Children can really be a call to action in people’s lives. From the moment one discovers they are expecting, they begin planning, preparing, fantasizing, and praying. They put hopes and dreams on a person well before they are ever born. They claim with their mouth that they only want what God has in store, or that they hope and pray that they are “just healthy,” or even determine that they will give their child so much that they, themselves, did without. All those things seem nice, but are they platitudes?
Unless an early sonogram is done, people aren’t always aware of life-altering changes to their perfected ideal of parenthood. This person-with-no-name already has so much pressure on them to perform. Perhaps the first performance is to be cute.
Have you seen a baby right after the trauma of birth?
Definitely not cute.
Things that aren’t as evident are those things that are internal: a gluten allergy, an epipen emergency, scaly skin, constant allergies, autism, cancer cells. Do we plan and prepare for those eventualities? Nope.
Still, we parent those personalities that were meant to be in our care. We definitely do not get the luxury of determining outcome. One curiosity is how the child tends to change our trajectory. With each revealed nuance of the child’s personality, the parent may shift the aim. If we have the skill of perception, we may be able to observe the child’s skill set, their strengths, and their weaknesses. In times of frustration, elation, desperation, or confusion we may, while praying over our children, ask the Lord for insight…what can I DO here!? We may receive an action item, an idea, or a response.
Implementing said item, we hope to continue onward with our efforts in raising a person. I often tell my kids that my aim is not to make them function for today, but to prepare them for the reality of tomorrow. That reality is, of course, their own life…where they instinctively not only come into their own, but often attempt to shimmy out of the familial body suit in light of something they believe is their own creation, their own design.
Only, that’s not true. They are influenced by their own thoughts, beliefs, behaviors, and community. I would say that well before I took charge of my own trajectory, I was influenced by those who were each, independent of one another, making small adjustments to the trajectory of my life. Maybe I felt compelled toward college, or even marriage, or even having children-I wanted 10 when I was six-or becoming an executive, or quiet, or the best representation of my family name that I could be. Wait…..what was it I dreamed about again?
No one had conversations with me about things that were of interest to me. What were my passions? And, for that matter, did I have any passions? Yet another conversation not had.
When my dad passed away I spoke at his funeral. I began my portion of the eulogy be saying that, when someone dies, a million question marks hang in the air of questions and conversations never had. So true, is it not?
No one told me how costly having children would be, or how many choices adults are faced with. I had zero insight on what I needed to do, let alone be, and so figuring out the deciding factor between what is and is not important or part of a daily existence in the adult realm was foreign to me. Still, I had some goals.
When I was about seven, I recall using my old Bible, bound with faux leather, words of Jesus in red, the margins of most New Testament pages colored in with red pen for flare-I thought it needed it-as my prop. Holding it open, to the New Testament of course, staring at Jesus’ red words, I began to preach to myself in the mirror with all the fervor I could muster, mimicking all the men I had seen preaching. No one told me women couldn’t preach. I remember all the church solos and singing opportunities and competitions I participated in, and how lackluster and mediocre I felt, but with all the arrogance I could muster was determined to be the de facto singer extraordinaire for churches everywhere. I remember my friend Liz and I writing about what we wanted to do when we grew up, and in Freshmen Honors Biology I pledged to be a nurse to her as doctor. I didn’t think as grand as her because no one introduced me to the “reach” career vision. For that matter, I didn’t realize how many and what type of nurses there were. For true, I thought I’d be the traveling-worshipping-nurse-pastor’s wife, but only to a good looking pastor. And, the only person who was considering pastorship who gave me a glance was a smarmy skinny pale kid at church whose name I didn’t know. I dropped the PW role rather quickly.
As my life unfolded I took a path I had not prepared for, nor considered, and felt like I was fighting, to some degree, my parent’s untold expectations of me as compared to some ghostly competition standard they held. It was a harsh dozen years.
Married at 18, college took almost a decade, and singing in church with a small lead role later. I also became a teacher.
My children have been “raised in church.” I also spent time praying with them, pointing out things to them as they came up, and taking them to so many church services. I sent them to camps and pushed them begrudgingly toward activities I thought would help move their trajectory, ever so slightly, in a good direction. I even made one of my adult choices to pay to send my kids to Christian school. Over time, their attention to the Lord wained, and they attended church because I said so. They gave in ever so slowly to the influences in their lives. Their stories aren’t over; my intercession for them is my job.
So, it’s somewhat disappointing when your own progeny decide to make personal choices. These choices don’t align with my believes, or tenets of my faith. Still, my trajectory is changing once again as I realize that, without fail, and I mustn’t fail, I need to somehow telegraph love and support, while still being a standard bearer. Of all the confusion that those first years of adulthood can hold, what can I do to ensure they feel loved while they make choices?
Their choices.
Their accountability.
Therein lies the rub, doesn’t it? We do not want to relinquish our responsibility over our children. We bought their underwear, bandaged wounds, threw birthday parties, paid for expensive item they couldn’t live without, encouraged authenticity and independence….we are invested in ways linked all the way back to our hopes, dreams, and expectations of parenthood. While they grew, we were watching other parents and how they parent and influence their children; we had books about parenting; we prayed; we presented our own ideals in high definition; ensured we did the best that our sphere of influence projected was going to work and be good, like a hologram in the sky we follow for doing-good points.
Reasoning minds being involved, there is no way to develop hope in another’s existence apart from the Lord’s direction. All that independence and authenticity we pushed on our kids like peanut butter with a happy puppy actually took root, and we, our own independent selves, must divest ourselves of that pesky responsibility we took on so long before.
It’s raw.
Swirling emotions can overtake, even with the most resolute mind.
We must remain stalwart.
Now that some of my children are grown, I have so much more clarity. It’s never a good idea to project any outcome for another. In fact, most of the hope we hold is through intense, sometimes painful, and often intense prayer to the Father who can, in his sovereignty, move a person’s trajectory to any aim he desires.
Goals, then, for those precious souls I so desperately love, narrow down to one: a conscience decision to follow Christ’s direction, with a happy heart, and everything submitted. And I, in my irrelevance to their independent life, can be a standard bearer and remain stalwart, planning, preparing, fantasizing, and praying, in my perfected ideal of parenthood, following my passions, having conversations, and continuing to write my story.