Loving our Children

[delila]

I wanted to start a thread on being a parent, on loving our children, on doing right by them.  Recently I've had to remind myself that what my children need from me, regardless of my needs, is that I am present with them, that I am listening, validating and really enjoying them.  

I wonder if we might start a list of really simple things that we can do, ways we can show our love to our children.  Yesterday my daughter was sick.  I took her to the doctor to get her ears checked, we picked up medicine and other stuff at the drug store and then went home, got medicated and painted toe nails, did facials etc.  My son was with his dad for the day so it was time just for us.  So what.  But it was special time, girly girl stuff.  I treasure that.  It was something I never did once with my mother and it was something I realized afterward, I'd never done once with my own daughter.  So I'm thankful tonight, just for the earache and the fact that I wasn't called in to work yesterday.  It was nice.
drj

[al Hartman]

     Man, I hope this thread really takes off!  We've had enough bad examples & bad experiences-- let's share some success stories.

     I'll share something I really learned too late for most of Cathy's & my four kids' "formative years."  But I'll also assert that our kids' formative years never end-- it's never too late to be a good example & bear a good influence on their lives:

     Try to always keep the ratio of time-to-age in your mind.  Ever wonder why a kid thinks it takes forever for Christmas or a birthday to happen, while you may feel the same event is rushing toward you at the speed of a runaway freight train?  It's the time-to-age ratio effect.
     A child starts thinking of Christmas as soon as the advertising appears, which these days is sometime between Halloween & Thanksgiving.  In the life of, say, a five-year-old, a month and a half represents a significant percentage of a lifetime.  Remember that a child's only frame of reference for time is his/her own lifespan.
     At age 30, you have six times the age of a kindergartener-- comparatively speaking, you could hold your breath or tread water for one and a half months!  
     Time runs concurrently with experience.  Your child hasn't the frame of reference to feel or to think as an adult would in any given situation.  Remember to not demand or require that of them.  When you feel the urge to yell, "Act your age," they probably are already doing so.
   
     We are so busy as adults that we have forgotten what it was like to be a child.  I'm not saying we should remember-- most of us probably can't, even when we try.
     Rather, just remember to appreciate the enormous difference between an adult's perspective and a child's, and let that huge gap give you pause...
     When your child first learns the life cycle of an insect or what causes rain or how the wall switch controls the ceiling light, he can't imagine that anyone ever knew this wonder!  Every child is the center of his own universe, where what happens to "ME" is of supreme significance.  
     When your munchkin wants to show you a dead worm on the sidewalk or a paper from school, he or she is sharing a great thrill and wonder with you.  You may be terribly busy at the moment, but don't brush it off as unimportant.  The opportunities to make such a connection are limited-- don't squander them.  We can scarcely imagine, much less naturally appreciate, the significance such a moment carries, or the disappointment its loss can cause, for a child.
     Pray for your children, and when you do, remember to pray for their parents.  I believe it was Billy Graham who said that parenthood is the most important job on earth and God placed it entirely into the hands of amateurs.  There is a reason for that:  God wants us to realize the impossibility of meeting parenthood's demands without his help.  He wants us to call on Him, to depend upon Him, and to recognize that the relationship between my child and me is a microcosm of the relationship between me and my God.
     Much to think about.  Much to pray over.  Much for which to be glad.

[delila]

Al:  you should write a book about that.  In fact, you probably are... did you realize?  This is exactly what I'd hope people would begin to post... no, it's more. Thanks.  I'm going to go away and think some more about what you wrote.

Thanks!
drj

[al Hartman]

     I'm thinking about being between a rock & a hard place.  That has always been portrayed to me as a bad situation in which to be, but now I'm thinking Not necessarily.
     Most certainly, being a parent is a hard place.  But Jesus is the Rock of our salvation, and the scripture asks, Is anything too hard for Thee?
     As a parent, I am provider, protector, teacher and advocate for my children-- in essence I must carry them until they are able and prepared to walk on their own.  Anyone who thinks parenthood is not hard has never been a true parent.  It is 24/7/365-- present or absent, we are needed by our children without letup.  Ever.

     The child-rearing standards and techniques of the assembly were aimed at two goals:  Short-range, they were designed to keep the children quiet and under control, so as to maximize the potential of the parents to be productive workers in the business of the hive.  Long-range, the objective was that the kids should assimilate the habits of their overseer/trainer parents, thus themselves becoming productive laborers of the collective.
     The great shortfall of these efforts lay in the failure to comprehend the very nature of humanity.  The imposition of bondage only produces the outward appearance of complicity by those oppressed-- inwardly, slavery inspires rebellion and the longing for freedom.  The assembly standard was always the outward appearance.  Our hearts' needs, and those of our children, were never considered, much less cared for.

