Waiting on Dad

    Throwing rocks at puppies is probably not a good idea. Throwing rocks at puppies when you are standing by a large window is definitely not a good idea. I looked up at the window and surveyed the damage. It didn’t shatter the glass, only made a rock-sized hole. Oh, yeah, and a noise. Oh, and one more thing: my mom was in that room.

    So I did what any guilty, rock-throwing, panicking eight-year-old would do. I ran. That was mistake number one. I ran to the back corner of the house, took a hard right, to the front corner, and then headed straight for the front door.

    By this time I had a plan: get inside the house so quickly that my mom would not suspect that I had anything to do with the broken window. That was mistake number two. If she had been eight years old like me, I probably could have fooled her. But she wasn’t eight, she was . . . older . . . and smarter. Somehow she knew that I was coming in the front door and there she was, drying a plate, and looking me over.
She asked, “What was that noise?”

    Looking as innocent as any guilty, rock-throwing, panicking, panting eight year old could, I remembered George Washington and the cherry tree. George told his dad the truth and things worked out. But I was no George Washington, and this was not my dad. So I decided to try a different strategy--I wiggled around the question. “What noise?” I asked. Mistake number three.

    She didn’t take the bait. She simply said, “Go sit on the couch and wait for your daddy to come home.” No pirate walking the plank could have felt more dread than I did. I walked to the couch and sat down, knowing it would be the last time I might sit down for a while. I said nothing. I sat in silence. I aged ten years in that few minutes. In my own little mind, I was spanked a thousand times. I thought, I prayed.

    Then I heard the car coming down the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. I heard dad shut the car door. I heard his footfalls on the steps, and then he entered the house.

    The spirit of George Washington came upon me, and I threw myself on the mercy of the court, crying and confessing in a torrent of words and tears all mixed in with snuffles and sobs, “Puppies . . . rock . . . window . . . scared . . .  ran . . . mom . . . couch. I’m sorry; don’t spank me.”

    Surprisingly, he didn’t . . . spank me, that is. He listened, he understood. He called it an accident.

    He was just.

    I loved him; I respected him.

Thoughts on Memorial Day

Do you have a Memorial Day tradition? Should you? What is it all about?

We are not just launching summer fun; we are celebrating something deep and foundational. We are being asked to have a moment of silence at 3:00 p.m. on Memorial Day to remember those who have given their lives to protect our freedoms.

Silence is not enough. Our children cannot benefit from our silence. When you gather to eat, perhaps your celebration could include these short ideas as part of the blessing of the meal. Here are some thoughts that include the history of Memorial Day as well as the Gettysburg Address (only 276 words). We believe that our gatherings can be enriched by our efforts.

MEMORIAL DAY
The roots of Memorial Day go back to the Civil War. Over 600,000 soldiers died in that conflict affecting every town, village, and family in the United States. After the war ended, almost everyone would travel and decorate the graves of those who had given their lives. “Memorial Day was officially proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic and was first observed on 30 May 1868.” (http://www.usmemorialday.org/backgrnd.html)

To date, including all the wars our country has fought, over 1.2 million Americans have died in defense of the freedoms that we enjoy.

The Gettysburg Address delivered by Abraham Lincoln in 1863 was to commemorate those who died on that particular battlefield. Although it was written a few years before Memorial Day was established, it expresses best what Memorial Day represents.

THE
GETTYSBURG
ADDRESS

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth
 on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and
 dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

  Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing
 whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so
 dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-
field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of
 that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave
 their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether
 fitting and proper that we should do this.

  But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate…we cannot
 consecrate…we cannot hallow…this ground. The brave men,
 living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it
 far above our poor power to add or detract. The world
 will little note nor long remember what we say here, but
 it can never forget what they did here.

 

It is for us, the  living, rather, 

to be dedicated here to the unfinished
 work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly
 advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the
 great task remaining before us…that from these honored
 dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which
 they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here
 highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain;
 that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of
 freedom; and that government of the people, by the people,
 for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

November 19, 1863

RELATIONSHIP: "Eat your food, son..."

     This blog is not ours, not directly. It is Jean-Luc's. He wrote this not long ago, and I asked him if I could reprint it on our blog. So, from Jean-Luc's perspective, come sit with us at dinner.

