BSF redeems itself, a little

So after I complained about that home training lesson about teaching kids to be considerate, based on the water-into-wine miracle, the next week’s lesson was about responding to kids’ questions about such things as being born again, based on the meeting between Nicodemus and Jesus. Much better.

Not bad, but not best

So I’ve been attending BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) with two friends and our toddlers for about a month.

I like that we are studying the Gospel of John for a whole year — I like that kind of immersion. I also like that we carpool, so there’s an hour or so each way for conversation and enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes things about BSF rub me the wrong way. Often I have a hard time putting my finger on exactly what’s bothering me about it.

For example, the children’s “Home Training Lesson” for this week. The Scripture is the first part of John 2, where Jesus turns the water into wine at the wedding.

The home training lesson is about teaching children to be considerate of others. That’s a fine goal — one I share. But it would never have entered my mind to connect that goal with this Scripture passage.

It just seems to me that it’s misguided to jump so quickly from what Jesus does to an application about what we (or our kids) should do. Instead, linger on Jesus — understand why he does what he does, what it reveals about him and his mission, and only later consider whether, and to what extent, it implies that we do anything similar.

I think this is especially true for young children. The toddler stage is just beginning to include taking any notice of other people as anything other than providers of something for the child, whether entertainment, comfort, attention, or whatever. I would much rather my little girl hear thousands of words about who Jesus is, how much he loves her, what he has done for her, for every two words about what she should do.

Not that I think we should avoid talk of sin for the little ones — just that it can be discussed differently. Define what sin is — especially that it is a condition of separation from God, and particular actions or evasions are merely symptoms of that condition. Note that God hates sin, but immediately add that God’s mercy and justice meet at the Cross, when Jesus died to pay for forgiveness of sins. Then let the Spirit and natural development and our own example reveal to her that sin applies to her, too.

Even we as adults need to know God’s kindness before we can be led to repentance. We are far more likely to overflow with real consideration and kindness ourselves when we feel how much God has overflowed with consideration and kindness towards us. We already know we should be good and kind — we don’t really need to be reminded of that command as much as we need to be reminded about who was good and kind to us, which is the only thing that guiltlessly, shamelessly, freely, inspires us to true goodness and kindness, the kind that won’t burn us out or feel like death.

Consider this kids’ hymn, “I’ll be a Sunbeam” — here’s a site with lyrics (beware — the midi music plays automatically, but you can turn it off upper left) and here’s a video — my first introduction to this song, actually; people were finding my blog by searching for something called “Little Marcy,” so I searched for it too and found this puppet. (Sorry, any Little Marcy fans — I find her rather creepy.)

What I don’t like about this hymn is that its exclusive focus is on what a child should do for and because of Jesus. The one part about Jesus doing anything is still phrased with the emphasis on the child’s work — Jesus is just the helper. Again — being good, kind, loving, pleasant, and happy are good things. But the best thing is knowing Jesus — not merely as a giver of commands we already know and have such a hard time obeying or even wanting to obey, but as our Lord and Savior, who first loved us, who promises us new hearts, a spring of living water, who frees us from the impossible responsibility of meeting God’s law perfectly, and frees us to love righteousness because he who loves us IS righteousness and gives us his righteousness.

Carnival Against Child Abuse

Carnival Against Child Abuse

(A blog carnival is a collection of posts from many different bloggers about a particular topic.)

You all know that I work at two things in my parenting that seem to be in tension with one another: maintaining healthy space for myself and my needs, and being a safe, good, loving, compassionate, and respectful mama for my daughter.

You know that each of these things sometimes makes it hard for me to work on the other one. When I am feeling more need for my own space, I can feel Amy as a hindrance. When I am feeling more like an inadequate mama, I can feel myself as the hindrance to both of us. It’s challenging to keep looking for the necessary, the healthy, balance.

Several of the blogs I read are written by survivors of childhood abuse. I found them, or they found me, because we both write about mental health issues.

