The most important parenting lesson my dad taught me by Keith Krass

Good news:  This week we have two guest bloggers.  Some of you may remember Keith Krass' post from his blog 1,000 good mornings about learning he was going to become a dad.  Well, his son his here!  Here is a new post from http://www.1000goodmornings.net/

Lukas and Mom taking a nap

Like most dads, I want to be a perfect parent. I have aspirations to become a first-class diaper changer, develop an unbustable swaddle, save enough money to cover all of Lukas college expenses and never, ever fail him.

I also know that most of these things are unrealistic. 

Truthfully, I'm terrified of parenting. Lukas is a week old and I already feel entirely inadequate and under qualified. At the moment it's 3:22AM, and although he's starting to (finally) fall asleep, I'm inexplicably wide awake. So I've been thinking about this parenting thing.

Ears.

I've been thinking about what my parents taught me about parenting. For whatever reason, I can't shake one vivid memory of my dad. Ironically, this wasn't a great moment for my father. Actually it was probably one of his worst.

My brother was on his way to a local high school baseball game and my father, exhausted from radiation and chemo, told me he would like me to go with him. I responded with a terse, "That sounds boring. I'm not going." My father, in a rare moment of frustration looked at me, his face was bright red and with a rage I had never seen, and shouted, "THIS IS MY DAMN HOUSE AND YOU WILL DO WHATEVER I SAY!" 

I was terrified. It was the first and only time I had ever been afraid of my dad. 

I ran out of the house and into my brother's car and went to that baseball game. 

A few hours later I we returned to the house. I felt a bit like the prodigal son in that I had no idea how my dad was going to welcome me.

As soon as I opened the door, my dad scooped me into his arms, sat me on his lap and with tears streaming down his face said over and over again, "I love you and I'm so sorry." I remember thinking I was a bit too old to be sitting on his lap, but I also remember not wanting to be anywhere else. I looked at him--I was crying by this point too--and said, "It's OK dad, really it is."

He looked it me and said in the most firm yet compassionate way possible, "No Keith, it's really not OK. I never should have spoken to you that way and I am sorry." 

I should say, my mom and dad were great parents. This one story is an absolute outlier. I could counter it with innumerable stories about how they unconditionally cared for and loved me (1st place would have to be my mom's willingness to allow my high school band to practice in the basement. This by itself should secure sainthood for her). Because they were/are so great, I had a difficult time processing why this story is so engrained in my memory. Then (at 3:43AM) it dawned on me.

My high school band. We were...loud...

My dad wasn't perfect; but that's not the point. My dad taught me that parents will inevitably fail and disappoint their kids, but what's much more important is how they respond to their screw-ups. I never felt more loved after my dad blew up at me, and I think that's the point.

I still suck at changing diapers, and I have no idea how to put socks on Lukas' feet in such a way that ensures they stay on for more than nine seconds, but I know love this little guy. I just hope one day, no matter how badly I screw up, he knows it too. 

Time for Grace by Marion Dietrich

Back by popular demand, my mom.  I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I have.

Now that our children are mature, gainfully employed, believing adults, people often ask if we had one piece of advice to give parents, what would it be.  Surprisingly, that question has never stymied me.  

I knew the answer when our children were little, as they grew, when they went through adolescence, and even now the same answer holds true.  It is quite simple, but not necessarily easy to execute.  

It is time.  Time is the one thing only you can give that though quantifiable cannot be qualified.  Children need to know that you love them, that you will be there for them, and that they are so important that you will put everything else beneath them on the list of “things that have to be done”.  N.B. I am not saying that they should be idolized, nor am I saying that they should take precedence over your relationship with your spouse, and certainly not above your relationship with God.  But I AM saying that “ministry”, “church”, “commitments”, “work”, “expectations of others” often cloud our understanding of what it means to be entrusted with the care and nurture of children.  I am also not advocating being a helicopter parent.  

I think if you questioned any of our four children, they would unequivocally say that we were “there” for them, but also aware of their need to become who God intended them to be, often through learning the hard lessons.  We cried with them the first time another child said, “I hate you”, when they didn’t get the part in the school play, when they studied so hard for a test and got a C, when they didn’t get onto the soccer team or into their first college choice.  We listened, sometimes for hours in the middle of the night, to their heartbreak over a young man or their confusion about their faith.  I learned early on from my husband to let them talk, not to try to solve their problems, to give advice when asked, and to hold my tongue when not asked.  Mainly, his advice to me was to be available to them whenever they needed to talk, even if in the middle of something seemingly more “important”.

