TRAINING UP A CHILD

I know a lot about sin – where the seeds are, how they root and grow into underground webbings, making beanstalks overnight. I have Master’s Class experience. Since I became a mother, I don’t let myself get quite so buried under rocks about it. I haven’t scratched the surface on holy, but I sure understand mistakes better.

I have an alphabet and a label maker for spelling out soul struggles like separation anxiety, obsessive compulsive, attention deficit and inadequate impulse control. I have a lot of people – some professional, some not so much – advising me all the time what and what not to do. In the midst of that I try to laugh and be wise, and not exhibit signs of oppositional defiance disorder. I monitor the level of my outside voice, and I try not to let aggression turn passive. I try not to quench the spirit. I dodge prescriptions. I study DaVinci and Martha Stewart and Simon foot-in-mouth Peter. I look for precious gifts to polish – for anything true, excellent, worthy of praise. I see, clear as a glass house, how frustration can wear a spirit down. Try this, maybe that, persistent, consistent, don’t blink, don’t sweat, don’t ever drop the ball. I give thanks to God that I already know how to sweep to the corners of error. I give deep thanks to God for swimming in grace.

I do not want my children to hurt.

But sometimes they will hurt. Sometimes they will hurt other people. From my side of it, some days I’m not sure which of those is harder. I put tape over the mouths of old-time voices in my head that lob guilt bombs. Didn’t your mother teach you NOT to – crumple your homework, colour on walls, kick off your shoes, leave the house without socks, gossip, yell, wipe your mouth on your sleeve, hammer nails in your dresser, say f**k, punch people? There are an awful lot of don’ts to remember, in between Family History forms and permission slips and reading and math and World Peace. Sometimes I just want a t-shirt that reads, Don’t tell me what to do.

Few people really like error. It is offensive. It is annoying. It is distracting. It is wounding. It is hurtful. It is messy. It is damaging to relationships. It is very, very time-consuming. It is better not to make mistakes – so you have life, time, money, energy, limbs and relationship for all the right choices you want to make. If I could take mistakes away, I would. Maybe.

The truth is, I believe Jesus when he says, The one who is forgiven much, loves much. And I so badly want my children to love much. I so badly want them to grasp and wield the unsurpassed power of forgiveness and to build their lives on a foundation of grace. I don’t want them to ever think to paint white.

But I still let them peek at what the paint looks like, and I show them how to hold the brush. I tell them all the rules. I speak the words, Be good, as they go out the door and I hear God say to me, sharp, urgent, with the outside voice. Stop, My child. Stop. That is not how I have taught you.   

 Just as I am. I have to get brave to tell my children what I know – all the priceless that God has shown me through the pining of my sin and error. Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with God. Do not be afraid of pain. Do not fall into sin – do whatever you do on purpose. Own your choices, and learn from them. If it’s a mistake, then it’s a mistake. Tell the truth to yourself and to God – God will speak Truth to you. God is Grace. All is grace.