Things My Children Are Teaching Me: Crayon on the Wall, Part 3

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.  I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand.

I'm hopping into Part 3 of a small series I'm doing called Things My Children Are Teaching Me: Crayon on the Wall.  You can read Part 1 and Part 2 to find out what came ahead of the things I'm parsing out in this post.  

Also, I couldn't help but add this cute pic of E on her fourth birthday, so proud of herself, as we are now almost 2 years past a moment I had in my dining room when E came down one morning and drew all over my dining room wall.  

The lessons I'm learning from that morning are still coming at me in waves, crashing over and saturating my soul.

Thank you Jesus.  

We live in a finite world, limited by the boundaries of time, and space, by our five senses and our human emotions. We know what we know, but there is so much that we just don't know. God's thoughts are so far beyond our grasp, so unattainable to us.

Like my child, who didn't understand why walls are not for coloring, so often we find ourselves not understanding the laws and plans and desires of our God.

The longer I am a parent, the more often I seem myself in them.  

Every tantrum is a reflection of my own heart.  

Face to the ground, kicking and screaming because I took away a toy that one was beating the other over the head with.  Sobbing and shrieking because I won't let them get down from the table until they eat (half of) their dinner.  I know, I'm such a mean mom.

I have been screamed at, slapped, spit on, kicked, bitten, head-butted, ramrodded, and just the other day an angry Cali tried to run over me with her tricycle.  I can’t even remember why. Oh, child.  I have held my own in showdowns, nose to nose, when they have no intention of listening or obeying.

In every situation there is one common thread: they want what they want, and they don't understand why I am not on board with their plans.

Despite whatever picture we have in our head of who God is, and what He is like, really, truly, He is just like the parent in a parent-child relationship.

He knows, and sometimes we just don't.

He knows what needs to develop in us, and what needs to stop- becaaaaauuse yes, adults have heart tantrums too.  

He knows what's coming, and He knows what will hurt us.  He knows what is good, and what we need, and He knows what will turn into a hot mess and what will get us into trouble. 

And sometimes, he needs us in a spot where he can use us.  Sometimes he has plans that just don’t jive with our “I want what I want” mentality. 

Sometimes, some times, I read this little gem, and it rearranges my tantrum face.

Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry. (James 1:19) 

Yes, Lord, I'm listening.

Elin may not understand it, but if I were to let her draw all over my walls whenever she wanted to my home would be a disaster. 

It is hard enough to get her, now four years old, to consistently be a good listener. I can only imagine what a nightmare it would be if I never gave her any direction or discipline, and instead let her follow her every whim or desire.

Yet. Yet we so want that from God.  To follow our every whim and desire.

Our spiritual lives are shaped in a way that mirrors the parent-child relationship, with the boundaries and guidance of the Lord, to keep us safe, to keep us from hurting each other and ourselves.  

But also - also, and most importantly - so that we become accustomed to listening, and obeying.  

If you quit listening, dear child, and strike off on your own, you’ll soon be out of your depth. Proverbs 19:27 (The Message)

I have great intentions to keep E alive and fed, and growing... all that good, normal parenting stuff. 

I want to equip her to make it in this big world one day. 

I know that if I can teach her to listen and obey as a young child, instead of doing whatever she wants, whenever she wants, that she will learn on her own one day to seek out advice, and to make good, healthy decisions.

The book of Romans talks about this a lot. It talks about "the law" that is placed on our hearts. Basically it’s an innate sense of right and wrong (Romans 2:15).

A tangible picture of this is a parent, teaching a child.  

From the very beginning, before she was even talking, I have guided Elin, and I will continue to do this every step of the way for her.

The Book of John in chapter 10 gives this picture of sheep who know what to do because they recognize the voice of the shepherd- it’s the same concept for us.  It says “My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.  I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand." (verses 27-28).

Just like sheep hear the shepherds voice, and just like my children hear my voice, the “law”, or the promptings to follow righteousness and seek out our faith, is the voice of God on our hearts.  

We may not be able to hear it with our ears, but that doesn’t make it any less real or tangible.  

God has written his law, or his Word, on our hearts and all over creation, just like I incorporate my wisdom and guidance into every moment I have with Elin. 

It is our job to listen, and it is His job to guide.  

It’s the listening that we have the hardest time with.

We don't have time for much, always in a hurry, drowning in busyness. This has been my struggle for years, and Jesus is whispering in my ears, No, stop, sit.  There’s a better way.

