Tag Archives: faith

Fear of Parenting, Part 2

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As I explored in my previous post – Fear of Parenting, Part 1 – parenting has undone me in many ways. The truth is, I was already selfish and overwhelmed and angry, I just didn’t see it until I became a parent. This wide revelation of my inner self often leaves me feeling naked and ashamed. Yet I am confident this is not where God intends me to remain, because He says things like “So now there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)

When I state in plain words the things I am thinking and believing (the lies listed in my previous post), it gets really clear how far my head and heart are from the truth. This provides the opportunity to explore with the Holy Spirit what the truth is. As I have done that, these truths have emerged:

  • There is not one right answer. Perfect parenting is not the goal. It’s ok. Jesus is here with us.
  • God’s power to redeem is much greater than my power to destroy.
  • Enough faith to come to Jesus is enough faith to be healed by Jesus.
  • I CAN change. But where I’m going is God’s work in me. I am neither a slave to bad behavior or good behavior. I am free in grace.
  • The only thing that recommends me to Jesus is my great need.
  • Mistakes are not preventable. They are normal. They are evidence of showing up and living life.
  • The goal of parenting is to love my children (imperfectly) and model trusting Jesus (also imperfectly).
  • God gave me the full range of emotions. None of them are bad. He experiences them all too. I am made in His image.
  • I am exactly where I need to be. I can rest now (NOT after I become a “better” parent). Jesus’ fullness is the perfect match for my emptiness.
  • I don’t have to be ashamed. His mercies are new every morning. There is grace, grace, and more grace.
  • I can give myself permission to be calm and centered after a difficult day or experience (i.e. parenting fail). I don’t have to wallow in the bad (God has no desire to punish me). I can move on, grateful for grace and the newness of the moment.
  • There will always be problems and unresolved issues in parenting. I can welcome them, knowing 1) they are normal, 2) there is not one right answer, and 3) Jesus is walking me through them.
  • My children are not disrespecting me and acting like brainless wild creatures on purpose. They are weak, desiring my love and guidance.

Isn’t it nice that Jesus doesn’t think I’m acting like a brainless wild creature on purpose, but instead moves closer to me to love and guide me? Every now and then he reminds me not to take myself too seriously. Perfectionism has a way of turning every moment of life into an opportunity to be “right.” That much pressure is bound to make even the best of us into the worst versions of ourselves. When I feel overwhelmed, it helps to imagine my Savior smiling at me and reminding me, “Don’t take yourself too seriously.” No condemnation.

I still struggle with feeling that I am ruining my children. I joke that we have a therapy fund for the hours of therapy they will one day need in order to recover from growing up in our home. But somehow softening the edges of my struggle is the truth that it’s not about me, and it’s not about perfection. Someone Bigger is in charge, and He is God, which means I don’t have to be. He is Big and I am small. He is Creator, I am created. He is Redeemer, I am redeemed. He is Perfect, I am flawed. He is Potter, I am clay. And He is all this to my children as well. I cannot mess anything up so badly that He cannot redeem it. This is truth, this is freedom.

 

Lies, #3

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I find safety in conformity. I feel afraid of diversity. There is something really uncomfortable for me about interacting with someone who may be hard of seeing or hearing, or who has unusual behaviors or a mental disorder. I don’t know what the rules are. Perhaps if love was the rule I could navigate alright, despite my apparent lack of understanding. But I don’t operate well at that level. I desire clearly defined roles and expectations.

One of the lies I have believed from childhood is this: What you think or feel is only ok when it is the same as what I think or feel. Alternatively, if I can understand how you might think or feel that way, there is a slight possibility for it to be ok even if we are not in agreement. But if what you think or feel doesn’t make sense to me it couldn’t possibly be valid. This goes for desires, tastes and preferences, and so on.

And so I go through life judging others, and assuming they are judging me. I believe that what I feel is not valid unless other people share the same feeling, or unless I can logically defend my feeling. (By the way, logically defending feelings has been a fruitless exercise). I question myself, and I feel discomfort within my own self because I don’t follow my own rules and expectations. How do I reconcile with the mess that I am? How will I interact with people who follow different rules than I do?

The Holy Spirit’s answer to my lie is this: What you think, feel, desire, prefer, and enjoy delights me. I love that all my children are different. Your experience is valid. You don’t need to explain or justify to me why you like or dislike something, want to do something or go somewhere, desire or enjoy something, or feel a particular feeling. You do not have to agree with me in thought and/or action in order for me to be pleased with you. I am pleased with you and I delight in you.

Could I let God be big enough that He can delight in me AND in the person who disagrees with me? Is it possible that what seems mutually exclusive to me is not mutually exclusive to God? Perhaps there is more value in the human experience than in its definition. Maybe part of abundant life is living free from the need to measure up, to hustle, to conform. God is pleased with me and He delights in me. I am enough. Today I can rest. Not after I become a “better” person. Right now. You and I are already in His favor. And so are the “others” in our lives.

Small

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Today I failed. One daughter forgot her lunch, and in the disappointment of losing 40 minutes of my morning to fetch a lunch, I lost it. I called her lunch stupid. I said I was angry. I said I didn’t know if I would even go back and get it for her. Of course after the failure came the even worse mire of shame, and the threat of wallowing through it for the rest of my day. As I drove in the quiet, I cursed at God and begged Him for help all in the same breath. I cried. I wished hormones were not raging. I desperately asked for help over and over, because I knew I needed help and that was about all I could get out.

Navigating failure is not my strong suit. But there’s something you should know about God. He’s not limited by our smallness. A prayer for help is powerful. He met me this morning, and He soothed my heart. He held me as I felt the pain of hurting my child with lashing words. He gave me strength to take responsibility so I can apologize. He encouraged me to tell my daughter I am still learning that it’s ok to make mistakes. He helped me let go of those 40 minutes I felt so angry about.

Sometimes I think I am getting better at life. Or faith. Or parenting. Or something. Maybe I’m figuring things out. I think I have done something good. Or gotten something right. I start thinking I have developed some merit and strength, and I lean on that instead of God. The beauty of failing is that it immediately returns my focus to God. It reminds me that every good thing comes from God (i.e. not me).

Let me never think that I have things figured out, that I know what I’m doing, or that I am able to do God’s work. What He is offering me is divine, not human. It will always be His work, because it is a work no human could ever do. May I not make it smaller so I can have the power. May I always let it be as magnificent as it is, and may I always see my smallness. If ever I feel I have figured it out, let that be a sign that I left God behind. I am the created, and He the creator. I will rejoice in failure, because when I remember I am small, I allow God to be big.