The practice of stop and listen.

Sarah's having a gathering at her blog, around the practices of parenting. She has compiled her practices, or disciplines of mothering, over the past few months and they are definitely worth reading. She commented that her practices have helped her to enjoy mothering, which surprised her.

Everyone is joining in to add their practices, so I thought I'd add a post to the carnival. Click on the button below to go over and check it out.

I rarely read parenting books and I steer away from giving advice that isn't solicited with a question. I hope I'm a good-enough mother, but I'm not an exemplary parent. I dreamed of transcending my own parents but discovered that I make the same mistakes they did. Mums at playgroup say they couldn't imagine me shouting at my children, but that's mainly because I know how to behave in public and they don't live next door to me.

Maybe like you, I have times when parenting goes smoothly and fills me with joy. And then there's times when parenting seems impossible and I'm ashamed of how I behave.

Most of my disasters spring from assumptions, preoccupations and selfishness (and hunger). Good moments spring out of unexpected comments, expressions of love or excitement, and just pausing to enjoy.

The practice I am remembering daily, is to stop, and listen.

When the steam is about to explode from every hole in my head, and there's criticism burning the end of my tongue, I stop. I swallow hard ... and listen. I'm starting to discover all sorts of reasons or circumstances which change the temperature of a situation from red hot to cooling quickly.

When it's bedtime, and I'd rather be checking facebook or watching "Outnumbered", I stop. I lie back down on the bed and hear stories of the day or get spontaneous cuddles. I listen and I'm seeing each child taking shape as they slowly explain themselves to me.

When the job's not done exactly as I like it, or I'm being ignored when I ask for a hand, it's time to stop. Let the hurt or the blunt correction stay put. I breathe out slow and I listen to where everyone is, what's going on and usually my perspective changes or I realise that it can wait for the moment.

When the sound of bodies bounding on the trampoline mingles with shouts and laughter, it's a stop and listen moment. Or that instant when I notice the silence in the hallway, as breaths slow and bodies relax into night. That instant is a stop and listen call.

Rather than react instantly, I'm practicing stopping and listening.



Denial

I've written a post about having a child with a mental illness. You might be interested to check it out, over at Circumstantial.

When I consider how I would respond to the news of a child of mine having a major mental illness, I am ashamed. I realise how perfect I hope my children's lives will be and how unrealistic this is.

 'togetherness' at three

because the glint of mischief in his eye matches the hesitant smile in hers.

Distractions

I ate my lunch on the train. On my way home for dinner. There's words to write tucked in the pocket of my bag. Work trickling over into life. Breaks postponed till the rush of tasks are left as I bolt out the door to the station. Daylight saving is the saviour bringing me to sit at the table I would have missed, were it winter.

I realise the thought space, the energy directed into work. True, it's into people who (often) desperately need it. True, I love the task and have found a place that fits all my unusualnesses (mostly). I could sink all my self there, and draw great reward, enough to fill my outstretched arms. Enough to fill my ears, to drain my heart, to meet my need to be useful.

I am troubled by knowing where these energies are drawn from. Every story of illness or brokenness that fills my ears, is replacing a whispered child's story of their day. It's a picture book I haven't read, with a writhing body on my lap. It's a plate of vegemite sandwiches I didn't make and serve with crescent apple slices. It's the time spent lying sundrenched on a trampoline side-by-side with a four years old.

Time is only spent once. Choices must be made, and bills must be paid (may this never be my guiding reason or excuse). And teamwork in our marriage means we both spend time at home and both spend time at work.

I'm not saying work outside home and parenting can't go together. There is not textbook template for family, beyond love, grace, wisdom and following God's words and ways.

But I regret that my mind is divided. That, at times, my imagination, my attention and my concern is not with my family. I know that this distraction takes from them. And I realise, that if there was no work, there would be something else to draw me from them. We are so distractible, drawn to passing fashions and things that make us feel good. I am fickle in my attention, lacking perserverence. And busy-ness or pressure in one sphere weighs on me in the other.

The discipline I need is to focus on the person I am with - my child, my patient, my workmate, my husband, my neighbour - and listen to how I can serve them, now. To put aside the distraction of ruminating on elsewhere and attend to what I can do, here.