Listening looks a lot like quiet.  

Like stopping and waiting and asking.  

Lord, what do you want? God of the heavens, creator of all things, designer of every day and architect of every night, what is your plan?

And we keep asking, and He keeps guiding, because we all know there is no magical formula to parenting, a one-and-done if you will.  

Neither is there with the spiritual life.

Let my cry come before you, O LORD; give me understanding according to your word! Psalm 119:169

Part 1  

Part 2

Things My Children Are Teaching Me: Crayon on the Wall, Part 2

So I'm chronicling a moment I had with my eldest a few years back, when she was about 2 and a half, and she got up one morning before me and grabbed a crayon and drew all over my dining room wall.  You can read Part 1 of that saga here.   

What I'm parcelling out are the parallels between her precious toddler heart and my heart as I proceed on this journey to know and understand God.  

This picture, of my small child jumping at the chance to follow her own free will, continues to press on me.

Had Elin asked me if it was ok to color on the walls, I would have said "No, but..."  

No, it is not ok to color on walls, but, it is ok to color on paper.

The problem wasn't that she was coloring, but that she was acting on her desire to color in a way that I was not ok with. 

The fact that she was coloring was great- I love that she wanted to color.  I want to encourage her to color as often as she wants to, and I hope that coloring will spur her on to other creative outlets. That being said, she still has to color within the boundaries I set for her.

Why?  Whyyyyyyyy, she might ask.  Why can't she be free to just express herself, and explore her heart, and her abilities, and her destiny?  What if my boundaries would stifle her, and keep her from reaching her potential, or worse, from figuring out who she really is?

Welp.

Because creating art on my dining room wall is just not ok.

This is simple stuff.  This is obvious.  But, is it?  It seems like such a no-brainer that crayon on the wall is not appropriate. But in this scenario, I can see the big picture, and E can't.  

It is so obvious to me that E should not color on my walls, but in that moment it was not obvious to E- and hear me on this: we do this with God so often.  

We can't see the big picture, we don't see the obvious, so we go about doing whatever we feel led or inspired to do.

And God says, no, or not right now, or not that way, and we get... frustrated. 

We get confused.  We get to feeling like God doesn't love us, or isn't taking care of us, or doesn't have our best interest at heart.  Honest to goodness, I can get to going on something, or I get to dreaming about something, and I fully expect God to support and praise my efforts. 

After all, it is He who inspired me in the first place, isn't it?  Is it? 

When He doesn't support my efforts and plans- because sometimes He doesn't- sometimes I get confused. Sometimes I get angry, frustrated, and impatient...  Sometimes, I don't understand why God would say no, or not now, or not that way.

We so easily put ourselves in the same spot Elin found herself in.  

We come and go as we please, we buy as we please, we order our lives as we please, and it is so easy to do all these things without first saying, "Lord, is this what you want?  Is it ok that I do this in this way?"  

We give the big things to Him. Usually. We might say things like, "Is this the person you want me to marry?" or, "What career do you want me to pursue?"  Big things.  We might even ask God to bless and direct the work that we are doing. Sometimes. 

But even if we are asking about the big things, it is easy to forget all the other times, and all the other moments, and all the other decisions. 

"What did you want me to say or do in this situation, Lord?," should be a constant whispered prayer of ours.  

"What were You planning to do with my day? What kind of plans did You have with my money? What steps do You want this season of my life to take?"

Asking these questions, and breathing these prayers day in and day out puts us in a posture to listen and learn, rather than in a position where we charge ahead hoping that we are on-target and God will bless our outcome.

Right now, in this season, and in last season, and the season before, God is lathering this lesson on me like a thick salve on a gaping wound.  I keep wanting to wipe the salve away.  I keep wanting to forget this lesson.  I wrote most of these words months ago, and yet, I am realizing I need them now more than I needed them then.  I keep wanting to charge ahead, to sprint out the gate, and the Lord keeps saying wait.  

I grit my teeth and I hold my breath for a long time.  Sometimes tears are involved.  And then I take a long slow breath, and look back up, and say "What were you planning with this?  Help me understand."

"Let not the wise man boast in his wisdom, let not the mighty man boast in his might, let not the rich man boast in his riches, but let him who boasts boast in this, THAT HE UNDERSTANDS AND KNOWS ME, that I am the Lord who practices steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth, for in these things I delight, declares the Lord." 