     Our dinner table was always a center of laughter, of joy, of stories and songs, of the day's events, of schedules and commitments, and of discipline and correction. I view our table with deep fondness...it has fostered so much that I see as necessary to my growth. It also fostered memories which I cherish and will re-live when my childhood is far behind me.

     Our table was a place where we entertained guests, foreigners, the homeless, the helpless, relatives, outcasts, and friends. It was where Dad taught us to sing, and dutifully bore our painful, childish screaming attempt in the process. Our table heard conversations about God, life, government, sports, money, marriage, children, wine, food, church, the military, family, and about love.

     The round shape of our dinner table has puzzled me. When I was younger, I viewed it as an oddity (after all, none of my friends had round tables). As I grow older, it signifies the respect and equality which my parents show us when we come together as a family. No person's opinion is omitted or overlooked; everyone is responsible to contribute. The things for which the table stands are an integral part of my being. I was shaped and molded, I grew and developed, I laughed and loved (and even lied occasionally) at our round table. That table represents values, memories, and lessons which I cannot divorce from my childhood. The importance is inestimable; the lessons, invaluable; the memories, irreplaceable.

     It was at the table that I was taught to serve. Meal times were a priority in our house. We sat, ate, and prayed together. Because of the large fanfare it took to feed six children and two parents, meals were a daily, family activity. Through setting the table, wiping the table, bringing food, sweeping, etc...I learned humility. I had to humble myself, submitting myself to the will of my parents and siblings, and serve them. I learned that service requires humility.

     It was at the table that I was taught to love. Meals were not always a smooth affair. Occasionally, conversation became heated (or I would kick my little brother under the table). Drinks might be spilled, or food catapulted across the room. Through the chaos, we conversed with one another, and shared life together. I learned (and am still learning) to care about what others were saying, and about what they thought. My parents practiced endless patience and love in dealing with me and my siblings.

     It was at the table where I learned to listen. Listening, for me, was, is, and will be one of my most difficult challenges. As a young lad, I came home bursting with stories of the day's adventures, happenings, and mishaps. Meal times were an opportunity for me to narrate the day's fantastic events to an audience of seven interested listeners! Or not.
      Dad was constantly correcting me, "Son, it's not about you. How many people are at this table?"
      "Eight." I responded.
      "Therefore, you should talk one-eighth of the time, and listen the other seven-eighths."
      When I did talk too much (which was often), he would calmly redirect my exuberant energy..."Eat your food, son."

     Meal times, whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, forced us to listen to one another. It forced me to focus on someone else's day, priorities, agenda, or story. It forced me to hear what was going on in their lives, thereby forcing me to be a part of it. And this coercion was in no way demeaning nor detrimental to my development. On the contrary, it made me value people where I otherwise would have focused on myself. "All the world's a stage," but I am not the main actor.

     We loved one another; therefore, we listened to one another. Through listening we learned about each other. As we learned, we discovered what each person needed, and we met those needs. By meeting each family member's needs, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual, we were serving. By serving each other, we loved each other. Because we loved one another we valued the other person, and their thoughts and ideas. Because we valued them, we listened to them. As we listened, we discovered their needs, and met those needs. We served. We loved. We listened. And the cycle continues. Serving, loving, and listening are all interconnected. As you follow the cycle, relationships are taken deeper – to new levels. More listening creates more service which shows more love, and so on. And the relationship continues to deepen and germinate, and soon there is rich connection.

INTEGRITY/DISCIPLINE: Three enemies of consistency

Enemy #1: Anger

I had sent Will to my bedroom (our spanking place), and I was hot on his heels when Patricia grabbed my hand and held it firmly. “You are too angry,” she said; and she was right. I walked up and down our hallway, asking Jesus to help me calm down. He did. I went in and Will got his spanking, but not from an angry dad.

Patricia knew from past experience that anger clouded my judgment. My words and my spanks were in danger of being overcharged from the adrenalin that comes with anger. She slowed me down because she knew “man's anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires.” (James 1:20)

When we discipline in anger, our perspective is skewed; and consequently, our message to our children is obscured. Instead of disciplining our children in a clear Godward direction, we leave them confused, hurt, and often angry, too. Anger does more harm than good.