     So now, as escapees-- refugees-- we find ourselves saddled with the responsibilities of parenthood, while our hearts are scarred and wounded and our minds contaminated with filth disguised as goodness.  We must continually remind ourselves of two things:
[1] We have emerged from the quicksand of the swamp that held us, and
[2] The muck and the leeches and the stink may cling to us, but it can, does and will come off-- we are being cleansed even as we consider these things!
     As we bear our little ones upon our backs and shoulders, we are constantly reminded that our footing is secure because we stand upon the Rock Christ Jesus, and no longer must slip and slide in the shifting sands and slime.
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     Is there, then, a new standard to replace the old, whereby we may rightly relate to and fulfill our charge toward the children God has placed into our care?  Yes and no.  Whereas we had followed a strict pattern, which failed utterly, we must now find and follow a spiritual non-pattern, which is promised to not fail.
     That is to say, while the fundamentals of parenting-- faith, hope,love-- are universal, the ways in which we practice them are as varied as are we as individuals.  We are teachers, laborers, scientists, retailers; urban, suburban, rural.  Neither our intellects nor our sensitivities are alike.  Spiritually, we are kindred:  One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of us all; but our personalities are as varied as the patterns of snowflakes.  We are as a vast beach, with no two grains of sand exactly alike.
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     Hence this thread:  Here we may share our faith, our hope, our love; how we have attempted to apply them to the benefit of our children, and how those efforts have succeeded or failed.  Please let me break that down:
     You and I can learn from each other's conceptions and applications of faith.  By telling me what you believe, why you believe it and how it applies to your parenting, you might open my eyes to something entirely different, that I needed to see and can apply.  Likewise our hope, its basis and goals may be mutually beneficial.  And the nature of our love for our children and their responding love toward us, the Source of our love and how we draw upon it, can inspire us both in the telling and the hearing.
     By nature, we prefer to tell our success stories rather than those of our failures, and our successes can be instructional on several levels.  But by sharing my disappointments, I may not only open a door of understanding for somebody else, but I may encourage one who was feeling alone because of similar "failure," and perhaps I shall elicit solutions from those who have had positive results in similar circumstances.
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     What I have written above is posted in hopes of encouraging responses to this valuable thread.  I have personal experiences that I can and may share, but I'd like to see you who are presently engaged in rearing children begin to exchange with each other here.  The youngest of Cathy's & my four just turned 25, and I'm really curious to know how y'all are doing things nowadays...

God bless,
al


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 
     

[M2]

...
But I just wonder sometimes why evil people live and breath and prosper and do all sorts of cruel things to innocent people.  Lately a picture has been running in my head of little Kate climbing up into her father's lap and giving him a hug and a kiss, and I just feel very sad for her.  Why should any little girl ever have to have a father like that?  I remember that she was very stubborn, even for a two year-old, but in time Jeff's slaps on the face and other cruel punishments broke her and though she seemed sweet on the outside, it was like she wasn't really there.  <shakes head>  
...

The answer given in Time Bandits (I think) was, "It has something to do with free will."

But this is sad because I feel that in some way I missed out on enjoying my kids more because I was so pre-occupied with 'training them according to Geftakys/Zach'.

Delila, one thing Claude did when the kids were young is that he read to them after supper.  I would wash dishes and Claude would read for about half an hour from books like the Narnia Chronicles, Little Pilgrim's Progress, Book of Virtues, CLC biographies of Christians, Little House on the Prairie series, Bobbsey Twins, Peretti's series for kids, Baker Street mysteries by Jake and Luke Thoene, books by Patricia St. John.  During the day, I read the Children's Bible published by Golden books, Keys for Kids devotional, and other Bible story readings before bed time to them.  Reading to the kids was in our schedules and I am glad for the time we invested doing so.  Lucas Sturnfield's dad was our book supplier in those days.

Lord bless,
Marcia

[d3z]

I still remember the aboslute shock I felt when the daughter, Caroline Mbuvi, of my good friend and godly example Steven Mbuvi was informed by one of Goerge's workers that she could not play the part of Mary in the nativity scene supposedly because her race might make the ministry "an offence" to some.

This seems to be a common statement, essentially, "No, we're not racist, but ___ might make the ministry an offence to some."  I remember other things that were said in this kind of line, most of them just shrouding GG's biases.

