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Yesterday morning, before
retreating to do my writing, I did a little reading of the
newspaper….that hybrid thing the News and Free
Press pony up to print on Saturday. Imagine my surprise
to discover that the three most interesting stories,
relative to Mother’s Day, were deadly.
In one, a mother and her two
sons were buried, in what funeral directors from Dorfman
Chapel called “our largest such service, ever.” They were
dead, thanks to an out-of-control Denali, driven by an
out-of-control drunk on the streets of Farmington Hills,
late Tuesday afternoon.
In the second, a toddler
weighing forty pounds was mauled by a pair of dogs weighing
140 pounds….possibly, even likely, while her mother was
sleeping.
In the third, a long-awaited and
much-heralded opera, Margaret Garner, opened last
night in Detroit, which tells the powerful and painful story
of a runaway slave who decides to kill her children rather
than see them returned to slavery when their recapture
becomes imminent.
Whew! Not exactly the
introduction to Mother’s Day that Hallmark would have us
envision. Speaking personally, I didn’t have any of those
stories on my radar screen when I selected today’s text and
title:
The text being: “Do not be
anxious.”
The title reading: “Spills, and
Great Laughter: Enjoying the Moguls of Parenting.”
Obviously, there is much to be
anxious about. And some of the spills are more fatal than
funny.
Last week, in a sermon on church
shopping (which more and more of you do, and which Kris and
I will soon do), I said that the second most important
question shoppers ask of churches is: “Can you help us raise
our children?” And the only reason it isn’t the first
question is because, statistically speaking, not all of the
shoppers have children. And in my brief remarks following
the raising of that question, I said: “More than any time
within my pastoral memory, I sense a lot of parental
anxiety….anxiety about:
the job being harder than
before,
the pitfalls, greater than before,
the baggage, piled higher than before,
and the stakes, more important than before.”
I can’t document any of that
statistically, but I can report it anecdotally….given my
sensitivity to your worry….to which I am exposed regularly
and repeatedly. Suggesting that, where parenting is
concerned, many of you are putting more into it but deriving
less from it…..if, among the things you hope to derive from
it, are intangibles like comfort and joy.
So is the job really harder? I
suppose you could talk about that over brunch. The people in
Farmington Hills would probably say: “We don’t know if the
job is harder, but the cars are certainly faster.” Even as
the people in Waterford might add: “We don’t know if the job
is harder, either, but the dogs are certainly bigger.”
Although opera goers would happily concede: “We don’t have
the faintest idea whether the job is harder but, praise God,
slaves are fewer.”
Death aside (to whatever degree
Detroiters can, this Mother’s Day, push death aside), one
would have to admit that fewer children die than used to
die. In earlier eras, the question was: “Will the kids
survive?” Which was a good reason for having a lot of
them….in case some didn’t. John Wesley was one of nineteen.
But how many of those children lived to maturity? Not many.
Only nine. Disease being the predator then. And, in some
parts of the world, poverty joining disease as twin
predators now. Along with war. Certainly war. But I hear
less talk about such things here in Birmingham. Oh, they’re
real. But their reality is limited, locally.
Although there are predators
today. Unfortunately, they are harder to identify. Drug
dealers, certainly. Sex offenders, arguably. Priests, peers,
parental abusers and pornographers, occasionally. Drunk
drivers and deranged dogs, relatively rarely (albeit
tragically). When we heard about the runaway bride in
Georgia, the fact that our first thoughts were of kidnap and
murder give us away. We believe there are people out there
just waiting to prey on the young and the innocent, and that
we had better be on the lookout for them. Even though we
don’t know them. Especially since we don’t know them. They
could be very ordinary people. Why, they could even be very
good people. Which is why churches, including this one, are
required to check backgrounds on everybody who works with
kids. Because you never know. Unfortunately, when your
suspicion widens, your anxiety deepens. Again, because you
really never know.
But not all of the worry is
about things predatory, given that a lot of bad stuff
happens to kids internally. They get messed up in their
heads….the way they think. They get messed up in their
hearts….the way they feel. They even get messed up in their
stomachs….the way they eat, or don’t eat. Friends of mine in
another part of the country answered my inquiry about their
daughter, who recently returned to the family after an
extended time away, where she received therapy for an eating
malady. They write:
As
far as our daughter goes, it truly has been a roller
coaster. Predictably, the first three weeks after she
returned home were good weeks….positive interactions,
good communication, lots of motivation, etc. As time has
passed, it has become more of a struggle for her and for
us. To utilize the therapeutic parlance, she is
“actively engaged in the eating disorder again” and it
almost seems like this digression is worse for all of
us. She gets alternately discouraged and angry, and her
mother and I struggle to find that ever-delicate balance
between expressing unconditional love in the midst of
trying to hold her accountable for her actions. My
perception is that all of us are at that juncture where
we are wondering what comes next. Is it going to get any
better? And if so, how is it going to get any better? I
am sure this sounds like a lot of mumbo-jumbo, but I
would appreciate any prayers you could offer on our
behalf, and particularly for our daughter.
