One of the biggest reasons I find parenting to be a spiritual practice is that it is so good at giving me a swift kick in the rear whenever I get too cocky; and it's a function of any spiritual practice to make us think and to call us to account, to make us aware of faults and give us the impetus to change.
I learned soon after my eldest was born that it was really me who was "growing up" as my children aged, and not the other way around. When I can't get the dishwasher loaded because my toddler needs me to play blocks with him, it's me who learns to be patient just as much as he does. When the toys we just put back in bins get dumped all over the floor - again - it's me who needs to take a moment and gather some self-control. And when one of the kids is tired and cranky and grumpy it's me who needs to be charitable and recognize that they are just having a moment and that the moment will, eventually, pass.
Just when I think I've got our routines figured out, just when I've printed the latest, greatest edition of the job chart, just when I think my baby is finally going to sleep through the night (it's been almost three years!), just when I'm about to burst into a song that sings all my praises, something will happen and we're back to where we started: routines that don't happen routinely, jobs that go undone, kids that still don't sleep.
Parents very quickly learn the virtues of humility and modesty. I am still waiting for a chunk of time to go by where I feel like we get it right as a family, most of the time. By that I mean that I'm still waiting for a day when I can say with confidence that we've figured out our routines, that the kids are doing their fair share of the work that needs to be done to keep our house running, and that we're all getting enough rest and exercise.
Instead I feel like we're constantly heading back to the drawing board, constantly tweaking and adapting and changing and doing an about-face - but according to one expert, that kind of humility is actually a good thing.
I recently heard an interview with the writer Bruce Feiler (of Walking the Bible fame) who has written a new book called The Secrets of Happy Families. And it turns out our family has at least one thing going for it when it comes to being happy. Feiler spent three years researching this book by talking to sources in-the-know - albeit unorthodox sources, like the creators of Modern Family - to come up with more than 200 ideas and suggestions for improving family happiness, one of which is: adapt constantly. If you're doing things the same way you were last month or last year, Feiler says, you're doing something wrong.
Finally! Some good news!
I often find it demoralizing to know that I'm not getting it right with my kids, most of the time. But humility is a redemptive virtue. At it's core it's a virtue about the capacity to change. And perhaps that's what children really need, not an example of perfection, but examples of adaptability and flexibility. Because things won't always go right for our children, and the best character trait they can learn to compensate is the capacity to learn and grow and change.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Friday, September 19, 2014
The Current Thorn in my Side
There is one spiritual fruit I just can't seem to grow: self-control. I can't get one bloom out of this virtue. Lord knows I've been given enough opportunities to cultivate it. Every day family life hands me multiple opportunities to stay calm in the face of aggravation, to breath deeply through insult, to laugh instead of getting all in a huff. I'm handed the seed, so to speak, but I toss it and stomp on it before it ever sees soil.
One of the places I'd like to have more self-control is during the daily piano practice. There is one child whom I have to sit with to keep on task. At the beginning of every practice session I'm fairly bright and cheery, mainly because we've managed to make it to the "piano practice" portion of the day, which I think an accomplishment in and of itself. By the end of the session it's all I can do not to rip the books off the stand and smash the keyboard. I get so frustrated with this child. This little one swats my hands when I'm trying to point out a missed note, or yells, "I get it, I get it, I GET IT!" before playing the same wrong notes. If I leave the practicing in the child's hands it won't happen. What to do? I'm not sure.
I guess like anything in life, when it comes to spiritual growth, it's practice makes perfect.
One of the places I'd like to have more self-control is during the daily piano practice. There is one child whom I have to sit with to keep on task. At the beginning of every practice session I'm fairly bright and cheery, mainly because we've managed to make it to the "piano practice" portion of the day, which I think an accomplishment in and of itself. By the end of the session it's all I can do not to rip the books off the stand and smash the keyboard. I get so frustrated with this child. This little one swats my hands when I'm trying to point out a missed note, or yells, "I get it, I get it, I GET IT!" before playing the same wrong notes. If I leave the practicing in the child's hands it won't happen. What to do? I'm not sure.
I guess like anything in life, when it comes to spiritual growth, it's practice makes perfect.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Entertaining Gentleness
This week I decided not to sign up my children for swimming lessons. Fear not for their souls; they're still doing piano, ballet, soccer, brownies, cubs, x-country running and choir.