Yeah, we don't want to ever have any single sisters over to the brother's house, that would be a bad testimony to the neighbors.  No, instead, we want them to think we are gay

When I had my own "bother's house" (without consequences, though), there were frequently times with a single sister over.  I don't know if this wasn't realized that by the LB's, or if it was just tolerated, because often it was needed for ministry.

Dave

[moonflower2]

I still remember the aboslute shock I felt when the daughter, Caroline Mbuvi, of my good friend and godly example Steven Mbuvi was informed by one of Goerge's workers that she could not play the part of Mary in the nativity scene supposedly because her race might make the ministry "an offence" to some. No Black Marys if you please. No wonder Caroline left early. Can you imagine saying something like this to a young and impressionable girl?
Verne

You've got to be kidding! But how typical. The focus always seemed to be how we would appear to the "Philistines", anyone who wasn't in an assembly. And she criticized the Lutheran school that I sent my kids to! It sure beat Betty's school of preschool KKK.
 
Come to think of it, if she had really been on-the-ball, she could have bought up all the dark-colored wisemen in all the manger scenes and had someone paint them all white, for consequences. It could have kept David's hands busy with something besides beating on his wife. "Idle hands are the devil's workshop" as the saying goes......

[Peacefulg]

Hi Dave, in all fairness the single women in a place were brother live or the reverse of it, is not a bad thing, and not an exclusive "assembly" thing.

Living in a HUGE Southern Baptist area Dallas, Texas.  There are a lot of Chiristian men that have taken the "Billy Graham" (a So. Bap himself) stand where they will not be in a place with another woman solely unless there is a thrid party with them.  Some have given allowance for being in public places, but other have stuck to it PERIOD!  

You can say that they are being legalist, but in today society and as the gender, sexual, and fllirting become more and more laspe, it is wise to be more careful.  It is way too easy these days to be seen in the right light and have to spend more time defending yourself to whomever, than to just not be in situation "IF" possible.

Dang do you not just hate how other topics pop up in discussions that have nothing to do with the original?    


Cheers,
G

[Peacefulg]

P.S. To my post below!

Like I said there will be times you cannot be with a thrid party, or you will be with a perfectly harmless memeber of the other sex and someone may question you about it (i.e, my mother looks very young for her age, and at a wedding a few years ago we took a picture together, my wife before we were married, was like WHO IS THAT?).

P.P.S. with all the small cameras around (i.e., phone cams, and PDA cams), you PLAYAS had best repent and watch your step!  


Cheers again,
G

[delila]

Qualities

   I want to say that there are certain qualities I’d like my children to have.
Instilling is a poor word for what we do with qualities.  Model is pedagogic, almost
clinical.  Naturally, a cat knows how to take care of her kittens.  She needs no
showing.  If she’s not sick, that is, not leaving them to find a far away place to die,
she knows they need licking, cuddling, milk.  She knows they need it often.  So
Meow, you’re probably thinking, I’m no cat.  Here’s my point: I didn’t have anyone to
tell me how to raise my children.  My own childhood was a disaster and even if it
hadn’t been, I was single when I got pregnant, hundreds of miles from home, on an
Indian reservation, alone.
   No, Al, I don’t read the bible to my children.  Haven’t yet, anyhow.  But they
do love books, even River - who won’t be 2 until July.  River’s favorite book is a
board book of Old Macdonald.  He sings “E I E I O” at least 50 times a day and turns
the pages himself, making various animal noises as he points to the pictures.  Anna
loves books of all kinds - especially Beverly Clearly (who she calls Beaverly) and I’ve
read most of the Harry Potter series to her.  Yeah, and we both enjoyed it.  Really.  So
yeah, Marcia, reading with your children is a wonderful way to share time, good
literature, ideas, and the wonder of what’s out there, to teach them critical thinking -
by discussing what’s been read, and, when you choose good books, to laugh.
   And so, I grope back toward what being a parent has meant to me, means to
me.  I remember, as soon as that pregnancy test rang POSITIVE, talking to my
children, especially my first, since there was no one else to talk to.  She was a
wonder, a being who had taken up residence in me.  I was stunned by the miracle of
that.  I called her squirm, bloop, little one, baby cakes.  When she began to move, the
‘flutterings’ as they call them, I’d lay on my back on lazy weekend afternoons and
wait for her.  Especially after I ate she’d go like crazy, zooming like she had a race
track route or something.  And I’d talk to her, tell her about the future, about how
much I loved her and how I was thrilled to be getting to know her, to imagine what
she looked like, to share my life with her.  
   