Kids make choices. And choices
have consequences. Which we sometimes see sooner than they
do. And clearer than they do. We have had fourteen cases of
alcohol poisoning this year at the college I serve as a
Trustee. The number is quadruple that of any previous year.
Which is a statistic that is “par for the course”
collegiately across the country (state schools and private
schools….church-affiliated schools and totally secular
schools). And we know it is only a matter of time before
someone dies as a result. We’re not talking “if,” we’re
talking “when.” So we worry. And worry drives our strategy.
Which includes some stick, some carrot, a lot of creative
teaching, and some caring monitoring. We’re doing all the
stuff parents do when they worry, even though a quarter of a
century ago we were told that colleges should get out of the
parenting business completely.
Until you have been named in a
lawsuit by a father claiming his daughter was date-raped at
your school (even though he concedes she was bombed out of
her skull at the time)…. arguing that you, as a Trustee
involved in the school’s governance, should have anticipated
that and done something so as to prevent and protect against
it….only then do you realize how wide the responsibility
stretches and how pervasive the anxiety is.
No wonder a lot of you are
looking for help….and some of you, even for hope. “Can you
help us raise our children?” you ask. And we can. Not
perfectly. But assuredly. We will make the space. We will
spend the money. We will hire the staffers. We will offer
the classes. We will also sponsor the trips, establish the
boundaries and model the behaviors. Which may help. Never
once….at least on my watch…..have we turned down a request,
said “no” to a program, or failed to provide the money when
it involved kid stuff or family stuff. We know where the
need is. We also know where the payoff is. And if it really
does take a village to raise a child, we know that as
families become more scattered, communities become more
anonymous, neighbors become more suspicious, and schools
become caught in the squeeze between higher expectations and
fewer dollars, buildings like ours….and people like us….will
have to become more and more village-like in our ministries
and in our outreach.
You want to talk about villages,
just talk to Karl and Sarah Zimmermann. With two small
children at home and a long-scheduled moving day staring
ominously down the calendar, they learned that Sarah would
have to have a tumor (her second in four years) removed from
the area behind her eye and in front of her brain.
Fortunately, it was benign. Miraculously, it was
accomplished.
But it was the young mothers of
Sarah’s GRIP Group (Growth, Relationships, Inspiration and
Partnership) here at the church….along with their
husbands….who orchestrated the move, settled the furniture,
filled the drawers, stocked the cupboards, minded the kids,
cooked the meals, and said the prayers that kept Karl and
Sarah going and got them through. Incredibly “village-y”….if
I say so, proudly.
But my concern this morning is
less institutional than biblical. I’d like to discuss
parental anxiety, not from the perspective of skills to
address it or supporters to share it. Instead, I’d like to
talk about parental anxiety from the perspective of
spiritual resources to diminish it. After all, we’re
supposed to enjoy this business called “family.” “It is not
good to be alone.” I read that in the Bible, early and
repeatedly. I also observe that the word “creation” means
little apart from the word “relation.” This is not something
I feel a need to defend. This is something most of us know
and all of us desire. But let me divert you to the Sermon on
the Mount.
“Don’t be anxious,” says Jesus.
Don’t be anxious about food. Don’t be anxious about drink.
Don’t be anxious about clothes. But, by implication, the
list could include anything….including kids. Don’t be
anxious about your kids.
Which leads to a “why” question
followed by a “how” question.
Why shouldn’t we be anxious?
Because our heavenly Father
knows what we need, even before we ask.
How should we avoid being
anxious?
By seeking first the Kingdom
of God (after which everything else will pretty much
fall into place).
Which I take to mean that once
you get things prioritized, they’ll work. You need to
remember who is God, and who isn’t. The fact being, you
aren’t.
As I have said to you before,
the root of parental anxiety (and the source of parental
guilt) comes from what I call “the myth of parental
omnipotence”….which is the belief that you can be all, do
all, assure all and guarantee all when it comes to your
children. I have illustrated this before with a fairly
common scenario. In the middle of the night, your child
cries out in the dark. Generally speaking, you can sleep
through an earthquake….through a helicopter landing on the
front lawn….or through your house being burgled by the
Pirates of the Caribbean. But the merest whimper of your
child, you hear. Rushing to the room, you inquire as to what
is wrong. But before it becomes even remotely clear as to
what is wrong….or whether anything is wrong…. you hear
yourself saying: “There, there, everything is going to be
all right.” Which is a statement of faith, given that you
don’t know if everything is going to be all right….or if you
can make everything all right. And even if you can, you know
the night will soon come when (no matter how hard you try),
you can’t. Except that you never are able to shake the
thought that you should….make it all right, I mean.
