Michele Minehart

words

Category: parenting (Page 11 of 14)

Conversations about God

July 9, 2012 /

As previously mentioned, I tend to overthink things. So it should not surprise me when I contemplate how to talk to my kids about God and what exactly to say. I feel strongly that as a parent it’s primarily my job to not just tell, but show my kids what it means to walk with God in life. I don’t believe this task can be outsourced to the professionals at a church (though I live in deep gratitude for what they do with the kiddos each Sunday morning as it really helps provide a jumping off point to conversation). 

However, in my desire to do things “right” or “well” I tend to avoid them until it’s perfected. So my conversations with my kids about God have been limited. It’s not so much that I don’t know what to say about God but rather I’m dumbfounded at what they can understand. I require a child development course prior to participating in children’s ministry. 
But last night, as H Boy and I ended our prayers, I began to wonder what all he understood about our rituals. We always end our prayers with, “And tomorrow help me be more like Jesus.” So I asked H if he knew what Jesus was like. 
“Nope.” 
“Oh, okay. Well… Jesus is kind.”
“Kind?”
“Um, well, he’s nice to people. He thinks of other people first.” 
I’m not really okay with beginning our understanding of God with making Jesus the Good Boy, but in all honesty, I’m not sure where to start. I don’t want H to go to church and tip over tables because he wants to be more like Jesus. 
So I told H that Jesus lived inside him. He liked that.
“Jesus lives in you. He’s in your heart.”
“Jesus is here in my leg. He’ll help me to be a big boy.”
“Well, where else does Jesus live?”
“In my belly.” 
The best I could do was remind him that because Jesus lived in him, when there were times that H didn’t know how to be like Jesus, Jesus could show him. 
Puzzled look. 
Give me teenagers over 3-year-olds any day. 

It’s so [easy] to say I’m sorry

June 23, 2012 /

Well, now that it’s gained national attention, the students apologized. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in those students’ homes, parents lashing out about how they could “do such a thing” and “do you realize how this makes us look?” and the whatnot. 

Well, students, I do not accept your apology. I don’t believe you’re sorry; I think you’re sorry you got caught. 
I know, perhaps it’s up to the bus monitor to actually accept the apology, and in her 65 years of wisdom, she probably will. But I’m still too idealistic. I refuse the apology. 
It’s too easy to screw up and simply apologize your way out of it. Or worse: say “I’m just kidding.” One of the scriptures that hits me close to the heart, which I think should be hung in every middle school classroom, is Proverbs 26:18-19: Like a madman who throws firebrands, arrows and death, so is the man who deceives his neighbor and says, “was I not joking?”
Somehow, like the ways in which we don’t know the weight of our words to hurt, we also don’t realize how insincerity prevents healing. Tossing out an “I’m sorry” as we go on our way doesn’t help bring resolution. We’ve began to treat such words as a way to release us from our own guilt, as opposed to bringing reconciliation. 
Though I can nary remember a Hebrew verb form, I do recall a factoid gained through translating a verse on ox goring. Yes, seriously, ox goring. “If a man’s ox gores another ox…”and then there’s a “gorer of gorers” phrase, meaning “the mother of all oxes that gore”. (Just notch this one on the belt of “learn something new everyday”). IN ANY CASE, in learning about ox goring, we also learned what retributions were to follow if your ox gored either another ox or a person. The cost differed depending on the offense. Also, if it was a habitual gorer. 
The point? Yes, there is one. My professor told us that in Old Testament law, one could not simply say “I’m sorry” and consider the situation resolved. They had to pay retributions. And it wasn’t simply a way to keep things fair – one can not simply replace a beloved ox. But something within the culture – and God’s character, I’m prone to wonder – required you show, not just say, apologies. This is where “eye for eye, tooth for tooth” comes in. The phrase has nothing to do with revenge. It means giving back that which you destroyed. Making amends is about offering, not taking, what was destroyed. 
 
So, if you ask me, these kids need to replace a gored ox. In terms of a fair retribution, I don’t have a lot of suggestions. They made so many cracks about her weight, I’d be inclined to send them to “fat kid camp” (or a kid version of the Biggest Looser) where they can replace their bullying habits by learning confidence and how to overcome life’s challenges with effort instead of pushing others around. 
This situation prompted me to reflect upon how I can help my own kids engage in true repentance. I’m sure there will be times when an offhanded “sorry” is the best we’ll get. But in terms of habits, how do we instill the idea that rectifying the relationship takes priority over relieving our own sense of guilt? How do we steer them, with their I’m Sorrys, toward change? Though my kids recite it, how do they begin to embody the idea that “I’m sorry means I won’t do it again”? 

Learning to succeed at failure

June 15, 2012 /

I learned at Youth Director Camp that when it comes to helping develop people, it’s best to “set them up for success.” We were trained to put our volunteers and students in positions to do things well so they feel the energy that comes from completing a task. The theory says: by experiencing success, people will be inspired to try again in new endeavors. I believe it’s mostly true.

That being said, I’ve noticed a tendency in myself to set my kids up for failure. Kinda a little on purpose mostly.

Don’t get me wrong, I celebrate with my kids on their achievements. Just yesterday Miss M put her pants on (tag in the back!) by herself and high fives flew. They regularly hear how they are good helpers, good listeners, big boy/girls, and how I appreciate how they try so hard and listen so well.

But on the whole, when my kids ask me to do something for them, I request that they first try themselves. Sometimes more than once. When it’s clear they won’t accomplish their goal, I tell them that perhaps with some practice they’ll be able to do it someday, but I’m glad to help them right now.

Full disclosure: I do this with tasks in which I’m well aware they cannot succeed.

Perhaps it seems cruel. LP would probably inform me of the detriment to their psyche. However, I have little interest in how well they can actually climb into a swing or take the lid off of a toy. When they reach the ability to master the feat, I’m not sure I’ll propose a parade. While I do believe that we must celebrate life’s accomplishments – I’m all for a good party – I think we more often fail at failing.

My goal in parental-induced failures: to flounder enough that failing doesn’t scare them. I hope missing the mark won’t paralyze their attempts at trying. I believe, to an unknown extent, that by experiencing failure regularly, it will take the sting off. Perhaps not all the time, or in life’s gut check situations, but on the whole, I dream for times when my kids come face-to-face with an idea and someone says, “but you might fall!” that they can respond, “yeah, I might” while proceeding to give it a try. I hope that they remember how the momentary hurts fade into the background, especially when they succeed with a second, third or eighth attempt.

It’s not a foolproof plan. It could completely backfire. I could totally change my tune when they start setting sights on plans that include sharp objects, moving out on their own or large sums of money. And I’m not oblivious to the fact that helping them learn to fail well means allowing them to watch when I stumble and fall. It includes the lesson of how to get up gracefully and with dignity – and neither of those mean that you have to do it without tears. Hurt and pain and disappointment are real and allowed, but not the end of the story.

So if you see me refusing to open the pickle jar or button pants or put them atop a ladder, don’t be too alarmed. They’re learning a valuable lesson. And I’m sure after my first trip to the ER, I will too.

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