A Father’s Love {For When We Are a Disappointment}

It was a quiet little conversation, snuck away from the splashing of the pool.

“I remember disappointing my parents…“

And all our hearts sake with the heaviness of memory and the weight of prophetic awareness; my kids too will feel this one day. We’re called the sandwich generation–those caught between the care of their kids and the care of their parents. I think it’s more that we are squeezed like peanut butter and jelly between the expectations, {both past and present}, of previous and future generations.

It’s why so many of us have taken over the family business or followed in the footsteps of their mom or dad. It’s not that we grew up without dreams of our own, it’s that we couldn’t shake that ever-persistent ache to have our parents be proud of us. Cinderella got her glass slipper and at last she was transformed into the princess her daddy had always longed for her to be.

So what happens when the glass cracks? So what if Cinderella decides she’d rather paint pumpkins in the forest?  There is something oh so very powerful in every child that wants to make their parent’s dreams come true. 

I don’t recall my parents ever indicating they wished that I would do something different, but I do know they always thought I could do more. The smart, the strong, the determined can always do more. I remember discussing some schooling options for my Master of Divinity with my dad when he interjected, “…for you Ph.D. you need to consider The University of a M.Div. Isn’t Enough.” That’s not the name of the school, but it didn’t matter. The point was well taken to the adult girl now shrunken into her six-year-old self: I need to do more or I’ll disappoint my dad.

At six, my parents put me into gymnastics. Why? My dad had been a collegiate gymnast. I was petite. Therefore, I must be destined to be the next U.S. of A.’s gold medal gymnast. Not the case. I was the klutziest child in my class. The concepts of grace, flow, and flexibility were lost on me at every apparatus. He never said it, but even a six-year-old knew that dad was throwing dreams out the car window like flavorous,over-chewed gum.

We all have our stories, right? We have our questions, even today, no matter how old we’ve grown: Did our parents ever come to see us as we really are? That is, did they ever come to see us outside of what they thought we should have been or could have been? Are they proud of me?

When you dedicate countless hours to raising a little someone to walk, talk, and meet all the developmental goals of each stage it is  hard to one day release them to be the somebody they want to be. Parents are visionaries–they paint the pictures of bright tomorrows, but they do not always see all the possibilities.

Being a parent, helps me to see things clearer. I see that what has felt like expectation is really love. You know, a parent can’t help but look at a three-year-old’s finger painting as if it were a priceless Van Gogh. Love does that. Love makes the most of every effort and celebrates little successes. And somehow kids can’t help but get confused that the joy they see on their parent’s face is not all about what they do, but in fact is about who they are. That’s a perspective I only get as a mom whose heart has burst forth with love that’s takes the shape of “I am so proud of you!” 

No one ever tells you how complicated raising children will be. They never warn you that the hopes and dreams you have for your kids to flourish in life could also fall and crush them. They tell you parenting is not for the faint of heart, but forget to add that it is the most fragile thing you’ll ever do–you must breathe tenderly, move slowly, and grow hope in a greenhouse of possibility. The elements–ambition, competition, comparison–they will suffocate acceptance.

It’s with the words of honor and acceptance that the quiet kitchen conversation weaves us back around to a Father and His love. I feel a little undone inside thinking about His love. He loves us so perfectly. So extravagantly. I say a little pray, “Of Father, let my children know you love them so much and so much better than I have loved them. May Your love fill up the places my expectations have depleted. May they hear You say, ‘I am so proud you.‘”

And then I prayed it too for me and my friends tucked away in the sacred moment of memory and prophetic awareness.

Story Time

I began the day telling a friend in a crisis of faith to remember the stories of God’s work. But when the phone rang and my son told me that he had misunderstood the time of his college chemistry final … Continue reading →

Grateful: It’s Just a Word {Five Minute Friday}

It’s time for Gypsy Mama’s Five Minute Friday. Five minutes to just write…to let the words flow out and never pout over editing.  Today’s word is Grateful. Grateful. It’s just a word. Meaningless. Useless, Wasted. That is until it is … Continue reading →

Remember {Five Minute Friday}

It’s Gypsy Mama’s Five Minute Friday–my favorite writing day of the week because someone else gets to think of what to write and gives me  permission to forego the editing (not that I ever edit anyway, but at least today … Continue reading →

C.S. Lewis on Headship {Favorite Quote of the Week}

We must go back to our Bibles. The husband is the head of the wife just in so far as he is to her what Christ is to the Church. He is to love her as Christ loved the church–read on–and gave his life for her (Ephesians 5:25). This headship, then, is most fully embodied not in the husband we should all wish to be but in him whose marriage is most like a crucifixion; whose wife receives most and gives least, is most unworthy of him, is–in her own mere nature–least lovable. For the Church has no beauty but what the Bridegroom gives her; he does not find, but makes her lovely. The chrism of this terrible coronation is to be seen not in the joys of any man’s marriage but in its sorrows, in the sickness and sufferings of a good wife or the faults of a bad one, in his unwearying (never paraded) care or his inexhaustible forgiveness: forgiveness, not acquiescence. As Christ sees in the flawed, proud, fanatical or lukewarm Church on earth that Bride who will one day be without spot or wrinkle, and labours to produce the latter, so the husband whose headship is Christ-like (and he is allowed no other) never despairs… (~C.S. Lewis, The Business of Heaven, p. 169-170)

 

Maybe it sounds self-serving for a woman, who’s a wife, to love this quote. However, I share it because it fills me with gratitude.  Makes me thankful for my husband. He teaches me a lot about Christ’s love for me.