I was fully planning on signing them up for swimming. I had diligently picked up a copy of the Parks and Rec guide, located our local pool, noted the date and time of the appropriate classes - but on Wednesday morning (sign-up day) I couldn't bring myself to sign them up.
It turns out this year that our Tuesday nights are completely free which, I had originally thought, would work out well for swimming lessons. But when I looked at my calendar a little more closely I realized that making time for swimming would mean lost time on other activities. I've been wanting the kids to cook supper once a week, for example, and an evening without any activities to rush off to would give me the time to supervise. And then there is the time they play with the neighbourhood kids. When an evening is "free" it can actually be spent playing soccer or swinging on the monkey bars.
I've been thinking about Gentleness; how I'd like to invite Gentleness into my home, maybe make some space so she could stay awhile, but looking at the calendar I see we have been inadvertently entertaining Harshness for years now and that we haven't had much time or space for Gentleness. Gentleness, it turns out, is one of those guests who asks a lot of us and doesn't coexist well with Harshness or anyone who is rushed and fussed. Invite her over and you'll see what I mean: try speak kindly to your loved ones when you're late for that evening class you tried to cram in, or try to make time for a grandparent in a nursing home when every weekend afternoon is booked, or try to enjoy the mundane, or to patiently teach an intangible value when you're simultaneously shoving kids out the door to swimming lessons...it can't be done.
So I've opted to keep Tuesday nights free in our house. I'm hoping it means we'll have time for unexpected visitors.
I was fully planning on signing them up for swimming. I had diligently picked up a copy of the Parks and Rec guide, located our local pool, noted the date and time of the appropriate classes - but on Wednesday morning (sign-up day) I couldn't bring myself to sign them up.
It turns out this year that our Tuesday nights are completely free which, I had originally thought, would work out well for swimming lessons. But when I looked at my calendar a little more closely I realized that making time for swimming would mean lost time on other activities. I've been wanting the kids to cook supper once a week, for example, and an evening without any activities to rush off to would give me the time to supervise. And then there is the time they play with the neighbourhood kids. When an evening is "free" it can actually be spent playing soccer or swinging on the monkey bars.
I've been thinking about Gentleness; how I'd like to invite Gentleness into my home, maybe make some space so she could stay awhile, but looking at the calendar I see we have been inadvertently entertaining Harshness for years now and that we haven't had much time or space for Gentleness. Gentleness, it turns out, is one of those guests who asks a lot of us and doesn't coexist well with Harshness or anyone who is rushed and fussed. Invite her over and you'll see what I mean: try speak kindly to your loved ones when you're late for that evening class you tried to cram in, or try to make time for a grandparent in a nursing home when every weekend afternoon is booked, or try to enjoy the mundane, or to patiently teach an intangible value when you're simultaneously shoving kids out the door to swimming lessons...it can't be done.
So I've opted to keep Tuesday nights free in our house. I'm hoping it means we'll have time for unexpected visitors.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Space for Gentle Living
This summer I had a mini-revelation.
I was passed out on the couch at the lake, recovering from eleven months of running, my mind a stream-of-consciousness blur, when I got to thinking about Ma, as I often do in moments of exhaustion or self-pity. For me, Ma has always been the epitome of not just motherhood or wife-hood but simply good person-hood. I'm referring to the inimitable Caroline Ingalls, whose power and ingenuity has been immortalized in her daughter, Laura's, "Little House" books. I read the "Little House" series when I was a girl and recently reread them again with my daughter and have come to the conclusion that Ma's pretty much as perfect as a person can be. Sure she's got her foibles, but what astounds is her gentleness - and it's a gentleness that never falters - even when surrounded by wolves, or when her husband is lost in a blizzard, or during that long winter when she ground their last bit of wheat with the coffee grinder and made what she thought was their last loaf of bread. Here's the thing about Ma: she never loses it.
I got to thinking about my own ancestors, laying there on the couch at the lake. My grandparents grew up on farms and their parents were pioneers. They didn't get a lot of vacations, and somehow they managed to do a lot of work and raise a lot of children without completely passing out. And I wondered, as I lay there on the couch, how did they do it? How did they manage all that work, sun up to sun down, day in and day out, year after year after year without the luxury of a month-long holiday? What would they say if they could see their progeny, one hundred years down the line, depleted, head drooping and drooling?
