A few weeks ago I saw a Facebook post from Proactive Dads, and it said something to the effect of: “Everyone talks about leaving a better planet for our children. What about leaving better children for the planet?” That statement has run through my head quite often since that day.
Tonight we were on our way to my dad’s parents’ house - just like we have been every Monday night for probably about 18 months now - to bring them supper. My dad is an only child. Therefore, my sisters and I are the only grandchildren that my dad’s parents have. That was pretty sweet - growing up (next door to) with grandparents who had nobody else to spoil but us. Now we are the ones left to care for them.
All of our grandparents did so much with us. We saw them almost daily, and they never missed a birthday, holiday, or sporting event that involved us. They have been a constant in our lives - for the absolute best. My grandma is dying. She has been dying of ALS for a couple of years now. She is my first close family member to have a terminal illness. As she is approaching what will likely be her last few weeks on this earth, we have been forced to confront what grief might look like for our family.
I have said this before, but my parents - especially my mom - made us spend a lot of time as children in nursing homes, hospitals, and the houses of less fortunate or invalid persons. We helped with programs like Meals on Wheels - which my grandma who is dying spent some 40 years of her life, I believe, doing. We helped with funeral dinners at church. We visited shut-ins. We spent Sunday afternoons visiting Great Aunt Lena in the local nursing home. We did all these things and more, and I’d like to say that we enjoyed it, but we pretty much hated every minute of it. What kids want to spend hours with boring adults anyway - much less if those adults look scary and want you to hug them?
My parents weren’t wealthy, but my dad did have a decent job. We never drove a new car, and we rarely went to restaurants. The year the Cabbage Patch Doll made it’s debut, we opened our Christmas presents excitedly only to find not-so-authentic-looking, hand-made replicas. Where was Xavier Roberts’ signature?? I’ll tell you where - on the butts of the dolls of the kids who were actually getting what they wanted for Christmas. We have laughed remembering that on those rare occasions when we did go to eat at McDonald’s, sharing was dad’s way of creating sibling love amongst us. We got to share fries and drinks three ways. I had heard lore of something called a "Happy Meal", but we were told we should be happy just to have a meal. We were well-fed. We were well-cared-for. We were loved. We were most importantly not particularly spoiled. When we asked for something we were told “no” at least as often as “yes”.
I just realized on the ride to town tonight: I’m so grateful for having been deprived of many of the things I wanted as a child. I’m so grateful for having been forced to do things for others that I didn’t necessarily want to do. I think these might be the essential contributing factors in our desires to care for our aging loved ones. We might have had the desire to do so - because of the love we received from them or from guilt feelings, but I doubt that desire would have given birth to action on behalf of my grandparents had we not been familiar with the concept of self-sacrifice and what it requires. I’m thankful that my grandparents are being cared for in their later years by family members. My sister and I were in the hotel room with my grandma and in the U of Madison doctor’s office when she received the diagnosis, and we cried until we hadn’t a tear left on the way home together. My other sister lives away, but if she didn’t, I know she would have been right there with us.
My husband is what I like to call a “bad sharer”. I have rarely met a more selfless man in most areas of life. However, when it comes to sharing - specifically food items - he has no talent for it. We have a couple of friends with whom we regularly spend time. They get absolutely giddy when we discuss the possibility of sharing something at a restaurant. They think it’s hilarious to watch. It probably is. I, on the other hand, am a veteran sharer. That’s what we did... and NOT voluntarily. We did, however, figure out what was fair and how to negotiate. A few months ago, Mark and I decided to share a meal when with our friends at a local restaurant. Our meal came with a salad. As I was talking to our friends, Mark had started (and later I determined - nearly finished) with the salad. From the “ashes” of what had been quite a large and delicious-looking salad, I looked down to find a cherry tomato, a leaf of lettuce, and a cucumber left for me. I can’t say I was surprised. After all, Mark - who is “not a dessert person” often likes to tell me that he doesn’t want dessert but that, “I’ll just have a bite or two of yours.” Fair enough. I usually try to order something that is large enough for us to share. I ordered a cookie sundae once, and when it came I looked up to find that he had scraped the ice cream off to the side (for me) and eaten 3/4 of the cookie. If I wasn’t selfish myself, these things would not bother me a bit. However, I am selfish and competitive... not an ideal combination for sharing bliss. So we rarely share anymore. I’m hoping we’ll mature out of that.