I wish I could say that I grasped this wisdom by revelation, or in the Word, or by some great teaching or preaching, but it came through the method which is most tried and true: trial and error.  So the other half of my advice is, “Be ready and willing to apologize when you have been wrong, without qualifying your reasons for what you did.”  My first clear memory of doing that was when our middle daughter, Anne, was in first grade.  Her teacher had told me that Anne couldn’t read at all and that she thought Anne might have a learning issue.  I was incredulous…not my child…of course she can read.  So I drilled her and practiced with her, and harped on her until a learning specialist had me watch a movie called, “Fat City”. I was stricken as I saw on the screen a child who could have been mine, and then saw through her eyes what a page of writing might look like, how a picture could appear two completely different ways, how thought processes vary dramatically from one child to another.  When I got home, I took Anne’s sweet face in my hands and weepingly apologized for not “getting it”, and asked her if she could please forgive me.  Did I feel like a bad mother? You bet I did, but the truth was I was uninformed, I was ignorant.  Not that those are excuses, but they are reasons.  

Unfortunately, I was anything but a quick study in the parenting department, but I can gratefully acknowledge that by the grace of God and His kindness, I was continually drawn to repent and change my ways.  I learned to stop trying to make my children into the image I thought they should have, and to allow God to show me who He intended them to be.   Then He graciously invited me to co-labor with Him in helping my child walk in the good works He had prepared beforehand for that child to walk in.  These lessons continue as I watch two of my daughters and their husbands, my son and his work, and our youngest as she gets ready to graduate from college.  The upside is that now they come to us for advice and when we give it we recognize it as just that, advice.  

The bottom line to all this is an overwhelming sense of gratitude.  God graciously allowed me to learn what I needed to so that my children could learn what they needed to.    Time and humility… so simple, so hard.

Hurting Ourselves

My son has horrible eczema and despite the fact that he knows it will hurt, he scratches at it until it bleeds.  I’ve begged him, bribed him, berated him but to no avail.  The scratching continues almost unconsciously.  

It is hard to explain to him too because he is only a toddler.  It is not that scratching an itch is always bad.  It is that the itch of eczema is not the same as the momentary irritation of a fly landing on your back or an uncomfortable fabric rubbing against your arm.

It is a condition, an ongoing problem, and the scratching can never help, it only makes it worse.

Although this is a dermatological issue, it mirrors a matter which is darker and more sinister.  Why do we as humans hurt ourselves?  Why do we have unhealthy habits, addictions and behaviors that we know aren’t good for us?

I think that lurking within our hearts is a voice the Bible refers to as, “the accuser of the brethren.”  It takes valid or invalid feelings of guilt and twists them into a morass of self-loathing.  Fear and frustration begin to dictate our decision making which is frustrating and frightful.  It makes you want to tear your skin off rather than deal with the emotional eczema you are suffering.

So how do I stop hurting myself?

How do I chose to not scratch the bleeding itches in my life?  

Perhaps my son’s favorite treatment is a warm long bath.  If he is particularly itchy I give him an oatmeal bath.  This serves to cleanse the wounds, oatmeal is said to absorb the dirt and bacteria that may be festering.  Oatmeal is also shown to have anti-inflammatory properties.  

After a bath I always put on protective lotion that stings a bit at first because the wound is open and raw.  The lotion nourishes the skin and helps seal the wounds from infection.  

Finally, it takes time, usually several days of not scratching before the wound heals completely. And still, he is prone to get it again.  Any dry climate is apt to produce new itchy patches on his fair skin.  To fight this, I make sure he drinks lots of water, stays hydrated and I don’t let up with the lotion.  His skin needs it just as much when it is healthy as when it is broken and bleeding.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ssijvFQkV8

As for me, I am realizing as I type that to figure out this analogy I will have to draw on one of the most disturbing and upsetting images in the Christian Church.  It is the blood of Christ.   This world is full of pain and discontent.  It is messed up.  Not only that, but I am messed up.  My life was ruined; I had no way of buying, building or bartering back my way into the land of the living.  But God’s love is extravagant.  He knew what I needed.  Jesus died my death and so I can live his life.  His blood payed for my mistakes.  When I itch to tear off my skin and replace the irritation and disease with raw pain the oatmeal bath I soak my wounds in is Christ’s blood spilled for me.  It absorbs the guilt and shame.  It cleanses me.  It is like an anti-inflammatory that counteracts the ever increasing gnawing at my conscience. 

