Expecting Too Much from My Kids?

My son turned 5-years-old this week. That means I’ve been a daddy for almost six years. My son, and my three-year-old daughter, have never known a time when their daddy was not a pastor. They are being raised in the church. They are the kids who are always at Sunday school. It is a given that our kids are signed up and attending Vacation Bible School. I am happy about that. I see my children developing a love and appreciation for God.

            I also enjoy the conversations I have with my children – especially my son -- about the Christian faith. As he tries to wrap his mind about the bigger truths of the Bible and doctrine, he can ask some provocative questions. He tries to understand the Trinity. When an elder member of our congregation died, he spent lots of time asking about life and death (“Where do we go when we die?” “What happens to our bodies?” “Will my fish go to heaven?”). He asks where heaven is, why we cannot see God, and what the new heaven and new earth will be like. I treasure his questions and try as best as I can to answer the questions.

            But, I realize that I expect more from my kids than I would typically expect from any other person. Unfortunately, my tendency has been to teach them a false gospel when I expect too much from them. Let me explain what I mean.

            There is no denying that the children of a pastor are held to a different level of scrutiny than other children. They do live in a glass bowl. I know every pastor tells his congregation that he is the pastor, his children are not, and that his children should not be held to a different standard from other children. While we try to uphold that, the truth is that our children are held to a different standard. If my son or daughter “acts up” in worship service, it is noticed more than if another child acts up. Unfortunately, I also expect that my children behave far differently than other children simply because they are pastor’s kids, and I don’t want to be embarrassed. But, my 5-year-old and 3-year-old kids are not fully developed and they are subject to misbehavior and doing things all kids do.

            I also have found that I expect more of my kids outside of the church building. I expect their behavior to be exemplary. While I may not vocalize it, my thought is “If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times, so why don’t you get it?” If I talked to my son yesterday about why he should not hit his sister, I expect that he will remember the talk, control the emotional response that caused him to hit his sister, and react in the correct way every time. If I told my daughter last week to put away one toy before taking another one out to play with, I become aggravated when she does not do what is appropriate this week.

            Then it struck me, I am expecting my children to do what they are emotionally and sometimes physically incapable of doing. At their ages, they do not have the cognitive ability I expect from them. But, there is something even more damaging at work here.  I am teaching them a works-based, rather than a grace-based faith. For those of you who don’t speak Christianese, what I am saying is that I expect my children to earn my favor through their behavior. I expect that their actions will be appropriately moderated to do what is right. And when it is not “right” I reprimand them.

            Please do not misunderstand; I am not advocating that we not discipline our children. God’s word tells us that our good Father disciplines those he loves (Hebrews 12:7-11, for example). It is right that I expect my children to act in a civil way in public. It is right that I train my children how they are to treat others. It is appropriate to teach my children that they do not fight, or steal, or cheat. However, I find that my unspoken expectation is that you do what is right, because I have already told you what is right; and if you don’t do what is right, you will not earn my favor. How tragic.

            I preach a message that says God by His mercy and good favor draws people to an eternal relationship with Him by what Jesus accomplished on the cross. Jesus became the once-for-all sacrifice to cleanse people of sin and make right what was undone by the Fall. And I preach that there is nothing that we can do in our human strength to earn the favor and mercy of God. We cannot work enough, or do enough, or pay enough to win God’s forgiveness. Instead, He gives it to us as a free, unearned gift.

            That’s what I preach from the pulpit. But at home, I preach a different gospel. I preach that favor can be earned. I preach that works do result in mercy. I preach that you can pay your way (through your right actions) into relationship and blessing. Unfortunately, I fear that too many of us preach this same gospel at home, while proclaiming a vastly different gospel in the marketplace. The truth is that I do love my kids, even when they mess up. I know you love your kids when they drop the ball, too. But, are we being too quick to teach them that what we speak is different than what we truly believe? Are we unknowingly teaching our kids that their perfect Father really does expect certain actions and Reponses in order for them to receive His good gift?        

            I know that God expects that His followers will walk in the good works that He has prepared for them from before the world was created. I know that God is pleased as our walk of faith aligns more closely and perfectly with His perfect way. And I know my Father is not looking at me and thinking, “If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times, so why don’t you get this?” He certainly could ask that question. And He would be right to reprimand me for my repeated failings. But, instead, I know He looks at me with love. He revels in the “successes” and works through me in the “failures.” And isn’t that what I want to model for my children? Thank God for His goodness to me. It’s time for some grace-based parenting.