Reading some of the things they write sometimes renews both sides of my parenting tension. When one of these survivors reminds readers to “Love your inner child,” or posts a painting of a mama holding a child, and another child standing in a corner, with the caption, “Are you holding or ignoring your inner child?” it reminds me first of all to hear the whiny and defensive inner call for more me time and space as the voice of my inner child, and to respond compassionately*. It reminds me secondly to keep hearing the (sometimes unspoken, despite all her chatter) voice of my daughter calling for more together time and space, and to respond compassionately* to her as well.

It’s when one is not feeling well-loved that one gets insecure, defensive, grumpy, inadequate, and so on. I need to love both of us well — me and her. And I need to drink and eat, more and more, how lavishly the Father loves both of us.

*Compassion doesn’t always mean giving what is requested. But even when the answer is “no,” it can be given lovingly, sympathetically, and respectfully.

D A Carson on the Sermon on the Mount

Bitsy’s giving it away — I want it!

Food and faith

Wow, this is a thought-provoking post.

Judgments

1. Listened to Look Again by Lisa Scottoline on my way to Kentucky and back and forth to the school each day. I almost turned it off after the first few paragraphs because of the writing style — very ordinary in a purposeful way, covering mundane detail and sometimes stating the obvious. But the story was interesting, and the somewhat silly romance was still romantic. It’s about a single adoptive mom who finds out her adoption was illegal, and that the kid had been kidnapped.

2. I also listened to Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, on my way back home and for two evenings after. I had never read the book — why read a book about burning books? Everyone knows that book-burning is not good. What else could it possibly have to say?

But it’s Ray Bradbury.

It was a little hard to listen to, because it’s hard to tell sometimes when Bradbury is being literal and when his imagery is waxing metaphoric.

It ends up being less about book-burning or censorship, and more about what book-burning represents in the story — a refusal to live below the surface, a refusal to ever consider anything that might be bothersome or problematic, including authentic relationship.

3. Today we went to the lake beach for the first time this season. On our way we stopped at some stores looking for an inflatable ring for Amy — first store had none but we bought some inflatable arm bands, and then we tried another store and found a nice ring in Amy’s favorite color, green. We met our friends at their house, packed some lunch together, and then hit the beach with some other friends.

After a while, especially after seeing another kid borrow her ring, Amy developed an interest in using her ring, and eventually got quite comfortable with it.

She had a few rather intense reactions to kids touching her or touching her things or getting close.

At one point, while another kid was using the ring, I suggested we try the armbands. Well and good. But then a one-year-old had the audacity to touch one — twice — while she was wearing it. She ran from the water to the blanket, managed to get one armband off rather easily, then struggled with the other, crying.

My first thought was to leave her alone. First of all, she was upset and had the right to cry about it. There’s nothing wrong with crying when you’re upset. If she wanted me, she could ask for me. Secondly, she had no trouble removing the first armband, so surely if I leave her alone she’ll eventually figure out the second, and then it will be all her own accomplishment, which is so important at this age.

I think, though, that I underestimated her level of frustration. And I forgot that sometimes, when you’re upset, you run away and keep stiff but you still really want to be pursued and held.

We recovered (and then had some more mini-meltdowns) and overall I think our first day at the beach this season was a success.

Containment

I woke up from a dream in which various short row bits of knitting were shriveling like lettuce left to dry, and remembered the stuff I was reading before bed from the Penelope Leach Baby and Child book.

We’ve been dealing with a lot of disobedience and meltdowns with Amy lately. Things like delaying when we ask her a question or ask her to do something, even when it’s not negative. Repeating her statement or question over and over whether you answer it or not, getting louder and more insistent, obviously not in a state of mind to receive anything we say. Continuing to do things that irritate us that we’ve told her so very many times not to do, sometimes right after we tell her not to do it. Like kicking or throwing things when she’s frustrated, putting things in her mouth that are not allowed in there (there are some things she’s allowed to put in her mouth), not being gentle when she climbs on someone or interacts with the cat, changing her mind four times in three seconds, as well as the above-mentioned delayings and repetitions.