The prayers I need to pray to parent

They are so simple, yet I just keep losing track. This is my reminder for today...

Pray for wisdom
Pray for patience
Pray for love
Give thanks for each and all of them
Pray for them to grow, in all ways
Pray for forgiveness for all the times I am not enough
Pray that they will learn grace from my not being enough
Pray that they will find God enough

What else do you pray? (Yes, I really do want to know...)

Delight and longing

My posts about parenting are often prompted by realisations of failure. The times when I am not the parent that I wish I could be. Parenting is a vast and marvellous task that stretches us in every direction. My heart is not big enough, my brain is not flexible enough, my frame cannot bear enough, my pride cannot be broken enough to make me a great parent.

I am learning the disappointment of not being a better parent than my own. I had such naive hopes of transcendence.

I'll take a turn here because I want to reflect differently today.

On Monday, a workmate proudly showed me a photo of his newborn son. This baby, born to two loving couples, has been carefully planned, and looked forward to by four eager hearts. He will be raised in two houses - two mothers in one, two fathers in the other. I don't mention this to comment on homosexual couples parenting. This issue can be divisive and I'm not here to express rightness or wrongness, blessing or cursing. I have seen the questioning eyebrows as the news passes, and that is enough comment on such things, for me.

We share a bond, this workmate and I. On his face was the naked pride of child-bearing, the passion of loving a newborn, the excitement of a tiny helpless hand hidden in his own. He knows what I know.

Parenting is a baptism. A washing in amniotic fluid and blood, which signals a turn from self-focus to care of another. It is not alone in this call. Many other things can cause this repentence. But parenthood is an obvious, often-idolised transition from self. For some it costs everything. For some I know, they would pay all they have, but that is not enough. The inability to bear a child becomes itself the painful baptism.

For some, parenting comes in such an unplanned fashion, that it cripples the ability to wonder at it and to relish it. What a blessing that parenting is not done in an instant, but gives us time to learn and discover as we do it. To become the parents that can love well.

My friend showed me the absolute delight of loving a child. He showed me what an integral human longing we share - to love a child, to build into a person as they emerge in the journey from birth. This is where parenting becomes transcendent - not in me being 'better' than my mum, but in me knowing a portion of God's parent-heart.

This is his delight - to love us.

This is his longing - to build into us as we emerge.

My prayer is to know more of it in my family.

Family as Safe Harbour

We all build internal sea walls to keep at bay the sadnesses of life and the often overwhelming forces within our minds. In whatever way we do this - through love, work, family, faith, friends, denial, alcohol, drugs or medication - we build these walls stone by stone, over a lifetime. One of the most difficult problems is to construct these barriers of such a height and strength that one has a true harbour, a sanctuary away from crippling turmoil and pain, but yet low enough and permeable enough, to let in fresh seawater that will fend off the inevitable inclination towards brackishness.

(p214-5. An Unquiet Mind, Kay Redfield Jamison.)

Sea walls, slowly constructed to guide and protect. The image is starting thought-streams, since I read An Unquiet Mind, this week. It's a memoir of having bipolar disorder (manic-depressive disorder) written by a professor of psychiatry. (worth reading, too).

Guiding and protecting structures are part of shaping a family or community. As parents we face the same tension, that Jamison describes internally.

Building walls that provide a 'safe harbour' for our children, without stagnation or suffocation.

I want the walls to be high, the protection absolute. I fight my anxiety to allow the sea to flow with some freedom through our family. But I need to bite back my fear, because this flow brings growth and developing independence. It's ironic that an experiential learner like me, struggles to see our children learn through grazed knees, bruised hearts and mistaken ideas. I forget the triumph of succeeding in a new endeavour - pure gold to developing souls.

linked to reflections on parenting at holy experience

Listening

What am I here for?

I started writing and thinking here, in order to listen better.

I have been listening to my children's mother and am amazed at some of the things she says. Let me rephrase that ... I am ashamed of the things I say. Over-reactions. Angry accusing words. "How dare you?"s. Words that belittle, discourage and dig gulfs between us. Apologies for words spoken hastily, words that cannot be unsaid. A wise man once illustrated by trying to get us to put toothpaste back in a tube. Words do not go back into mouths unspoken.