Finding What You Didn’t Know Was Missing {For When Life is Pushing Us to Hurry}

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There are times when we discover lost things we didn’t know we were missing.  We all know the sinking; panicked feeling of realizing something we treasure is missing.  I’ll never forget the feeling I had when I discovered a treasured … Continue reading →

Fighting {On the Graduation of the Boy}

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He entered the world six weeks early on the gentle scales of 5 pounds 6 ounces.  Small, but mighty. Averting crisis twice with the near miscarriage at twelve weeks and the premature labor at twenty weeks, it might be said … Continue reading →

When Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary

There is a roast in the oven that will be ready when my family arrives home.  {We haven’t eaten at home, together as a family, in two weeks.}

It is cooking in the dutch oven my husband gave me at Christmas 2009.  {It took me almost two years to use it.}

There are clothes in the washing machine.  {And they haven’t been there for three days waiting to be put into the dryer.}

I had lunch today with a treasured friend.  {And I am ashamed that there are many more on my neglected and missed list.}

Ordinary things like these can easily become extraordinary if not guarded against the elements of busyness.

Tomorrow those cobwebs taunting me from the chandelier are going to find themselves extraordinarily eradicated. 

Are you missing some ordinary rhythms in your life?  What will you do get things back to the way they need to be?

Unless: Remembering There are Worse Things than Failure

He gave up 11 runs in the first inning.  When the coaches moved him to the outfield, he dropped a ball and somehow managed to kick the ball behind him.  It might have been the worst outing of baseball I’ve witnessed in a long time.

For a parent, sitting in the stands and watching your child fail…publicly…is excruciating.  You want to rescue.  Find a good excuse.  Twinkle your nose and make yourself…and your child…disappear.

Unless…

You woke up that morning with uncertainty about the state of that same child’s health.  On Monday, my energetic sixteen year old sent me a text from school that read, “My heart is really hurting.”  I wanted to write back, “Mine just stopped.”  Three hours later we had good reports from the doctor about his tests, but a visit with the Cardiologist was needed.  Having a family history including a heart disorder and a cousin who died at a young age, the two-day wait for the next appointment seemed like eternity.  Aren’t these the kinds of things that are supposed to happen to other people?  Can’t we just go back to yelling at him about missed homework and a messy bedroom?

Sitting in the baseball stands today after more good news from the Cardiologist (although we’ll still need to wait for the genetic testing to be completely sure), I realized failure is a beautiful gift.  If you’re out on the field playing the game it’s because you’re still living.  You have life in you.  “Thank you, Lord, that my son has the ability to not throw hardly a single strike–but he can throw.”  “Thank you, Lord, that he has the ability to try to yet miss catching that ball.”  “And yes, Lord, thank you for giving him the ability and the encouragement to smack that last at bat into the outfield for a good solid hit.”  “Thank you, Lord, for his life.”

Sometimes you need a week like this to put everything in perspective.  Failure is not the worst thing that can happen.  Being unable to try; unable to risk failure…that is far worse.

Go live.  Fail.  Give thanks that you can.

Thankfulness: Womanhood, Purity Balls, and Parents Who Did It Right

I’m pausing to consider and give thanks for my heritage.

Several  days ago I saw this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NO0FBo98zU&feature=related

Christian friends, we can do better than this!   We must do better than this.  We must learn to esteem the gospel in the way we raise our children.  I mean really esteem it–recognizing it alone has the power to transform the hearts of youth and empower them to live in the light of its truth.  Young girls don’t need fancy dresses and purity balls (such a bad name!).  They need to know they have a heavenly Father who loves them perfectly and to live their lives in the reality of His love for them.  They need to hear from us and see in us what it means to have our identity as men and women hidden in Christ.  They need to be instructed in how to clothe themselves in the compassion of Christ and the conviction of His atonement.

My own parents weren’t passive by any means about dating relationships.  So involved that I never dated anyone who didn’t first call my dad and hear him say, “I want you to know how special my daughter is to me.”   My parents spoke into these early dating relationships, but it was always in the context of who the “big picture” me was.  Sexuality was never disconnected from whole. I was never led to believe that I was “saving” something for my future husband, but rather I was preparing to offer the best of all of me.  But somehow the purity movement has let sexuality become the Queen of  a girl’s worth.

I am thankful I had parents who taught me to live fully in Christ.  I am thankful they nurtured strength in all areas of my personhood.  I’m thankful they taught me to think clearly, feel deeply, and to love purely.  I’m thankful they pressed me into letting Christ have lordship over my heart, mind, and body.  I’m thankful they let me walk in my future potential than in the condemnation of failure. There weren’t any fear tactics.  There weren’t any contrived manipulations.  Only the expectation that I practice loving God and honoring Christ with all of me.

Maybe that’s simplistic.  Or maybe it’s just taking God at His Word and allowing Him do the heart work necessary to stir up purity as one virtue of a surrendered life.