My revelation was this: what kept Ma's sanity intact and what enabled my own ancestors to work as much as they did were hard and fast margins that protected the blurring of lines between work and rest. Without electricity, works necessarily starts and ends with daylight. A life lived in conjunction with the seasons protects time for interior and exterior projects. And every single week these people took an entire day off to rest and rejuvenate. That's 52 days a year, much more then my meager month. Their work (and their ability to approach work and life cheerfully and with optimism) was sustained by the steady presence of serious margins: that time in between time - blank time and blank space - to fill as they saw fit.
I am realizing that a key to bringing a spirit of gentleness into our days and into our very selves is to protect our margins. This doesn't mean trying to live as though we're always on holiday, that's not realistic, but protecting certain spaces in each day that we might eat well and with loved ones, and sleep well, and walk or garden, or think or play and rest, daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly. It means asking: what really has to happen now? What time is it? What season?
Ma always knew the right answer.
I was passed out on the couch at the lake, recovering from eleven months of running, my mind a stream-of-consciousness blur, when I got to thinking about Ma, as I often do in moments of exhaustion or self-pity. For me, Ma has always been the epitome of not just motherhood or wife-hood but simply good person-hood. I'm referring to the inimitable Caroline Ingalls, whose power and ingenuity has been immortalized in her daughter, Laura's, "Little House" books. I read the "Little House" series when I was a girl and recently reread them again with my daughter and have come to the conclusion that Ma's pretty much as perfect as a person can be. Sure she's got her foibles, but what astounds is her gentleness - and it's a gentleness that never falters - even when surrounded by wolves, or when her husband is lost in a blizzard, or during that long winter when she ground their last bit of wheat with the coffee grinder and made what she thought was their last loaf of bread. Here's the thing about Ma: she never loses it.
I got to thinking about my own ancestors, laying there on the couch at the lake. My grandparents grew up on farms and their parents were pioneers. They didn't get a lot of vacations, and somehow they managed to do a lot of work and raise a lot of children without completely passing out. And I wondered, as I lay there on the couch, how did they do it? How did they manage all that work, sun up to sun down, day in and day out, year after year after year without the luxury of a month-long holiday? What would they say if they could see their progeny, one hundred years down the line, depleted, head drooping and drooling?
My revelation was this: what kept Ma's sanity intact and what enabled my own ancestors to work as much as they did were hard and fast margins that protected the blurring of lines between work and rest. Without electricity, works necessarily starts and ends with daylight. A life lived in conjunction with the seasons protects time for interior and exterior projects. And every single week these people took an entire day off to rest and rejuvenate. That's 52 days a year, much more then my meager month. Their work (and their ability to approach work and life cheerfully and with optimism) was sustained by the steady presence of serious margins: that time in between time - blank time and blank space - to fill as they saw fit.
I am realizing that a key to bringing a spirit of gentleness into our days and into our very selves is to protect our margins. This doesn't mean trying to live as though we're always on holiday, that's not realistic, but protecting certain spaces in each day that we might eat well and with loved ones, and sleep well, and walk or garden, or think or play and rest, daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly. It means asking: what really has to happen now? What time is it? What season?
Ma always knew the right answer.
Friday, July 18, 2014
"True North"
I read an essay this week about our universal quest (here in the West) for balance, between work and family and our sense of self. The writer talked about the importance of commitment (read: faithfulness) to our own equivalent of "true north," that central focus or foci that help us locate direction and intention and the right route, no matter where we find ourselves.
Of course this got me thinking about my own "true north." What part of my life do I focus on the most so that every other focus falls into its proper place? How am I using my own "true north" to make important decisions, to prioritize what needs doing and when, to structure my days and weeks and dreams?
I suppose the quickest way to answer would be to say, as this particular writer did, that my true north is God and my family, but I have to say that when I think about it my own true north is somewhat more personal. If I could sum it up in a word it would be this one: Integrity.
I have found that when I focus on making decisions with a sense of faithfulness to my own integrity, that is faithfulness to an inner sense of what I know to be right for me, I find the balance and peace and calm for which I daily yearn.
I've learned most of this through trial and error, unfortunately. I don't get life right most of the time but lucky for me (and all of us) life is faithful with its lessons; what I fail to absorb in one form certainly comes to meet me again, and again, and again. And I have faith that I'll get it, eventually.
Of course this got me thinking about my own "true north." What part of my life do I focus on the most so that every other focus falls into its proper place? How am I using my own "true north" to make important decisions, to prioritize what needs doing and when, to structure my days and weeks and dreams?