My Dirty Little Secret

I have to confess my dirty little secret. I try to hide it from friends when they come to visit me and my family at our home. I attempt to keep up the veneer of respectability by keeping this hidden. And I do a pretty good job at hiding my secret. Yet, whenever friends come over, I fear they will discover the secret. It would be so easy for them to do so. When I go out to my car in the morning, I wonder if my neighbors -- who surely catch glimpses of my secret -- are judging me or talking behind my back. So, I’ve decided it’s time to come clean.

            Watch this video to find out about my secret. Don’t worry; you don’t need to remove your parental controls to view the video. I promise, there is no nudity, just a baring of my soul.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CxVBhyVdFs&feature=plcp

Acts of Courage - Flight 93 Remembered

Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13

            This week, we once again remember and commemorate the devastating attacks on the United States that took place September 11, 2001. In the blinking of an eye, we became a nation that was under attack by terrorists, who used four planes to target the World Trade Center buildings, the Pentagon, and an unknown destination. Every year, my generation will recall this date and remember the feelings we had as we watched or heard the events unfolding before us.

            We have heard the story of the fourth plane, United Flight 93, which crashed in the fields of Pennsylvania. The passengers on board heard reports of the other flights, knew that their flight was being used to target another location, and took action to overtake the terrorists and ground the plane out of harm’s way. We know these events transpired based on phone conversations that those passengers had with loved ones moments before they got the upper hand on the terrorists. 

            The events that took place in that plane – some we know, some we can only quess at – have captured my thoughts this past week. I can only imagine the fear that many, if not all, of the passengers felt when the terrorists commandeered the plane. I imagine the fear was heightened as they became aware that the plane would be used as a missile to target and harm others. At some point, everyone on that flight had to know that their lives would end within minutes.

            It is at this point, that I consider the heroism of those passengers. Yes, there were some who took charge and overpowered the terrorists. Others would have stayed in their seats waiting for the end. However, what impresses me is that all of the passengers, I believe, collectively chose to sacrifice their lives in order to save the lives of countless others. That is heroism defined by action. Some may say that the passengers didn’t have a choice, that their fate was already sealed, but I do not think that is true. They did have a choice (albeit a limited choice). They could have done nothing and allowed an untold number also to perish, or they could choose to limit the number of fatalities. They heroically chose the second option. Imagine what may have happened if those men and women chose inaction instead of action.

            As Jesus said, a true friend will lay down his life for another person. In the case of United Flight 93, many men and women chose to lay down their lives for the sake of others. Jesus was telling his disciples that he would soon lay down His life for their benefit. And we are called in many ways to lay down our lives for others. If asked, “Would you put yourself in harm’s way in order to save the life of your spouse or child?” all of us would immediately answer affirmatively. I would, without a doubt, take on death for my wife or my children. Jesus takes it a step further, asking if we would be willing to give our lives for our friends. The passengers of Flight 93 showed us their willingness to give their lives for others by their actions.

            You and I may never be placed in a position where we have to make such a dramatic decision. But, we must be prepared and willing to make that choice should we be asked to. Just as importantly, we are called to give up our lives in much less dramatic ways. You are called to love your spouse as Christ loved the church, and gave Himself up for her. I fall far short of that expectation. How about you? In what ways have you counted others more significant than yourself (Philippians 2:3)? Have you given up your “rights” in order to raise your children with respect? Have you put away petty rivalries you have with your neighbors? I know I have a long way to go in all of these areas. And I know that under my own power, I cannot be the humble, sacrificial person I am called to be. Heroism can be defined not just in the big events, but also in the simple day-to-day events.

            I will never know why the passengers of Flight 93 chose to overtake the terrorists. Did some do so to protect others? Did some do so to uphold, as best as they could, principles of democracy and freedom? Did some do so to honor the United States? Did some do so that our way of life might not be changed? I will never know. But, if I may conjecture, I would guess that at least one person was hoping that his or her last act might bring the challenge to someone to live a better life. Someone surely hoped that his sacrifice would result in other people cherishing their families more. Someone certainly thought her sacrifice might bring hope to someone’s life.

            True heroes are defined by the choices and actions that those heroes make. Do you have the courage to be a hero?

