When I brought Peter home from the hospital I was thirty-five years old, but only four years old in the Lord. I wish I had been more spiritually mature from the outset, but I have to accept God's plan as good, perfect, and wise.
My parenting was performance and result-driven at first. I still delighted in my little ones, but I had it in my mind that if I was firm and consistent, I could turn out "good kids". If I used the right formula, I'd get the expected result.
Soon, I realized that my children were no different than me; they were subject to moods and emotions they couldn't always articulate. They were sometimes overstimulated, or too tired, or too restless, or too discouraged.
As the Lord's chiselling matured me and my vision, I began to focus on their hearts. I was interested in their right-now feelings and thought patterns. I learned that I had to pour myself into them selflessly. That was the only formula that worked.
I'm softer now, nine years into it; grace drives me and impresses me, not performance.
My instrument of grace is a living-room rocking chair--the big, plush, easy-chair type. When undesirable behaviour signals that someone needs an outpouring of love, I drop everything and say it's rocking time--even turning off the burners on the stove and letting dinner wait. I cuddle, plant kisses, and rock, telling them how precious they are to me, and to Jesus. I confess anything I've done wrong in the previous hours, in order to open both our hearts. (I do this at the first sign of trouble, before my patience dwindles).
As we rock, I listen. I learn their hearts, pray, and speak life into them. And then we sing a little and laugh together.
Soon, others join, each getting their turn.
I delight in this, even when the migraine is pounding and my heart is discouraged.
Afterwards, we are healed. I've learned that when trouble brews, it's usually a we problem, not a single person problem.
So, tell me, what is your instrument of grace?
My parenting was performance and result-driven at first. I still delighted in my little ones, but I had it in my mind that if I was firm and consistent, I could turn out "good kids". If I used the right formula, I'd get the expected result.
Soon, I realized that my children were no different than me; they were subject to moods and emotions they couldn't always articulate. They were sometimes overstimulated, or too tired, or too restless, or too discouraged.
As the Lord's chiselling matured me and my vision, I began to focus on their hearts. I was interested in their right-now feelings and thought patterns. I learned that I had to pour myself into them selflessly. That was the only formula that worked.
I'm softer now, nine years into it; grace drives me and impresses me, not performance.
My instrument of grace is a living-room rocking chair--the big, plush, easy-chair type. When undesirable behaviour signals that someone needs an outpouring of love, I drop everything and say it's rocking time--even turning off the burners on the stove and letting dinner wait. I cuddle, plant kisses, and rock, telling them how precious they are to me, and to Jesus. I confess anything I've done wrong in the previous hours, in order to open both our hearts. (I do this at the first sign of trouble, before my patience dwindles).
As we rock, I listen. I learn their hearts, pray, and speak life into them. And then we sing a little and laugh together.
Soon, others join, each getting their turn.
I delight in this, even when the migraine is pounding and my heart is discouraged.
Afterwards, we are healed. I've learned that when trouble brews, it's usually a we problem, not a single person problem.
So, tell me, what is your instrument of grace?
2 comments:
Beautiful!
Thank you, Terra! Good to hear from you!
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