Human nature is selfish at best. It starts at birth, and it is a beast that needs taming till the day we die. In the earliest days of a child’s life selfishness is a biological necessity. In my estimation, one of the primary and most essential roles of a parent is to make a child aware of the feelings and needs of others and equip the child to make self-sacrifice a way of life. However, we live in a self-service world. The root of most of the crime, evil, and pain experienced in this life is selfishness and lack of empathy. When I don’t think how my actions will effect someone else, I will always make choices that could and will potentially hurt someone else. In the positive, when I do make that uniquely human decision to think about how my actions will effect another person, I could potentially become a blessing in the life of that person, but I most likely will not become a source of hurt to that person.
With all of these new parenting types that seem to crop up regularly these days, one of the most interesting to me is one in which parents avoid using the word “no” at all costs. It’s perceived as a negative word that might somehow damage self-esteem or short-circuit self-actualization. I’m all for positivity. I’m also all for saying “no” to a child in appropriate circumstances. I have met parents who seem to do nothing but say “no” to their children. In that case, they seem to frustrate the child and become a “noise” in the child’s ears. On the other hand, I have seen children permitted to color on the bodies and clothing of self and peers with magic markers because their parents would not say “no” or take the marker away from the child.
My children are by no means angelic. They have naughty, selfish streaks like anyone else. I used to be much more controlling and fearful in my parenting. I see mothers - especially newer moms or moms with just one or two children - freaking out about things I would not consider the least bit concerning. I think a lot of that has to do with how the parent was parented. I’m no longer very concerned with most foods consumed off of floors, higher tree climbing, and other things that used to drive me to distraction. Last Sunday afternoon, Levi (6) took a letter opener off our desk (not particularly sharp but pointy at one end) to the porch and was trying to whittle a stick with it. I didn’t see it until he already had it outside. I looked out the window and said to Austin (16), “I don’t think he should have that outside alone.” He said, “Mom, he needs to be able to be a boy.” I thought, “Yes - a boy with both of his eyes.” I said, “Would you be able to go outside, sit with him, and give him some safety tips on how to carry and use it?” He said he’d be happy to do that, and he did. I think it’s especially important with boys to let them feel a little dangerous. It has so much to do with how God made them. He is full of strength, passion, and zeal. Writer John Eldredge says in his book Desire, “But he is called the living God. ‘It is a dreadful thing,’ the writer of Hebrews says, ‘to fall into the hands of the living God . . . For our 'God is a consuming fire'’ (10:31; 12:29). And what is this consuming fire? His jealous love (Deut. 4:24). God is a deeply, profoundly passionate person. Zeal consumes him. It is the secret of his life, the writer of Hebrews says. The ‘joy set before him’ enabled Jesus to endure the agony of the Cross (Heb. 12:2). In other words, his profound desire for something greater sustained him at the moment of his deepest trial. We cannot hope to live like him without a similar depth of passion.” I believe that to rob my boys of their dangerous selves would be to rob them of the passion they will need to be the men God intended for them to be... strong, free, protective, able. I have a lot more to say on that subject, but I have to try to stay on track here.
The importance of denying our children many of the things their heart desires cannot be overstated. For one thing, Jeremiah 17:9 and Mark 7:21 (Ps. 119:36, Prov. 4:23, Isa. 59:7 and 13, Jer. 16:12 and 17:9, Mat. 15:19, and Col. 3:5) state that the human heart is evil and wicked and “desperately sick” - desiring bad things for self and others. So why would I want to give my child every thing their heart desires - even from me. Can I meet their every need? Can I comfort their every ache? No. I don’t even know all of what they need or want all of the time. Even if I was present 24/7 and waiting to meet their every need, would that be healthy for them? No. Can I introduce them to One Who created the desire in them and knows exactly how to meet it? Yes, and I should, because the only thing I can guarantee my children with regard to my presence in their lives is that I will not likely be there for them forever. Even when I am, I will likely fail them. I can, however, give them God’s guarantee that says, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deut. 31:6, Josh. 1:5) Never is a long time.