Matthew told me today what Jesus had to say about hastily spoken words.

“Don’t you understand yet?” Jesus asked. “Anything you eat passes through the stomach and then goes into the sewer. But the words you speak come from the heart—that’s what defiles you. For from the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, all sexual immorality, theft, lying, and slander. These are what defile you. Eating with unwashed hands will never defile you.” Matthew 15:16-20.

Simon, a name that means 'one who hears', but some would say it means 'one who obeys'. One who acts on what they hear.

I have recently prayed for ears that really hear. I wasn't counting on hearing my own sin so clearly. The phrases I hear rushing out, in stressed moments, are a word picture of my heart - defiled and desperately needing grace.

I want to listen, to hear and I need the spirit bringing grace to do something about it.

Simon

Anxiety

I want my children to live their lives avoiding the mistakes that I have made. Most parents want good things for their children - safety from pain, fulfilling, blessed life, good job healthy relationships... I'm sure you have a list, too.

Dissecting my wishes, I realise that I would like them to be a more advanced version of myself. To have evolved to be less sinful, less broken, less young. I actually want instant, unearned maturity.

My anxiety about this leads to catastrophizing...

One evening, a bedtime conversation,
- 'Mum I don't want to pray. It's boring.'
- pause... 'Don't you believe in God?' (Anxiety talking)
- 'Of course I believe in God, how would we even be here if there wasn't God.'
- 'True.' Smile, relieved and sheepish.

These babies entrusted to me are on a journey through life. I am helping them along, but it is their journey. Daily routines, chance happenings, words in passing are forming the path they tread. I recall that there were incidental bedtime conversations, childish tantrums and playground experiences that made me.

Helpless baby to independent adult progresses slowly, as we are shaped, wounded and refined into our grown up selves. I can refresh them, equip them, soothe them on their way but I cannot teleport them to their final destination, nor would it help them. I can tell them stories of my travels, and point them to the map that has served me well, but I cannot even choose their ultimate destination.

And, yet we also journey as a family. We build a home, a pattern around following Jesus. Build him deep in the foundation, so his grace may seep up into the brickwork, the air we breath, rest welcoming on the table that we share. But the anxiety can distract me from the daily, repetitive business of showing love and grace.

Wishing for maturity, seeing childish, broken behaviour as a sign of faulty parenting, is tied to the false hope of an evolving humanity. It assumes that society is getting 'better', that we are becoming more civilised. Don't believe that lie, I tell myself. Let your children be young, be ready to learn, to be unformed in character, be immature. The journey will shape them, the spirit will breathe on them. God will look after them.

Compassion

Love blossoms. Anger burns. Joy transforms colours, brightening, heightening. Shame sinks, into the pit of my stomach, pulling my thoughts inward to berate.

Compassion draws me world-ward, lifts reflection from the yawning pit of self. The suffering of a sister or a brother has power, if we let it. Push aside the blinkers. The ones which protect me from dismay and despair, keep my eyes on the goal, the task, the race. Pushed aside for a moment (or a year) to notice havoc wreaked by the garden-banished universe.

Our father, source of compassion, origin of ears that really hear and eyes that really see. He empowers us to notice. To notice another and be moved by their predicament.

On my own I never reach compassion, so absorbed am I in me. Only the breath of God, the God-with-me within can shatter my absorption. My own mistakes can be the seed of compassion for those with a common struggle or loss.

I pray for eyes to see. I pray for ears to hear. Often half-hearted. Sometimes distracted, guarded. Momentarily, I see. His broken heart engulfs my own in that brief glimpse. Perhaps I am stuffed into a crevice with a hand across the gap because I cannot bear the brilliance, the searing sadness, of a truly godly vision.

Compassion is a good gift from above. Supernatural in its strength to pull us other-ward.

Compassion today... mothers blamed for their criticism forming broken spirited children.

My colleague, "Some of us know what it is to have a critical mother..."

Me (I inwardly gasp at a dawning reality), "Some of us know what it is to be a critical mother." Oh how I wish I did not.

Some mothers never know the grace of God which can begin to heal their disappointment with themselves and their children. My prayers today are for them.