And, what especially prompted the turning to Leach again, continuing to get out of bed as soon as we leave the room. We keep going in and putting her back in bed (actually, when we go in she knows what’s coming and usually tries to get back in bed before we get there), trying to be firm but calm and not too interesting. I don’t mind if she chatters to herself in bed, because at least if she’s in the bed, she’s more likely to drop off when she gets tired. But if she’s out in the room playing, she’s more likely to keep herself awake.

Before I got the book out, I remembered times I’ve caught parts of Super Nanny shows, and how with timeouts or bedtimes she’s all about continuing to put the child back in the chair or the bed without making a big fuss — just boring repetitive firmness without aggression or attention.

Repetition figured big in the relevant chapters of Leach, too. Toddlers, even ones who talk so sophisticatedly like Amy and seem to understand so much, really need a lot of repetition to learn things, even though it seems like you’ve told them over and over again not to do x, even though they can even tell you that they know they’re not allowed to do x. I guess for a toddler to say they know they’re not allowed to do x is not quite as much understanding as it seems to be.

Some repetition — like the repeating of questions and statements that seems either like attention-seeking or expressions of determined crankiness — could be a sign of stress. Toddlers need some opportunity to be frustrated — i.e. opportunity to try things just beyond their current skill levels — but not too much. Sure is hard to find the balance, and to determine how much is too much, and how to provide scaffolding (just enough help but not too much help) without adding too much to the frustration one way or the other.

But it seems like the frequency and duration of these disobediences and meltdowns is a clue that life lately is too frustrating for Amy, and we need to scale back some things.

I need to continue to use pronouns correctly myself, and play along with talking about them when she shows interest, but not make a fuss over it when she reverts to calling herself “you” and me or Mark “I.” That’s tough, too, because sometimes it’s not obvious whether she’s using “you” to mean herself or me or Mark, so I have to clarify. I want to clarify without it coming across as pressured correction.

Then there’s the idea of containment — providing an environment and atmosphere that is sufficiently firm AND sufficiently compassionate so that she feels safe, welcome, and appropriately free. I’ve talked before about compassion and respect, the two ideas I’ve found most reflect my ideal approach to parenting and other relationships. I need to keep working on practicing those.

Leach acknowledges that parents get angry, and that it’s not unreasonable or incomprehensible. (Irrational is not the same as unreasonable. And even irrational feelings are still valid feelings — it’s the incorrect interpretations that make them irrational, not the feelings themselves.) We need to work on being angry appropriately — modeling the behavior we’re prescribing, like giving ourselves a break, taking time out, hitting or throwing or banging something soft in a safe way, or some other physical expression or outlet that is safe. We need to keep fighting the temptation to take things personally or catastrophize the current situation (i.e. she’s going to grow up to be a hellion), and we need to keep fighting to distinguish between Amy and her behavior. It’s a little surprising to me — a little interesting — how strongly the sense of hatred wells up when Amy’s behavior is pushing our limits. We don’t want to hate her, any more than she wants to hate us when she’s pushing.

I need to safeguard my own needs for space and quiet at times. But I need to tip the balance back towards Amy a little — give her more direct “playing with” time as well as “playing independently” time, reduce our demands, make cooperation more naturally appealing and easier.

And I probably need to go back to bed.

A child who hits

My friend Sandi linked to this post on how one mom deals with a child who hits. I think it’s great — understands the psychological development and needs of a young child and how to both deal firmly with inappropriate behavior and deal compassionately and respectfully with the child.

(I just browsed a bit in the blog that published the post — let me just say that I don’t agree with everything posted at the blog.)

A note for parents, on refuge

Psalm 91 — my refuge

A post from Joe about providing refuge for our children — and about considering what refuge and lack of refuge we too have experienced.

———

And then I read the next one, in which he says he wanted to delete the one I linked above, because he thought he did such a bad job with it. Read on for the rest.

God and earthly things

I have been reading in Joe’s blog again, a few of the posts from early October.