Another reason for denying our children would be to help them recognize that there are other wills out there that matter - other wills that are stronger or more deserving or more needy than their own. In order to break hearts full of our own self-importance, our parents often reminded us of the needs of others and put us in a position to try to meet those needs. Empathy is only learned by similar experience. How can a child who has never experienced disappointment or a broken will relate to the real world experience of the rest of humanity - who experience those things on a daily basis.
Lastly (and most importantly from a Biblical point of view), we cannot truly follow after God if we do not deny ourselves. We cannot deny ourselves if we have not learned the skills required to do so. In Luke 9:23-24 Jesus says, “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake, he is the one who will save it.” (emphasis added). Self-denial is essential for Christian walk and behavior, and it does not come naturally to anyone. It is a taught/learned skill.
I have likely told this story before, but when I was younger I was a scrapper. Physical fights were not uncommon for me. I once (at the age of 10 or so) beat the living daylights out of a boy at the swimming pool of a campground we frequented. He was two years older, about a foot taller, and had a lot bigger mouth than I did. He had been taunting my friends and I and threatened us with physical harm if we didn’t leave what he said was his pool. After several minutes of his threats, I was blind with rage and threw him across three deck chairs, pounced on him, clawed his skin, and pummeled his face until he ran out of the gate as fast as his legs could carry him. He later rode by the pool with a campground employee in a golf cart - bleeding from his face - and was coerced to apologize. The boy yelled, “Sorry, but you didn’t have to go psycho!” Well, he was right. I had apparently gone psycho. I barely remembered the encounter, but my sister (who had pulled me off of him) and my other friends all told and retold it for years afterward. I do remember going back to the campsite afterward expecting that my mom would be happy that I had defended our rights to swim in that pool. She said, “I can’t believe you would do that. You are going to apologize to that boy. You will do it first thing when you see him tomorrow. End of story.” I remember trying everything I could possibly do to manipulate my mom out of making me do it. I couldn’t imagine approaching him and the friends he was always with to apologize for something I felt I had been right in doing. There was no getting out of it. Mom forced me. I remember that the boy I had battered was in the hot tub with his arm around a girl when I approached him and said I was very sorry for having hurt him. I didn’t qualify it. I didn’t say any “buts”. I just said I was sorry for hurting him and hoped he would forgive me. He said it was fine - no hard feelings, and we spent the rest of that vacation playing with those kids without another cross word spoken. Had my mom not forced me to see the error of my ways, feel some empathy for my “enemy”, pray about my wrong in it, and do the right thing, I would not have learned a valuable skill and life lesson. I don’t always do it well, but it’s always right there with me.
Please understand that I would never advocate denying children anything related to basic, essential needs. In the emotional realm, unconditional love is a basic need. In the material realm, food, clothing, and shelter are basic needs. Mostly I’ve been thinking about people who think “no” is a bad word to use with children or who bend over backward to make their children happy at all costs. Spiritual life is full of “no”, “wait”, and “change your behavior” moments. God doesn’t always pat me on the back and tell me that I’m awesome, amazing, and can do no wrong. He always loves me, and because of that He sometimes breaks my heart with the wrong I’ve done (or am doing) to another person or to Him. Sometimes He is heavy on me to ask forgiveness... to stop... to go the other way... to change. I can hear Him, because I heard my parents tell me those things. Their voices tender but clear, “You are wrong here. Go ask forgiveness. Stop. No. Because I said so. I don’t have to tell you why. You just need to obey.” When we think we are even close to perfect, that we can do no wrong, or that we are entitled, we are unable to worship the only One who is Perfect, Right, and Entitled to all that we could ever give and more. Self-esteem impedes God-esteem.