And the lotion I use on my tender heart are the promises I find in the Bible.  “Not a sparrow falls to the ground without his notice and you are worth more than a whole flock of sparrows.”

It provides nutrients and nourishment for my soul.  “The fruit of the Spirit is Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self control.”

It doesn’t allow my emotional wounds to fester. “His mercies are new every morning.”

Over overtired

My daughter hasn’t been sleeping well lately.  Lately meaning the past 9-10 months, and I am tired.... so very tired.  When I am tired I have a habit of being a smidge overdramatic. Such as the following exchange with my husband, “I need to do something I’m excited about to get rid of these winter blues."

His response: “Good idea, What are you excited about?”  

My response “Well...umm...nothing...” and I burst into tears.

In those moments it’s very hard for me to delineate between what is true and what feels true.  When attempting to shift through this truth conundrum I often remember the words of a friend I highly respect, “Where is the evidence?”  

This is tricky because I often bring false evidence into play. For example, it feels true to say that I my life is totally devoid of excitement.  I can’t seem to stop fixating on the prospect of another day snowed in, or my dearth of creative crafts and games for my kids.  I point to my TV show obsessions and my internet addiction. 

 But somewhere deep down, below all of that, I know that life is a gift.  And not just “life” as a whole or as an existential concept but every single moment throughout the day.   

As for the evidence.  Well, it was an adventure to change my kids’ diapers today...I learned that if you are quick you can catch falling #2 before it splatters all over the rug.  It was a joy to go grocery shopping...my son’s enthusiasm over mac n’ cheese is truly incredible.  

Before I know it I’m laughing and I don’t feel the hopeless gloom that surrounded me before.   

It wasn’t a waste to brush my teeth or take a nap because...and this is the great BECAUSE...because “God works all things for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose.”  ALL THINGS, the mundane and the mistakes.  All of it.  He takes it and somehow uses it for good.  He makes beauty out of burned things (ashes). The truth is that God is good, even when it doesn’t feel like it.  He is.  Believe it or not.  God. Is. Good.    

Second Breakfast

I am a little like a hobbit.  Well, let’s be honest.. more than a little.  I love to read, stay at home in my cozy chair and putter about by myself.  But the way in which I am most like JRR Tolkien’s imaginary people group is that I LOVE second breakfast.  

All through college I made sure I had time to dash into the dining commons between my 8am classes and the 10am ones because I knew I just couldn’t make it through the morning without second breakfast.  It usually consists entirely of carbs: toast, banana bread, english muffins.  I have carried on the tradition with my children.  We all wake up early so by 9 or 10 am it’s that time...time for second breakfast.  

Now, some of the best parenting advice I got was as a teacher at parent-teacher conference.  The father of a very bright young girl told me that the secret was to give their brains and souls food whenever you give their stomachs food.  That passing remark has changed my life.  

So, at second breakfast we eat muffins or whatever baked goods we have on hand and we also read stories.  We read the stories they send home from Sunday school.  You may know them, some are quite famous, Noah and the Flood, David and Goliath, Adam and Eve.  Surprisingly enough, even with the toddler group my church does memory verses.  More surprising still is my son’s aptitude for rote memorization.  I’ll never forget the day we were enjoying our Pillsbury “home-made” cinnamon buns and I asked him about his verse.  He sat up and recited, “En my beginning God cweated da heavens and da earf.”  Genesis 1:1   I was dumbstruck. 

All this to say, with great circumlocution (as always) that I am not making a 5 point checklist this year with 10 subheadings under each main heading.  I am trying to keep my resolutions simple.  I plan to write...a lot...and I am going to read the Bible.  I started tonight with Genesis 1:1.  My husband bought me the One Year Chronological Bible and I plan to read it.  Even as a religious studies major I don’t pretend that this will be easy.  It will not.  There will be set backs and discouragement and long long genealogies but I am still resolving to do it because in the end, “The Word of God is living and active sharper than any two edged sword piercing to the division of soul and spirit, bones and marrow, discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”  Hebrews 4:12