Enemy #2: Lack of clarity

Another enemy of consistency came up in the first question at our most recent discussion: “The discipline area is where it is hardest to be consistent, and we have difficulty keeping the standard. What kinds of things call for a spanking?”

This is a great question because an uncertain parent will produce an uncertain child. Why do we spank? Dennis and Barbara Rainey recommend the following scripture, and we think it is a good place to start. Their thinking was that we should hate what God hates.

Proverbs 6:16-19 There are six things the LORD hates, seven that are detestable to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies and a man who stirs up dissension among brothers.

We shortened the list for our own family to disrespect, disobedience, lying, and stealing. These things were always a big deal, and we spanked for them. You may make your own list, but have a list that you believe deserve a spanking. Discuss it with your spouse until you agree, and then remind one another as situations arise. Just having this list will help you become more consistent.

Enemy #3: Quick tears

Finally, don’t be taken in by tears. In Exodus 34:7, God says this about Himself: “He never lets the guilty go unpunished.” Tears come for many reasons: fear, pain, regret, repentance, even joy. Even genuine tears and forgiveness do not erase consequences. And we certainly cannot allow tears to negate our God-given responsibility.

A large percentage of what a child learns, he learns by age five. This young, cute age is the best time to impart respect and attention for God. Let’s adopt God’s ways and “never let the guilty go unpunished.”

All of us need to be aware of these three enemies to our own consistency:

Anger

Lack of clarity

Quick tears

As we build our consistency on God’s eternal truth, we will open a door for God to work in the hearts of our children.

RELATIONSHIP: We are raising children, not flowers!

I remember reading a story about a dad who had a green thumb; you know, one of those guys who can grow anything in his garden, making it beautiful. He took great pride in his gift and he should have. He also had a loving wife who appreciated his gift and a ten-year-old son who was . . . well . . . a ten-year-old son.

On this particular Saturday, the dad was passing on his gift to his son on how to care for the yard. We call it mowing the grass. For several Saturdays the son had ridden with the dad on the riding lawn mower as dad carefully allowed the young boy to steer the mower. But today, today was his solo run. Driving the mower solo for the first time was big for this ten-year-old because . . . well . . . he was ten years old. He had learned his lessons well. As dad supervised from the front porch, the young protégé made his dad proud: focused and attentive.

It was at that moment that mom stepped on the front porch to see how things were going and to ask if anyone needed refreshment. Dad bragged and the ten-year-old waved, proud as a peacock. That moment of distraction was unfortunate, for the inexperienced driver ran the mower right through the center of a previously gorgeous bed of spring flowers.

For a moment time stood still: the ten-year-old braked and looked up in horror; dad lost his color; and mom, the distraction, laughed. Then she leaned toward her husband’s ear and said, “Remember, dear, we are raising a child, not flowers.”

This mom got it right. The value of the child is far greater than the value of a bed of flowers, or the worth of a perfectly ordered room, or any other personal preference we might have.

Here’s what we must remember. God made people in His image. That includes us. That includes our children.

Let’s start with us. 1 Timothy 3: 4 “He (an overseer) must be one who manages his own household well, keeping his children under control with all dignity.” Those last three words (with all dignity) create a challenge for us. Learning to keep our dignity as we control our children calls us to the standard of being in God’s image, representing God the Father in what we do as parents. Controlling our reactions, choosing our words, governing our tone of voice: these things add up to communicate who we are, and who God is, to our children.

The clearest picture we have of what God the Father wants us to be like is Jesus. He is the “exact representation of the Father’s nature.” (Heb. 1:3) I encourage you to prayerfully read the book of Luke with the idea of seeing how Jesus “fathered” the disciples. He is the source of our dignity. Read the gospels as a parent who wants to “catch the spirit of Christ.”

Now let’s get to the kids. Jesus respected kids. He made room for them. He did not let them lead, but he did not push them aside. He did not let them direct his schedule, but he made them a part of his schedule. He gave them his attention in the same way that he gave adults his attention. He embraced them.

Remembering that our children are made in God’s image will help us to lead them with God in mind.

We’ll have to pick up on this next week.