The paradox of compassion - our broken-ness reveals, but our forgiven-ness empowers.

The Compassion Blog Carnival - One Word at a Time.

Failing as a mother

I am blown away by this post about grace and parenting. I am often the mum I promised I wouldn't be, also known as the troll who torments my children.

My tiredness, my selfishness, my hurt at not being listened to, my insecurity, my ignorance and lack of understanding, my impatience and my self-absorbtion all drive my angry and spiteful tongue.

Sometimes I don't know what to do about it.

Only the grace of God can make up what I lack.

The first post I linked to, (such inspiring writing!) used this verse from Ephesians to exhort me to consider my words carefully in mothering. Here it is from the translation I often read, but the second version, from the New Century version really made a point about words being able to make people stronger. I love how that roots encouragement into our childrens lives and makes them grow, building tenacity and stability into their beings.

Don’t use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them. (Eph. 4:29b - NLT)

When you talk, do not say harmful things, but say what people need—words that will help others become stronger. Then what you say will do good to those who listen to you. (Eph. 4:29 - NCV)

Praise God for wise words from other people, may they help me to become stronger.

stock.xchng

Kids and Church

I posted recently about children and parental concerns about their behaviour in church. My next dilemma is considering the pastor's kids at church. My husband has been in pastoral ministry since before we started having children, and our son is now old enough to start questioning why he needs to go to church. Sometimes (usually when he is tired), he says church is boring and that he doesn't want to be there.

Most families who are regular church attenders have Sundays when they don't attend church, but as the pastor's family, we go unless we are away on holidays. I have never questioned this or regretted it. I enjoy our church family and am involved in regular ministries on Sundays. But it means that our kids don't get any choice about going to church.

Generally, they like going to church. They have friends there, they participate and often have fun. But I have begun to think that it would be good for my son to be able to choose not to go to church occasionally. On reflection, I've decided that I want him to have some sense of control over attending.

On one hand, as a family, we attend church regularly. On the other hand, each of our children will gradually develop their own lives and families and face choices of their own about church. This is complicated by the fact that their father works for the church. There will always be a tension between leading our children to make right choices and allowing them to search out their own reasons to make decisions.

Ultimately, I need to trust God, that as we teach and pray for our children, and as they grow in their relationship with Jesus, that they will make the choices that I want them to. And I need to prepare for the possibility that they may not do things my way, or even God's way. I pray that they will (follow God's way), but trying to maintain too much control will cause problems.

It is hard to trust God with something that matters to me this much.

Kids in Church

We had a discussion the other day about the behaviour of our children at church. My friend who has children who are 6, 4, 2 and 10 months (and whose husband plays and sings regularly) confessed that she has started to hate coming to church. She worries what people at church are thinking about her children being noisy or misbehaving. She finds herself scanning faces for disapproving expressions. She felt like her son was ruining church for her.

I have thought or felt most of the things she was talking about. Sometimes I miss a whole song or announcement because I'm absorbed by what is happening with one of the children. Some of the time, this is unavoidable. Teaching children to behave in an appropriate way at church is a good thing to do. It takes time, attention and preparation (I'm discovering).

But children are not always well-behaved, even children I love and cherish. They have tired and grumpy days, they have loud and boisterous days, they have 'I'm excited to be alive' days. And if one child has a particular toy at church, it's likely that other children will want it at some time during the service (usually prayer time).

What became apparent during the discussion, was that we all worry about what other people are thinking of our parenting skills, our discipline and our children. It is parenting in public. Even more stressful than the supermarket line, because these are Christians who are weighing us up and judging us.

Wait a minute! this is all wrong. Why isn't church a place where we can experience grace and love and nurturing of our parenting? We are all just learning, bumbling along if the truth be told. It would be a great blessing to be at church and feel that our extended family were here to help us as we teach, train and raise our children.

I think we can start by doing a few things.

1. Start believing that our brothers and sisters wish us well and are not judging us. That they pray for us and want to help us.
2. Allow younger and older members of our congregation to share in our frustrations and struggles. Enlist and older member to help hold a baby or toddler. Encourage friendship between teenagers and our children, in the congregation. Allow people into our family for that hour or two on Sunday and then at other times in the week, too.
3. Stop depending on what others think of us. Start pleasing God rather than people (or our perception of what people think).
4. Enjoy children and their child-like behaviour - in all its forms.