I suppose the quickest way to answer would be to say, as this particular writer did, that my true north is God and my family, but I have to say that when I think about it my own true north is somewhat more personal. If I could sum it up in a word it would be this one: Integrity.
I have found that when I focus on making decisions with a sense of faithfulness to my own integrity, that is faithfulness to an inner sense of what I know to be right for me, I find the balance and peace and calm for which I daily yearn.
I've learned most of this through trial and error, unfortunately. I don't get life right most of the time but lucky for me (and all of us) life is faithful with its lessons; what I fail to absorb in one form certainly comes to meet me again, and again, and again. And I have faith that I'll get it, eventually.
Monday, July 14, 2014
A Clue in the Moment
I know that stress is so ubiquitous that's it's cliche, but last week was stressful. I had a "big thing" going on in every aspect of my life.
In my work at the church I was organizing a group of teenagers to host a day camp for children living in a homeless shelter. It was our first time putting on an event of this caliber and length and we had no idea whether the activities we'd planned were going to work out; we didn't even know how many kids were going to show up or their ages until they walked through the doors on Monday morning!
At home we were finalizing plans for our new kitchen, which we needed to order by the end of the week. This meant that every evening Steve and I were up late fretting over cabinets and colours of hardwood.
Big deal, you might say. First world problems.
And you're right.
The stress was in coming to consensus. We have been renovating for two years now - literally all of Sebby's life so far! - and we've had a number of setbacks that have held this project up. It has been a challenge not to blame each other for the holdups but to see circumstance for what it is and move forward with creative solutions. Last week almost saw us tear up our marriage certificate over this whole mess...but we didn't!
In the midst of all this our little two-year-old fractured his collar bone, so one evening was spent in the ER and we all suffered through a week of clinging and whining and night-waking every hour; not what one needs when early starts and busy, long days are on the agenda. The other two kids were in camps - in different parts of the city! - and we all needed lunches packed and to be out the door shortly after 8am to make it to where we all needed to be on schedule. Ah, summer!
I haven't mentioned that we also had a house guest and had committed to babysitting our neighbour's kid every day until her parents could pick her up after work and that we had to say goodbye to some of our best friends who were moving to the UK...there was literally never a dull moment!
But in the midst of all this stress I was surprised by moments of joy, to use C.S. Lewis' phrase. The moments dissipated almost as soon as I became conscious of what I was feeling, but for fleeting seconds I would be overwhelmed with a sense of the deep goodness of life and a sense that in certain tiny ways I'm on the right track with my living. I really sensed God with me in those moments and Spirit really urging me to hold on to the moment, to whatever I was doing right then. Be faithful to this, I heard. This is the good life. And so I've created a little list to remind me of the Spirit's nudges towards faithfulness.
Things to be faithful to:
In my work at the church I was organizing a group of teenagers to host a day camp for children living in a homeless shelter. It was our first time putting on an event of this caliber and length and we had no idea whether the activities we'd planned were going to work out; we didn't even know how many kids were going to show up or their ages until they walked through the doors on Monday morning!
At home we were finalizing plans for our new kitchen, which we needed to order by the end of the week. This meant that every evening Steve and I were up late fretting over cabinets and colours of hardwood.
Big deal, you might say. First world problems.
And you're right.
The stress was in coming to consensus. We have been renovating for two years now - literally all of Sebby's life so far! - and we've had a number of setbacks that have held this project up. It has been a challenge not to blame each other for the holdups but to see circumstance for what it is and move forward with creative solutions. Last week almost saw us tear up our marriage certificate over this whole mess...but we didn't!
In the midst of all this our little two-year-old fractured his collar bone, so one evening was spent in the ER and we all suffered through a week of clinging and whining and night-waking every hour; not what one needs when early starts and busy, long days are on the agenda. The other two kids were in camps - in different parts of the city! - and we all needed lunches packed and to be out the door shortly after 8am to make it to where we all needed to be on schedule. Ah, summer!
I haven't mentioned that we also had a house guest and had committed to babysitting our neighbour's kid every day until her parents could pick her up after work and that we had to say goodbye to some of our best friends who were moving to the UK...there was literally never a dull moment!
But in the midst of all this stress I was surprised by moments of joy, to use C.S. Lewis' phrase. The moments dissipated almost as soon as I became conscious of what I was feeling, but for fleeting seconds I would be overwhelmed with a sense of the deep goodness of life and a sense that in certain tiny ways I'm on the right track with my living. I really sensed God with me in those moments and Spirit really urging me to hold on to the moment, to whatever I was doing right then. Be faithful to this, I heard. This is the good life. And so I've created a little list to remind me of the Spirit's nudges towards faithfulness.