A recurring theme is the desire or the call to wait in silence for God only — in other words, to have all the trust and dependence and hope and desire aimed at God, not at earthly things.

This sounds good and feels right in crisis — when earthly things are failing rapidly and miserably, when disappointment is keen and ever-present. When earthly things are obviously in opposition to trust in God, well, it’s easy to see the opposition. It’s not always easy to choose God, but it’s at least clear that a choice needs making.

On the surface, it sounds like a total rejection of the world and earthly things, as if matter and flesh and bodies and pleasures and pains were evil. As if one should never go to or trust a doctor or any other professional, or a friend or family member. As if the only possible spiritual life is a desert mystic hermit’s life of isolation and separation.*

I don’t think Joe means it quite in that way. I think he’s talking about ultimate trust, ultimate desire, and so on — the creature, created things, are good when they are in their right place in our hearts — not first, as replacing or displacing God, but second, as his good gifts.

At times, there are real goods in earthly things — sometimes friends show real kindness and love, sometimes strawberries taste fantastic, sometimes doctors diagnose correctly and treat effectively and sickness yields to medicine.

At times, earthly things fail or disappoint — all creation is affected by the fall and the subsequent curse.

Somehow, the key seems to be to accept the good and the bad among earthly things as reality, as provided by and presided over by God, whose purposes cannot be thwarted, and whose goodness and love are trustworthy.

That’s not to say that good and bad are meaningless categories. Call the pleasure pleasurable and thoroughly enjoy it (but don’t pin your hopes on it or demand that it last forever or think that it’s the ultimate good or the fountain of life). Call the pain painful and don’t try to escape or transcend or deny the suffering (and don’t pin your despair on it or believe it will last forever or think that it’s your ultimate doom).

Over and over again, God is revealing to me lately how skeptical and afraid I am about him — how much I fear that perhaps he isn’t good and loving after all. I fear that I only believe in his goodness and love because I want to. I fear that the evidence for his goodness and love is not actually there, or is ambiguous, or is contradicted by evidence that seems to suggest his injustice, hatred, or non-existence. Or that his goodness and love are no goodness or love I would recognize as such, but the “goodness” and “love” offered by an abuser.

*Often, when I consider a deeper commitment or surrender or relationship with God, I fear that I’ll become uninteresting to or uninterested in my friends and other earthly things. I think the truth is that I would become more interesting to and more interested in them — provided the commitment, surrender, relationship, was real and not just religiosity. How is it done? Wait in silence for God only, I suppose.

———

I read one more post, and once I finish this comment I’m off to bed.

Joe writes about needing authorization to come through so that he could get his chemo pills, and how he had visions of kicking down doors to demand justice, while his wife was trusting God instead.

How do you know when kicking down a door might not be exactly the provision God is offering? Waiting on the Lord doesn’t always (ever?) mean simply sitting on your hands and doing nothing — when does waiting on and trusting God include action, and when not — and how does one know what action to take — how does one discern whether the urge to act in a certain way is the voice of God, or the voice of a demon, or the internalized voice of a negative relationship, or the internalized voice of a positive one, or the voice of indigestion or hormones or brain chemistry?

I remember asking Joe similar questions in my therapy — and at least on one occasion he pointed out how very often in Acts the apostles said “it seemed good to us” when they made a decision.

Just because I have an impulse doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do. The thing to do is pay attention to the impulse, reflect and pray, and then decide as best one can in the circumstances — it’s another occasion to trust God, that he can and will provide even if I decide badly or wrongly.

One of my best antidotes for my fears is to face them squarely — and see that even the worst possible outcome won’t destroy me. This works only when I am trusting God. Otherwise the worst possible outcome might be “God doesn’t exist.” But when I trust God, even death, even life in the psych ward, even losing all my friends and family, even not sleeping tonight, even being afraid, cannot destroy me.

I think that’s what Joe was getting at — his door-kicking urge was born of fear — not just fear that God wouldn’t provide for his chemo pills (death can’t destroy him), but perhaps fear that God isn’t trustworthy even in death.