say, "Stop it, now.  Calm down and breathe."  She picks up her Kindle and slams it into the floor.  I silently pick up the Kindle and march it upstairs to my room, where I place it on the top shelf of my closet under a quilt.  "You've lost electronic privileges until Friday."  I watch the painstaking unraveling of my daughter and hold back tears as she shouts at me before running into her room, where I know she has flung herself onto her bed to erupt into sobs.  I fight the urge to do the same.  Instead, I open my prayer journal and pour out my heart to God, begging for wisdom.

My daughter emerged from the womb strong-willed, once she finally decided in her own time to make an appearance.  She broke my water to let me know she was on the way but fought doses of pitocin and other painful labor-inducing procedures for hours, insisting she come on her own timetable.  If I wasn't aware of her strong will then, I became keenly aware, when after three months without sleep, a sweet soul volunteered to keep my infant angel while I desperately tried to secure some much needed shut-eye.  I had barely laid my weary head on the pillow when the phone rang and a harried voice on the other line sighed, "She's been screaming ever since you left.  I'm so sorry; I don't think I can do this."  I'm pretty sure I passed out and when I came to, I somehow drove to pick up my sweet girl to bring her home for another two years of no sleep.  She brought the cry-it-out experts to their knees.  Go ahead, Ferberize my day!

I caught another glimpse of this strong-willed spirit when at three, I spent two hours trying to put her in time out.  Inspired by an episode of Supernanny, I silently and patiently placed her little body in the time-out chair time after time after time as my own mom, who was visiting, watched the ordeal.  A and I had both drawn our lines and, by george, neither of us was giving in.  Bless my mom for not saying a word as this inexperienced mom battled an iron, independent will.  I devoured Dr. Dobson's Strong-Willed Child and Cynthia Tobias's You Can't Make Me.  Nodding in affirmation as I checked off every item on their list of strong-willed tendencies.  I encourage you all to refer to the story of Little Red from the park for further examples of my baby girl's strong will. http://sportymamajules.blogspot.com/2007/09/hair-raising-revelation.html  (Mark my word, though, when God tames, not breaks, but tames, her strong spirit for the right purpose she will be unstoppable, and I love that one day the same will that sometimes frustrates her mom will one day leave me awed and proud.  I'm also hoping she uses that same "whatever" glare when her peers try to talk her into doing something she knows is wrong, but I digress.)

I'd like to say I have no idea who passed along this mystery gene, but I'm sure that same mom who watched her daughter struggle to put a mini-tyrant in time-out thought back to the time she asked her own daughter, a girl who looks remarkably similar to me, to clean the bathroom.  The story goes that this girl cleaned the bathroom, but it failed to meet her mom's standards, so after a few failed attempts, the girl stomps sullenly into the bathroom, grabs a can of Comet, and in an all-out tantrum flings the entire can of cleaner all over the room.  Let's say once the green Comet dust settled on my her skin the only thing missing was ripped blue jeans and bulging biceps and the resemblance to the Incredible Hulk would have been eerily similar.  Needless to say, someone spent hours with a vacuum cleaner hose on her hands and knees sucking up tiny, powdery particles.  I'm sure my siblings could tell tales of my infamous tantrums.  I really hope you're all shocked to learn this and are exclaiming, "Not, Julie Anna!"  After years of prayer, God taught me how to channel my frustration into more productive endeavors like running and truly delivered me from a short temper. I understand the helplessness of not being able to adequately express extreme frustration or of not being able to have control in a situation where you feel you should have a say, but I also understand the unbelievable grace of a heavenly Father, who not only forgives but also promises that we are an incomplete work, and He's not finished, yet.

I walk into my daughter's room and pull her into my arms for a hug.  "Grab your shoes and let's go."  Baffled, she slips her feet into her pink-striped flip-flops and follows me to the car.  I load A and her brother into the car and take them to Sweet Frog.  (I know, "you what?")  Over frozen yogurt, I explain to a calm, remorseful A the concept of grace.  "You know, Pumpkin, your behavior didn't exactly earn ice cream, today, but Mom decided to extend grace and give you something you didn't deserve, much like Jesus chose to give us a gift we didn't deserve or earn."  She nods and asks if I can extend more grace and give back her Kindle early. It's not quite the a-ha moment I was hoping for.  "Um, no.  That's a consequence for a poor choice.  God also disciplines those He loves, but our behavior and poor choices don't stop Him from giving us His grace. There's nothing you can do that will ever make Him or me stop loving you. Mommy doesn't always know the right thing to do or the right way to respond but God does, and we can always ask Him for help."  Like so many times before, my daughter and I pray for God's guidance for both of us.  While the tantrums leave me weary, those quiet moments following, where my daughter and I grasp hands, bow our heads, and seek the Lord's guidance leave me breathless with gratitude, grateful that I can share such moments of faith-building with my daughter, that I can teach her where to turn when life leaves her baffled because I've been there before, and I understand how she feels.