Things to be faithful to:
- Biking. Nicky and I would bike to his camp in the mornings since it was on the way to where I needed to be. Biking on a summer morning has got to be one of the most delicious pleasures life has to offer. You feel sun and breeze. You smell fresh air. You see people walking with purpose and passion. You really feel free. And I got to experience this with my son. It felt good to move my body and exercise at the start and end of each day and I was much less aggravated than when I'm driving.
- Friends. As I was throwing together dinner on a particularly stressful evening Steve suggested I make extra and we invite our neighbours over to join us (the people whose kids we'd just been looking after for two hours). For some reason his timing made me want to throw dinner in his face - but I didn't! - and those friends came over and that was the night Sebby fractured his collar bone and they took our kids to their place while we figured everything out. They also helped us out two other nights that week.
- Being Flexible. There were times at the day camp for the shelter that we changed our plans based on people's needs in the moment and the general vibe of the group and it was always the right decision. Better to go with the flow than push an agenda; with teenagers and with children!
- Being Committed. There were times when Steve really bugged me last week, but as I noted in a previous post I am working at turning towards him in those moments rather than giving the old cold shoulder and silent treatment and turning away. Being faithful to the reality that I am committed to Steve - despite whatever little argument we're having - gave me a feeling of, well, maturity. By the end of the week we really felt like a team.
- Gardening and Being Outside. Certain things in our "garden" came to a head last week which necessitated me spending some time pruning and weeding and meant that the kids were outside with me while this was happening. And it was wonderful. We talked while I pruned and Emma noticed all kinds of things in the dirt and we discovered things, like that it was ladybugs whose eggs were all over the rhubarb. There was a sense of contentedness even while we worked.
Friday, July 4, 2014
Faithfulness
This month I'm shifting focus to the virtue of faithfulness, a virtue that encompasses a whole bunch of other virtues, like loyalty and constancy and being trustworthy. It is a virtue that asks this question: faithful to what? Our opportunity for growth is in our answer.
Each time I've gazed at a new baby placed on my chest in those moments after giving birth I've had the same thought: you are perfect. As days, weeks and months go by in that baby's first year I can never imagine myself having to reprimand this little one. I can't even fathom having to say no to anything its little heart desires! Each baby is just perfect, just wonderful; its needs completely reasonable, understandable. We are in sync and life is one big, hippie love-in.
Until those babies turn two. Then I find myself doing the unthinkable on a daily basis: time-outs, forceful "no's," flat-out bribery.
Almost every day sees me offer up an apology. This usually happens when I've been unfaithful - what I mean is, that I've forgotten the people I know my kids to be. I'll think they're rotten or malicious or thoughtless and so I treat them like the rotten, malicious and thoughtless people they are. And there's my mistake. My kids might be acting this way, in this particular moment - but I need to remember that that's not really who they are. Their actions are reactions to a situation or feeling - and my job is to teach them how to act and react well, in a way that doesn't hurt anyone or anything. To do that I need to remember my vision of the soul of the little person that was placed on my chest years ago. I have to have faith and stay faithful to the people I know my children to be, guiding them toward full potential.
Each time I've gazed at a new baby placed on my chest in those moments after giving birth I've had the same thought: you are perfect. As days, weeks and months go by in that baby's first year I can never imagine myself having to reprimand this little one. I can't even fathom having to say no to anything its little heart desires! Each baby is just perfect, just wonderful; its needs completely reasonable, understandable. We are in sync and life is one big, hippie love-in.
Until those babies turn two. Then I find myself doing the unthinkable on a daily basis: time-outs, forceful "no's," flat-out bribery.
Almost every day sees me offer up an apology. This usually happens when I've been unfaithful - what I mean is, that I've forgotten the people I know my kids to be. I'll think they're rotten or malicious or thoughtless and so I treat them like the rotten, malicious and thoughtless people they are. And there's my mistake. My kids might be acting this way, in this particular moment - but I need to remember that that's not really who they are. Their actions are reactions to a situation or feeling - and my job is to teach them how to act and react well, in a way that doesn't hurt anyone or anything. To do that I need to remember my vision of the soul of the little person that was placed on my chest years ago. I have to have faith and stay faithful to the people I know my children to be, guiding them toward full potential.
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