Heart Writing

My in-laws have been in-town… so I’m sort of out of sorts on the blogging thing.  But I now have fourth bedroom in my house (a story for another day!).  

Anyhow, I thought I’d let you know that I have a guest post running over at Multiples and More.  It’s the second in a slow series I’m writing as I learn about loving and mothering Strong Willed Children (one of which may or may not be myself).

Hop on over here and join the conversation about Relationships with your Strong Willed Child(ren).   I’d love to know what you’re learning!

I am a strong-willed kid.

Independent.
Stiff-necked.
Obstinate, even.

I have been tiresome.

I probably still am tiresome.

I go my own way and you watch silent: tear-stricken.  Like that first day of kindergarten.

Back then, perhaps, I didn’t understand your grief.  I was doing things myself.  I was doing them well.  Perhaps I was overzealous in seeking praise.  I thought it should please you to see me grow.

Oh, but now I have children of my own.  And that same driven fierce independence that I used on you, I use on them.  I teach Sedryn to roll both ways because I weary of flipping him back over.  I teach Bronwyn, patiently and repeatedly, to come when I call.  I teach Aeralind to keep her self-control, to ask without whining, and to accept no’s with grace.  And soon they learn.

I understand now your grief (if only a little since we are made of different stuff).  How one moment I am needed to solve things, needed to teach, needed to sooth and the next moment they’ve nailed it and moved on.  And, while I’m so encouraged to see them master things, well, it’s one less thing I get the privilege of teaching them.

And if I look briefly they’ve grown up and left my lessons.

Oh, but if I sit and study them, they’re like lizards.  Their spirits all scaled-over like a dragons.  Multifaceted.  Some scales theirs alone: their personality, their gifts, their natural-bent.  Other scales this messy conglomerate of things I’ve done and failed to do mixed with all those things above.  Yet, still there are scales that come straight from my lessons.  From things that I have done (by the grace of God).  Like the one on Bronwyn that lights up with I talk about reigning in a horse.  Or the one on Sedryn that glows when I kiss one cheek and he waits, mouth open in anticipation, for the other cheek smooch.  Or the one on Aeralind that gleams when she puts one her shoes.  Or the one on me that drops the car seat and her diaper bag to reach down and snuggle a hurt child (because we both know that’s not my natural-bent).

Mom, you’ve shaped me.  A scale here and there.  The ones around my heart.  The ones on my obstinate head. Thank you.

I’m sorry for not saying so sooner.

I’m independent, stiff-necked, and obstinate, you know?  It takes a bit to process things and even more to find the words and time to say them right.

Love you.

The humble person receives praise the way a clean window takes the light of the sun.  The truer and more intense the light is, the less you see of the glass.
Thomas Merton

We talk about it quietly while my two year olds bounce with her three and five year olds on the trampoline.

How we’ve distanced ourselves from certain relationships because of the fear.

Not fear caused by the relationship.

Nor fear of the closeness of the relationship.

No: distanced ourselves because of the fear we see in them.

That fear making an impenetrable wall around their hearts.

Because when you fear others so much that you live to please them… you cease living as a unique creation of God… you cease living except as someone trying to determine and meet the expectations of others.

And I want to love and know the unique creation you were made to be.

I don’t care if you managed to put make-up and boots on the day I come over.

I don’t care if you have a beautiful snack platter set out on your meticulously clean counter when I come over.

I don’t care if your children are wearing designer clothes that match and play with all the best and safest toys.

In fact if you come over to my home, you’ll find books strewn all over my unvacuumed floor.

Toddler girls wearing mismatched tunics and pj pants because that’s what they wanted to wear (and I’m just pleased that they mostly dressed themselves!), and an infant son sleeping in a pink ladybug sleep sack because his sisters’ hand-me-downs are good enough for bedtime.

My hair might be done or I might not have showered in the last 36 hours due to choosing a nap or two over a shower. And I only own comfortable shoes (though some might be cute) because that’s what I like.

I let my two year olds jump on trampolines without nets and climb fearlessly atop their tunnel (and spot when necessary).  I doubt we have all the best recommended toys for their age.

I’m not saying that I’ve distanced myself from relationships because we’re different.   No, I welcome diversity; it’s what makes community beautiful. My closest friend Julia and I are somewhat night and day visibly.  So I’m not telling you that just because you dress stylishly, clean your home, and properly dress your kiddos, that you’re not a viable candidate for friendship.

But when you do all those things just to impress others, you’re living in fear.  You’re hiding your true self with its weaknesses made just to encourage me (and so many others).  And you make me want to hide, too. And because we’re both hiding… then we can’t genuinely love each other.

And that is sad.
Truly sad.

And I have to put a boundary on that relationship.
1. Because it makes me fear that Ill never measure up to your standard.
2. Because it tempts me to judge your actions and standards and elevate my own standards/myself as better than you.
3. Because it’s not a real relationship.  We’re not growing, changing, and becoming more like Christ together.

So let me challenge you (and me) once again: to be real.

To let someone love you.
Flaws and all.