Colleague Tracey Robinson-Harris
relates the story of a five-year-old little girl who, in the
middle of a long and frightening night, wakes up in tears.
She is staying with her grandparents because her own parents
have gone off for the weekend in an attempt to put the
broken pieces of their marriage back together. The little
girl is understandably anxious, given that she doesn’t know
what will happen, either to them or to herself.
When the girl awakens, she cries
out: “Grandpa, I’m scared.” “It’s all right, dear,” says
Grandpa. “I’m here, I’m here.” And indeed he is….sleeping in
the other bed in the same room….half dozing, half listening
for his granddaughter’s anticipated cry. The girl hears his
reassuring words, “I’m here.” Yet crying still, she says: “I
know, Grandpa. I know you’re here. But is your face turned
toward me?”
We are not omnipotent. We won’t
always be able to supply the fix. But, hopefully, we will
always be able to supply the face. “Hide not thy face from
me, O God,” prays the psalmist. The implication being
there’s a connection between face time and faith time. I am
sure that all of you have heard the phrase: “That’s a face
only a mother could love.” But every child should have a
face that a mother can face. As a child, I could handle
anything that family members did or said, except for those
occasions (fortunately rare) when they refused to look at
me.
Which happens. Because parents
are not omnipotent. And neither is the family. Family is
good. But family is not God. When told that his mother and
brothers are more than a little upset with him, even as they
are cooling their heels outside waiting for him, Jesus
asked: “Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?” Then,
answering his own question, Jesus said: “Those who do the
will of my Father….that’s who my mother and brothers are.”
Which took place years after
Jesus told his mother and father they should have known he’d
be in the Temple (when they presumed him lost and were sick
with worry). Leading one woman to announce (after hearing me
preach that story): “If he’d have been my kid, I’d have
slapped him silly.”
Well, maybe Jesus needed
it….smart-mouthing his mama like that. Although I’m not an
advocate of slapping kids for any reason. But those
texts….along with others like them….are there to say:
Families are important. But not ultimately important. Worthy
of affection? Yes. Worthy of devotion? Yes. Worthy of
worship? No. Families are human and, as such, come damaged
in the package….getting no guarantees….giving no guarantees.
As a parent, you cannot guarantee much of anything. You
cannot guarantee your children’s safety. You cannot
guarantee your children's loyalty. Nor can you guarantee
your children’s happiness. I am with Tony Campolo on the
“happiness thing.” I want to cringe every time I hear a
parent say: “All I want is for my child to be happy.” Surely
you want for something more than that….hope for something
more than that….pray for something more than that. If you
want to pray for something, pray for your child’s goodness
rather than your child’s happiness. Because if God’s world
rotates the way I think it does, that’s the order in which
those things come. Goodness first, happiness second. If my
daughter is good, I believe that (over the long haul) she
stands a better than even chance of being happy.
* * * * *
In today’s title, I referenced
skiing. Which I don’t anymore. At least I don’t downhill
anymore. And wasn’t very good at it when I did. But I did
watch skiers in the recent Winter Olympics. Jumpers,
soaring. Slalomers, whirling. Downhillers, flying. But it
was the mogulers who earned my admiration. Because their
course was pockmarked (like a face permanently damaged by
zits). Bumps here. Dips there. Holes and mounds everywhere.
Unlike the slalom, where all the winners have to do is avoid
the poles, there is no avoiding the moguls. They are part of
the course. So what do you do? I’ll tell you what you do.
You slow down. You watch out. You adjust to the changing
conditions at a moment’s notice. And you ride as light (on
your skis) as you can…. staying as loose as you can….for as
long as you can. Spills being axiomatic. But seldom
catastrophic. I doubt you can ski the moguls if your only
question is “But what if I fall?”
Which is good advice for
parents. Who do fall. Will fall. Cannot help but fall.
Falling being the human condition. So for God’s sake (and
with God’s help), lighten up….laugh more….fret less….and do
your best to enjoy the ride.
Note: GRIP Groups (of which we
have several) fall under the creative leadership of Mary
Feldmaier, who oversees programming for our youngest
children and the families of our youngest children. While
each group takes on its own character, most of the
participants are young moms who gather to swap stories, gain
insights and read books, even as they find ways to encourage
and support one another.
As concerns the family working
through issues related to their daughter’s eating disorder,
I have chosen to protect their identity, even though their
journey is one traveled by many. They are exceptional people
and I covet for them (and for their daughter) a highway
through the valley.
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