Growling, Howling, and Yowling

So, tomorrow is Mother’s Day, a day I rarely think of in relation to myself. I always think of my own mother…especially since we’ll spending the day with them.

What is it about being a mother that’s so delightfully complicated, intrinsically natural, yet so stinkin’ hard all wrapped up into one taco roll of a filial bond?

Jeff and I attended a conference this weekend…well, to be honest, we attended part of the conference and only yesterday afternoon. It was on Suffering, Sin, and the Cosmos and it was technically for biblical counselors, but the general topic is one of intense interest to us. We weren’t able to be present at some of the sessions that I really wanted to hear, but interestingly enough, the ones we did hear (even the one on sexual addictions which was really quite fascinating) were what we needed to hear.

I’ve admitted recently via my facebook status that I’ve been a grizzly bear of a mother around bedtime. Typically, I’m not an angry person, though yes, as a result of the situation I now find myself, I have struggled with flare-ups of the blazing red-eyed monster. Admittedly, blistering rage has filled my heart from time to time when I’ve had a particularly rough day and I am reminded of the position I’m in as a result, not of the accident itself, but the aftermath of being forced to fumble through taking care of this mess ourselves because there’s been a general lack of concern evidenced from those whom I thought would make an effort to help me.

I am reminded, however, that no matter what people or institutions fail me…because they have, terribly, and they will…my God has provided for my every need up to this point through the generosity of a support network of people who have nothing to do with the situation and could have easily ignored my tragedy. It is humbling that Holy, Mighty God would deign to continue to display his loving care toward me, a sinful, selfish, and occasionally raging soul. And it is in those moments that I am further reminded that this life, this trial, this thorn so prickly to my flesh and painful to my core, is not all about me. It is about Him and the work He is choosing to do in my life to bring my character more in line with His. And so I breathe in the freshness of His love and I breathe out the bitter gall of fury.

If only it were that easy to do with the children.

Once Jeff went back to work, a blessing and relief all around, I found myself doing much of the parenting alone. Bedtime has usually been a relatively easy thing when Jeff and I are both home. However, since my energy levels have fluctuated from way below normal to slightly below normal and now somewhat normal, by the time bedtime rolls around, I’m done. D-O-N-E.

I growl and snap and snip my way through pottying, teeth-brushing, Bible story, singing, and lights out. I mean, good night, right in the middle of Jesus telling Lazarus to “come forth” I’m barking at Scarlett to quit rolling around the floor, I’m nearly howling at Gideon to get his finger out of his nose and his feet off of his sister because she’s starting to cry, and I’m trying to snatch Lexi one-armed as she’s shimmying and giggling her way up onto Scarlett’s bed so she can jump off. Sadly, Lazarus never made it out of the tomb the other night because I slapped that picture Bible shut so quick, Lazarus’s linens still smelled of perfume.

Night after night it’s the same thing, and even though spending time in the Word and deep in prayer has helped, the flash of irritation still creeps out unexpectedly.

But, Jeff helped me figure things out as we combined things we heard from each session, not necessarily pertaining to parenting, but just good, sound, biblical advice.

Here’s the deal. I have an expectation that my children will obey the first time I ask them to do something. They are corrected if they don’t. That’s not an unrealistic expectation…or is it? I start to get angry or irritated when I feel like I’m constantly correcting them for the same ‘offense’ or whatever it may be they’re doing (or not doing) when I know they know the choice they ought to be making.

However, I believe in original sin, that through the disobedient act of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, all of mankind was stained with unrighteousness, sin deserving of death. That stain of sin, imputed to us all, clearly evident in children and their selfish ways, doesn’t magically disappear when they have been instructed to “obey the first time or else….” They are still sinners in need of God’s amazing grace! Ha. Imagine that. How in the world can I expect my preschool-aged children to consistently make the right choices when the Holy Spirit of God does not indwell within them?

It seems so obvious to me now what needs to be done. They don’t need to change…because they won’t until Christ has rule within their hearts and they have the Holy Spirit to guide their actions. Instead, I am the one who needs to change my expectations.

My stress level of parenting during conflict has just dropped by about 75%.

This little epiphany is not an excuse to allow my children to make whatever poor decisions they want until that great day of faith comes….shame on me if I allow it. It is still my responsibility to point them to the cross, which means showing them the right way to treat others, the types of ‘good’ choices that lead to peace and harmony with each other, and correcting their choices in love when they don’t. I also have to remember that when they disobey, it’s not a personal attack on me, so I have no right to be angry unless it’s anger that’s kingdom focused (and how often can we admit that’s our driving motivation in behavioral correction if we’re truly being honest?). Their disobedience is not a personal rejection of me; they’re rejecting Christ because it’s what’s been credited to them from the Garden, the stain of sin and rebellion in their little hearts.

Furthermore, my expectation shouldn’t be that they’ll mess up every time. That’s ridiculously pessimistic. I set the standard. I set the expectation and set it high (but attainable), but if they fail, and when they fail, there’s no reason to get in a perfectly useless snit that merely serves to emotionally compound an already poor choice.

My goal is, and should be, their hearts. Am I a perfect mother? No. I think I’ve just more than admitted I’m not, and yet, I know what I must do. I can expect that Gideon may fight/kick/run away after he’s caught taunting his sister(s) and knows that discipline awaits him. I must expect that Scarlett may push her little sister down the slide for the umpteenth time because she’s in her way, and I must expect that Lexi may grab Scarlett’s Dora purse and run away screaming “mmmiiiiinnnneee” at the top of her lungs though I’ve told her over and over it’s not.

Am I still going to mess up and make mistakes and growl and howl and scowl and yowl? (Don’t you just love the English language?) Of course I am, but changing my perspective and expectations frees me to abound in love and increase in grace, the same grace I received so undeservedly.

Most gracious heavenly Father, I thank you for making this a matter of great clarity for me; I ask that you change my heart in relation to how I view bedtime and my expectations for how my children will behave. I ask that you guide my mind and guard my thinking. I rejoice in tomorrow, for the opportunity to see your grace at work in my life and the lives of my precious children, whom you have so graciously entrusted me. Amen.