Trophy Rant

What is the deal with trophies for kids' sport?

When I was a child, I got 2 trophies which sat on my shelf and collected dust. 2 is a modest haul and I was proud of them. One was for winning the 9/5s netball grand final and one for getting 100 points at tennis lessons (it took about 2 years of lessons). I did not feel ripped off or trophy poor.

Now, my children are awarded a trophy for every season of sport they participate in, some seasons they get 2 or 3! They build up in the corner of their rooms/window sills/shelves and get broken pretty quickly. (please note my kids are not sporting heroes, all the kids get these trophies)

Not only that, I have to fundraise/donate in order to buy these glorified pieces of plastic. I am given a box of fundraising chocolates which I then proceed to forget to sell, and end up eating guiltily in front of the TV. Then I fork out the fifty-ish dollars to buy the box. Sometimes I resolve to be strong, and donate the $24 profit each box makes.

I resent buying trophies that I don't particularly want my children to have.

I don't want to ban trophies, per se. I just want to rationalise their use. I just want the winner to get one!

I can't help thinking that we are just rewarding mediocrity, and buying our kids something we would want if we were them. I actually don't think they want endless trophies. I think they want their trophies to be special.

I'll get down off the box now.

Personality and parenting

I'm doing some work training over the next couple of weeks and part of the first session was theories about personality development.

This is one of my interest areas and I have a dream of working more in the area of personality and what are currently called 'personality disorders'.


Our homework is to try explaining to a layperson one theory of personality disorder development. I need to do this verbally, but I'm also going to write about it here to develop my discussion and ideas further.

Some people call personality disorders, self disorders, because those with the diagnosis usually have difficulties in what is called self - ie. identity, feeling in control, being able to understand and connect their own emotions, thoughts and experiences.

Biosocial theory is not complicated, and is based, to some degree, on the concept of nature vs.nurture. It acknowledges the influence of both nature and nurture on personality development.

All children are born with a particular temperament - and some will be very emotionally sensitive - both sensitive to the emotion of those around them and experiencing strong emotion internally. Some parents deal well with this, either because they themselves are quite emotionally sensitive or they are just attuned to their child and develop helpful responses. Others find it more difficult and need to work at developing helpful ways to nurture their child.

In some cases, these emotionally sensitive children will be raised in an environment which is 'invalidating'. Their emotional experience will be ignored, negated or in some cases, the abuse they experience will create emotional turmoil that they cannot interpret and make sense of.

The interraction of emotionally sensitive child, and sustained invalidation over time, can lead to poor development of self and personality 'disorder'.

This is sobering news for parents, especially those of us who are good at critically evaluating our own parenting and wondering whether it might just not be 'good enough'*. For me, I hope it is a reminder of the importance of positive interractions and explicit praise with my children.

For people who get diagnosed with a personality or self disorder, beginning to understand the origins of their struggles and behaviour may be a key to unlocking the door to growth and recovery.


*'Good-enough mothering' is not perfect - rather it is children having their needs reasonably well met. (This is based on Winnicott's ideas)

photo from stock.xchng

Sacrificial love

My mother-in-law has a close friend who shops with her. They are both retired and love to spend their time hunting for bargains. It is easy to think about my mother-in-law and her friend in a narrow way and forget that they are women who have led rich lives and were once 38 year old women like me. That they have seen life through the glasses that I now wear.

My mother-in-law's friend was a foster mother because she married later in life and never had any children. She and her husband raised 2 children for 10 years each, among a number of children placed with them for shorter times. When those children turned 16 they returned to see their biological parents. They never returned to live with their foster parents. One, they do not know where he is and the other lives interstate with some contact by telephone.

I do not know all the circumstances and can only guess at the lives those children have lived. But when I think of having a child live in my family for 10 years, loving them and caring for their needs, then no longer having close contact with them and not seeing their children. When I think of that I am struck by the sacrifice of that parental love. To give so freely and not be able to reap the benefits that so many parents take for granted as they grow older.