Jeramiah 9:23-24

Things My Children Are Teaching Me: Crayon on the Wall, Part 1

She had just recently figured out how to escape her crib, and early one morning, before I was up, E snuck out of bed and busied herself- a clear act of sneaker-y, which I did not yet know her little soul was capable of.  I came downstairs to find three giant scoops of food in the dog's bowl, sufficient evidence that she had spent some time in her playroom, and a beautiful mosaic stretched across my dining room wall.

She could hardly wait to show me her handiwork. She showed me the dog's bowl, squealing, pointing, beaming with pride. As she grabbed my hand in hers and led me into the dining room, I prepared my heart for what I might find... 

This, right here, is what I found.

A gamut of emotions welling up in me, I stopped to snap this pic, and in that moment she looked up at me, so proud of herself, and she said in the tiniest little voice, "Isn't it exquisite?"

Oh for heavens sake.

First, where did she learn the word exquisite?

*Heart melting right here.*

I tried to look on the bright side.  Good, I said to myself.  Now I have a good excuse to paint this room way sooner than we planned!

All those thoughts and emotions swirling around my head, I looked down to a little girl looking up at me with joy-filled eyes.  

And I looked at my wall.

And I looked back at her.  

I wanted to ignore the fact that my wall was now covered in crimson and cadmium green. I wanted to celebrate with her. I wanted to praise her for her creative spirit and her boldness to live uninhibited, following what her heart had prompted her hands to do.

But.

As proud as I was of her,
for being so proud of herself,

I still had to sit her down

and talk with her

about how it was 
not 
ok

to draw on the wall.

Paper, yes,

but not the wall,

or the furniture,

or anything else.

Just paper.

Confusion in her eyes spoke words she couldn't articulate.  In her eyes what she had done was good.  She was expecting praise from me, for the good work she had done.  Even so, I couldn't just ignore the fact that she had drawn on a place that she was not supposed to draw.

As I stood there I had another little "I see what you're doing there" moment, where I saw myself from God's perspective.

E is young and fresh and inexperienced.  She doesn't yet understand the ways of the world, and it is my job to teach her. In that moment, as I held her my eyes were opened to a bigger picture- a picture of God holding me, talking to me, correcting me.

I am the same as my little girl. Finite. Limited. Inexperienced. I don't understand the ways of God, and He is teaching me. And I think God might be saying to me- more often than He'd like- "yes, that is a great idea, but you didn't ask me about it first."  Or, "Yes, that is a great idea, but let's do it My way."

I found this gem in Proverbs:

My son, if you receive my words and treasure up my commandments with you, making your ear attentive to wisdom and inclining your heart to understanding; yes, if you call out for insight and raise your voice for understanding, if you seek it like silver and search for it as for hidden treasures, then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God. For the LORD gives wisdom; from his mouth come knowledge and understanding; he stores up sound wisdom for the upright; he is a shield to those who walk in integrity, guarding the paths of justice and watching over the way of his saints. Proverbs 2:1-8

We, the people, the Christians, the church goers.... we get carried away, sometimes.  We get the greatest and grandest ideas.  We are filled with vision, and strategy, and creativity, and cool catch-phrases, and we get carried away, sometimes. We make good plans. Plans for good, good things. 

If we are not careful, we can get carried away with our grand plans, or practical decisions, and those beautiful seedlings of an idea can get set in motion before we really stop to ask if the thing we are doing is being carried out the way God had planned.

I've been writing this out for several months now, breaking it down, and filling in all the things God is teaching me through this little moment in my dining room two years ago.  The longer I sift through this, the more deeply I realize how much I'm struggling with this very thing.  Maybe you are too.  

I so desperately want to go, and do.  I have so many plans and ideas, and I picture myself like a little child, standing at the feet of Jesus, arms full of ideas like trinkets being offered up, saying, "Look, Jesus!  Aren't these wonderful??  Don't you just love them?  Aren't you proud of me??"

And in the rawest, most vulnerable places of my heart, I find myself saying things like, "Don't you understand Lord? Don't you see that this is good?  That I'm doing all of this for you?"

And he picks me up, and says in the softest, most gentle and loving way that only he can, "Let's do it my way."

Part 2
Part 3

a hand extended

I took the girls to the park tonight, and it was the best ending to a long workday.  We had perfect weather, and the kids had the park to themselves most of the evening.

We stayed an eternity.  I gave the girls ample warning, and told them probably 8 times to go down the slide one last time.

I knew Cal wouldn't understand, and prepared myself for her melt down.