Kindergarten Days

My son began Kindergarten last week. The days leading up to his first day of school were filled with anticipation and preparation. We had to buy clothes for his school uniform. We got a backpack for his work. We prepared a place where all schoolwork could be placed when it comes home. My son had a difficult time sleeping the night before school, and was anxious to get to school that first morning. He barely ate breakfast. At the school playground, he quickly found a new friend, met his teacher, and began the process of adjusting to his new environment. I was excited for him, but also overwhelmed by the passing of time. It seems yesterday I was with his mother in the delivery room, waiting for him to enter this world. The time goes so quickly.

            I also considered my memories from kindergarten. They are few. I remember my first day of school. My teacher told us one of our goals for the school year was to count from 1 to 100. Well, I already knew how to do that. So, I raised my hand, told my teacher I could already count from 1 to 100. She sent me to the teacher’s aid, who listened to me accurately count from 1 to 100, and then count backward from 100 to 1. Thanks, Mom, for investing in my life early on.

            I also remember two humbling experiences. The first came on the playground. My mom had bought me a green sweater that had a pocket with Sesame Street’s Oscar the Grouch on the pocket. The pocket was Oscar’s trash can. I was so proud of my sweater. But, the first day I wore it, kids made fun of it during recess, and started putting playground trash in my trash can pocket. It mad me mad, and embarrassed. I never wore that sweater again, but I could never tell my Mom why I didn’t want to wear it. The other humbling experience came when I was unable to get to the bathroom in time and had an accident. I didn’t have a change of clothes, and I had to be assisted by the teacher’s aid as she hung my wet underwear in the bathroom, and I had to return to the classroom with wet pants. Oh, did I get picked on for that!

            When I started Kindergarten, my Mom was pregnant with my sister. A neighborhood friend, Kimberly, also had a mother expecting a child. Kimberly wanted a baby brother. I wanted a baby sister. This was in a day when you did not find out the baby’s sex before birth. Kimberly and I decided (in a rather naïve, kindergarten way) that if my Mom had a boy, and her mom had a girl that we would exchange the babies during the middle of the night. We figured that nobody would be the wiser, and we would both then get what we wanted for a baby sibling. Yes, we had a lot to learn about anatomy, and a mother’s knowledge of her baby. Amazingly, our mother’s both went into labor on the same day, the babies were both born on the same day, and the ladies shared a room while in the hospital. And, yes, I got my baby sister and Kimberly got her baby brother. No midnight exchanges were needed.

            For some reason, I always had a a difficult time telling my family when something was wrong in my life. A case in point occurred in Kindergarten. It was parent-teacher conference time. My Mom sent me with a note to my teacher asking if they could hold the parent-teacher conference during a carnival fundraising night at the school. My teacher wrote a note giving my Mom an answer, and bobby-pinned the note to my shirt (to this day, I don’t know why teachers used to clip notes to children’s clothing). I took the school bus home that day, with my note pinned to my shirt. You guessed it. Some of the older kids began to tease me, and took the note off my shirt. I couldn’t tell my Mom about the incident, so when she asked about her note, I told her that my teacher said, “Yes.” So, my parents went to the carnival fundraiser, asked my teacher if now would be a good time for the conference, and found out that my teacher had pinned the note to my shirt saying that she would not have the time for a conference that evening. I had to explain to everyone what had happened, and broke down in tears.

            My final memory of Kindergarten is very sad. During that year, my maternal grandfather was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Upon hearing the news, my grandmother had a massive heart attack that evening and died. Her funeral was planned on the same day as my Kindergarten graduation. So, I missed my graduation and sat by my Mom and ailing grandfather that day at my grandmother’s funeral. My grandfather died six weeks later.

            That final memory really resonates with me as I sent my son to kindergarten. We do not know what today or tomorrow holds. Those things we choose to do today, or not do, cannot be redone or replayed. My time with my maternal grandparents was limited to six years. I have such fond memories of both of them. So I want to seize each opportunity I have with my children to create great memories, and to teach them as much as I can. I don’t know what memories my son will take from his Kindergarten year. I pray some of his memories are terrific. I also pray that he has some memories that are embarrassing, or humbling, not because I dislike him, but because I want him to grow through those experiences. Here’s to a fantastic year, with many teachable moments – for my son and for me.