It is so easy to see a person with the narrow perspective of being a bit-player in the drama of my life. People can seem insignificant or unremarkable, but only because I am self-absorbed and preoccupied with me and mine. May I never forget the precious blessings I have in my life, but I pray that I will not be so transfixed that I ignore or underestimate the people around me.

Parenting

I had such high hopes for being a parent. So many things I know or have worked that should make me such a good parent. Oh, how much I thought I knew before I had children who could answer me intelligently.

Every day I see a new mistake and realise how clumsy I am. Not only that, my children are real people with their own minds, wills and decisions. I cannot make them into what I want them to be. This is all quite unsettling!

Children are sociopaths?

I really enjoyed this article from the Onion, and my eyes have been opened to the sociopaths living in my own house.

It just goes to show that anecdote and opinion can be used to back up any assertion. Brilliantly.

I love my little sociopaths, and I'm not sure I'd like to have one of the other 2%.

The Slap

I've just finished reading 'The Slap' by Christos Tsiolkas. It was a bit sex-obsessed for my liking, but I thought it was a gripping story and I enjoyed the story coming from a number of different perspectives, through different characters' chapters.

Physical discipline of children is such a fraught issue, and that is not the only complicating factor for the people in this story. Some politically correct views are challenged and there is not a pat solution. Other politically correct perspectives on sexuality, relationships and fundamentalism were not questioned at all.

The portrayal of drug-taking was often as positive, particularly with regard to experimentation and I would want to be more cautious than this. It made me wonder if I am very sheltered and prudish because my experience of illicit drugs is limited and I don't have such an open acceptance of their ubiquity and desirability.

It stood out to me, how much personal history, family and experience shape the reactions of each character. Every person had pain, loss or misunderstanding which was at the source of their broken behaviour. There was also a clear message about the need for forgiveness in order to bring healing.

The mother of the child who is slapped, seeks retribution on his assailant. She is a deeply needy woman, both trapped by and idealising motherhood. She is obsessed with her son and the need to be a 'good' mother, but overwhelmed by his possession of her. The sad implication was that her nurturing of her son was going to be a source of future problems for him. That is a searing possibility which I don't like to consider in my own life. But if I don't, how can I work to stop it happening?

I would recommend this book, for the ideas it raises. It is well written, and accurately portrays the dilemmas and blindnesses of our society.

10 things I want my children to learn and remember...

I have decided to try out a list post as advised by the comment links to Justin Moffatt's blog and Abraham Piper's post. So here are my top 10 things I want my children to learn over the next 20 years.

1. They are loved
2. Family is a safe place
3. Learning something new is good
4. It's possible to make most things at home
5. It's OK to be scared, sad or angry
6. To listen
7. To handle being wrong
8. To laugh
9. To be generous
10. To love other people

I have compiled these with the understanding that the love of God and being one of his children permeates all these, without including an overt 'be in a relationship with God' lesson.

Yes, I went to a parenting course

Children value themselves to the degree they have been valued.

No child can see themselves directly, they see themselves from the reflection of others.

We hold the key to other people's self-image, especially our kids.

(Suzy from Centacare).

It is confronting to reflect on what my children see reflected in me. Somehow they are present for all those little moments when I react first, think later. I really wish that I could keep my best moments for them, rather than them seeing my selfishness so often. The pity is that they cannot see it for what it really is - MY selfishness. Instead it lays itself upon their pictures of themselves.

Thankfully, there are times when I am able to reflect love and acceptance, patience and enjoyment.

Therapists talk about the 'gleam in the mother's eye' or mirror transference which help us to develop a coherent self. A bible college lecturer I knew used to love to talk about Martin Buber's description of the I-Thou encounter between God and us, in which we are fully known and fully accepted.

Practically, I want to spend more time cherishing my children and accepting them. Much of what is going on in their minds is actually a mystery to me. (Its for another time, to ponder how much is mine to discover and how much is theirs to guard and protect).

My 6 year old and I talked today about being taught to 'Stop...Think...Do' in her kindergarten class. I could take a lesson from her teacher about that, please. And then practice it the next time something is spilled, broken, drawn on, forgotten or just not where its supposed to be.