She fought me back to the bench, trying to fling herself from my arms, and screamed and hit as I put her shoes on.  She tried to run while I wedged an uncooperative Coco's shoes on.  Thank God E was calm and listening.

It is weird when your kid is the one making the scene.

It's a little embarrassing.  Mostly from a prideful perspective.

I know that my kid has sensory issues and has difficulty calming herself down from an overstimulated environment, but to the unknowing eye she looks like a bad kid, and I look like a bad mom.

Or at least that is what runs through my head.

There was a mother sitting nearby, who I was sure was judging me.  I mean, who wouldn't?  What mom doesn't get her kid under control?

But just as that last shoe slipped on to the final tiny sweaty foot, I heard a voice saying, "Ma'am, ma'm, you're doing a good job."  I looked up bewildered.  First of all, I don't really think of myself as a "ma'am" but I guess I am now.  Aiyiyiiiii.  

I caught her eye, and realized that yes, she was in fact talking to me.

She kept going.  "You're a really good mom.  You're doing a really good job with them."

Surprised, heart wide open and all torn up, I blurted out a thank you.

"Looks like you have a four, three, and two year old," she said.  "No, they're three and two.  It wasn't planned," I spurted out my usual phrases as I tossed my hands in the air to take the tension off the fact that nobody has three kids in two years. Well, nobody who has any good sense about them.

She smiled gently, and offered up that, once upon a time, she had a three year old, a two year old, and a newborn.

I wanted to hate her for a moment, for comparing herself to me.  For thinking we were the same, for thinking a three year old, a two year old, and a newborn were the same as a 13 month old and two newborns.  Or the same as a threenager and a pair of terrible-two's, all with carnal nature in full effect.

I wanted to hug her, for reaching out to me.

There is this wrestling in my heart - knowing that my story is hard.  I have settled on knowing that my life is harder than some, but easier than others, and I've tried to land in gratitude.  There is a frustration, at times, that nothing can ever be normal, or easy, or that there is never a time where I'm not exhausted.  There is an insecurity that lingers, a petty fear of being judged.

This is self-centeredness at its best.

My eyes are opening up to the realization that each precious soul that walks the earth goes through difficult things.  There is no such thing as an easy life.

We are all confronted with things we think will break us.  For each person, that difficult thing is different.

I think this makes it harder to recognize the struggles other people face.

It makes it easier to put up our walls when we say, "If they only knew how hard this is for me..." or, "If they only knew the hurdles I have been forced to claw my way up over."

But we all have our things, the things that make our life... harder.

I have this habit of greeting people I come in contact with.  If I make eye contact, I give a smile, or a head nod, or a how are you.... a small gesture of recognition that I am in the presence of another human being.

I do it because I like to be friendly, and because I don't think there is enough friendliness in the world. I want people to know they are noticed, and worthy of my time, worthy of a small act of kindness.

I also recognize that I might be the only shred of kindness or warmth someone might get for the day, and that I have not the slightest insight into the backstory of the lives I cross paths with on the sidewalks and in the hallways and in the grocery aisles that I frequent.  So I smile, or say hello.

Sometimes it freaks people out, like I've unexpectedly entered their personal bubble from eight feet away with my uninvited salutation.  Sometimes I get blank stares, or the averted eye like they didn't really see me.  Sometimes I'll get a shy, blubbering response, taken aback, not wanting to be rude.  It's ok that they don't understand my motives.

Tonight I was the recipient of the kindness of a stranger.  Tonight I remembered that good feeling when someone recognizes the humanness of your situation.  Tonight I blubbered through a thank you, embarrassed that I had an unruly child, grateful that someone saw my struggle and had the grace to say "I've been there, I know your pain."

My heart breaking and broken and mended.  My little Cal, my littlest angel.  My tiniest child who loves puppies and high-fives, who shrieks when she is excited and rests her head on my shoulder when she needs a quiet place.

My child who I want so desperately to understand me - without a simple transition sending her into a tailspin.

My petty ego, worse for the wear, with all the voices in my head telling me that no one could possibly understand my struggle, and no one has it as hard as I do.

Polluted and inflated, I remind my ego again to simmer down.

And a hand extended, held in suspension, in fellowship, in generosity, using just a few short words strung together in the simplest sentence healed my weak polluted heart.

No judgement, just encouragement.

Tonight I remembered how a few short words can bring so much healing, and strength of spirit, and why I need to keep giving the same.

Here's to the struggle.  Cheers to the struggle.  May we love each other better because of it.