I'm not sure what that moment communicated to my daughter, but I hope what resonated is that God's grace is real, that He doesn't expect us to jump through hoops or follow a bunch of random rules before He accepts us.  I pray that if I teach my children anything about faith it's that Jesus is into a relationship, not rules or religion.  That our obedience is the joyous outpouring of gratitude and love.  The truth is that as a church we are losing an entire generation of young people.  Young adults are walking out the doors and not looking back.  I wonder if it's because we present God as simply a referee who throws flags and calls fouls, who is only interested in us when we do the right thing.  Could it be that we don't model a real faith for our kids?  Is it that we attend church on Sunday but don't mention or follow God the rest of the week?  Do our kids see us walking daily with Christ?  Do our children see us when we struggle to find the right answers, or do we constantly act like we've always got it together as if we know all the answers because we're afraid that if they think we have any questions or doubts or fears that it will somehow turn them away from Jesus?  Do we insist our kids have a relationship with Jesus when we fail to have one ourselves?  It's hard to model genuine faith when we don't practice it.  Is that lack of authenticity, is our lack of making faith an active part of our daily lives driving people from Christ?  If it's so important then why aren't we living it?  If it's so life-altering, then why aren't we allowing Him to change us?  I ask myself these questions often because I know children see when we proclaim something with our lips yet fail to live it in our day-to-day.

I almost didn't write this.  I could hear the voices of all the parenting critics chastising me in my head.  Well, strong-willed, shmill, she just needs a spanking.  I'll tell you what you're doing wrong.  If it were my child, I would.....(Please tell me I'm not the only one who hears voices....of self-doubt from time to time.)  Parenting can be messy, lonely, frustrating, and scary.  Faith, too, can be messy, lonely, frustrating, and scary.  We all struggle with doubts.  We all have questions that aren't neatly answered.  Faith is complicated.  But grace isn't.  Jesus isn't.  I know where to turn when I don't have the answers.  When my children wake up one morning and apparently conspire against me while I'm stumbling to find my first cup of caffeine, I know in Whom my hope resides.  But do my kids?  Does my daughter know that when her emotions are spiraling out of control, and she's not sure why she's so frustrated that it's okay to feel that way, and there's a God who loves her and promises He'll help her or guide her to someone who can teach her to handle those emotions constructively?  Does my son know that God forgives Him when he messes up, that obedience should be the goal but that in His flesh he'll make bad decisions, and when he does God, mom, and dad still love him?  When A's heart is broken or she doesn't get picked for a team, will she have a relationship with the great Healer?

Parenting a strong-willed child and parenting a boy (my boy moms know what I mean) has driven me to my knees more than I ever imagined it could.  I have knee pads next to my Bible.  (Not really.) It is a humbling experience, but God is teaching me in a very real way about dependence and finding strength in Him in my weakness.  He's teaching me that it is my role to disciple my children into a real, authentic relationship with Him, that it won't happen accidentally, that it isn't the church's job, that it isn't the school's role.  It is mine, it is daily, and it takes deliberate effort.  God admonishes us in Deuteronomy 6:7 of the importance of being deliberate in teaching our children about Him, and the last command Christ gives on earth is to go and make disciples teaching them His commands.  My family is my first mission field.  If I'm completely honest, it is one of the main reasons I home school. That in this life, sure, our career is important, that our college choice matters, good school districts are fine, but all that pales in comparison to our walk with Christ.  When it all comes down to it, there is nothing more important in my role as a parent than modeling and encouraging for my children an authentic relationship with Jesus, and I simply can't do that if I don't have one myself.

My experiences parenting my sweet little ones have shown me what humility (never ever say never when it comes to parenting) and complete dependence on God look like.  When I had the nerve to pray that God would humble me, He blessed me with children.  When I asked Him to help me understand grace, He blessed me with children.  When I asked Him to help me understand what His love for me is like, He blessed me with children.  God is using parenting like so many other experiences to mold me into the woman He wants me to become.  And just as He's called me into the most rewarding but difficult phase of my life, I can rest in the assurance that He will equip me for whatever challenges A and C decide to hurl my way, both literally and figuratively.  It is in the most difficult parenting moments where God brings me to the end of myself because that's exactly where He's leading me because it is only there where I become completely dependent on Him.  It is from that place where He empowers and equips me to teach my children what true dependence on God looks like, what a true relationship with Christ resembles.  Through the tantrums, the lines in the sand, the explosion of giggles when science projects go bad, broken hearts, soccer successes, beach trips, long talks after books are read and the lights are out, and all of those special parenting joys, my prayer is that I can guide my children closer to the One who blesses us with each moment.