   Though I was about twenty five, in many ways, I think I was born that year.  I
think I began to realize, to put together what life was about, to understand that there
was nothing more important that I was ever going to be than a parent.  And as time
went on, and she grew, and I grew so that instead of calling me Miss Jahn, one of my
high school students brought be strawberries fresh from the grocery store (and up
north, that was a Treat!) and christened me with a new name: Enormous Jahn.  And
we all laughed. Anyway, as time went on, I realized that there was no expectation, no
thrill of a life time, no big day that would do anything to me or for me or in me more
than the process of being a parent.
   A few weeks before she was born, Anna did a 360 in the womb - an
experience I can only describe as something like holding a full grown rabbit that
doesn’t want to be held and squirms every which way to try to escape one’s arms.
And when she was born (almost in a swimming pool) she was just shy of ten pounds
and the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.  My sister, present for the birth, said,
“She has the saddest cry I have ever heard.” and she did, but today she has the most
intoxicating laugh too.  I guess what I’m trying to say in this, my first real post on this
subject/thread is that parenting for me, has meant falling deeply, madly, truly, in love
with my children.  I tell them the stories of them.  These stories are important.  These
stories tell them who they are, what they’ve meant to me, where they’ve come from,
how special they are.  It is my belief that such telling is critical to a healthy self
concept, though I have no scientific evidence, if that’s what you’re looking for.
Crunch some numbers, find some statistics if you like, but in my research I’ve never
found stats to be all that helpful with the most important aspects of living.  Falling in
love with ones self is also - I’d assert anyway - critical but that’s for another post.  
   Hope I didn’t disappoint you Al, or anybody, but the love of God and the bible
stories and all that, my faith in those things remains at best shaky, though sometimes I
think I really have faith in God, but that faith is so buggered yet, I claim nothing as
my own in the spiritual sense.  But I start from what I know and so with this post, I
started at the beginning, when I became a parent for the first time.  Anna will be 9
years old on August 15 (at 9:15 PM).  River will be 2 on July 15, at 8:15 PM.  They
are my treasures.  I think the first ‘quality’ then, of parenting, for me anyway, is
telling them their worth, their history, their qualities.  It’s a foundation for me, an
affirmation that doesn’t let a single day pass without being demonstrated, spoken,
kissed into them.  Enough for now.

delila  

[al Hartman]

     Sooner or later, someone is going to wonder why Delila keeps naming me in her posts:  excusing herself to me, justifying her actions to me, daring me to find fault...  Well, guess what:  I don't know, so I'll have to let her explain it.
     But I will say this of the matter:  Delila, I do not judge you or have any expectations of you.  I love you dearly, and enjoy your fellowship immensely, and learn quite a lot from you, but you owe me nothing-- I am not the one you need to satisfy.  I'm sure you know Who is, despite your protestations.
..........................................................................................................

     That said, let's get back to the children:  I too began my relationships with my children while they were still in the womb, telling them I loved them, praying for them & singing to them.  When they were old enough to be held in an upright position, we began showing them the pictures as we read storybooks to them.  I don't recall that either of us ever read "The Bible" to them, but we did include books of Bible stories among those we read them.  As they got old enough, we read Christian children's books to them.  They especially loved missionary stories, such as the "Jungle Doctor" series.  Cathy & I did too!
     Delila, you don't have to believe the Bible for your kids to enjoy & appreciate its stories.  You don't "believe" in Harry Potter or Dr. Seuss' characters, do you?  Don't let yourself be robbed of sharing the Word of God with your children (and hearing yourself read it) by accepting the lie that you aren't holy enough or good enough or strong enough or are somehow unworthy or unable to do it.

     Parents have to find what is presently referred to as a "comfort zone" in which to relate to their children.  With unborns and infants, I can't think of a better medium than honesty.  If you have the confidence, tell those little ones all that you are praying and believing and trusting God for in their lives.  And if you feel utterly inadequate, pray for the Lord's help, aloud, in their presence; and tell them how inadequate you feel and that you are praying and hoping for wisdom and strength.
..........................................................................................................

     Oh, how Cathy & I did read:  nursery rhymes & stories, Beatrix Potter, Dr. Seuss, Thornton Burgess, C.S.Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, J.R.R.Tolkein, Richard Adams' Watership Down, an unending list.

     When the older three were in elementary school, and for years thereafter, I would gather the children of an evening and ask one to name a place, one an era, and one a danger or surprise.  Then I would combine these elements to make up a story from scratch; always an adventure that involved all of the kids (they got to take turns being the hero).    But that was me.  Like Delila, I am a storyteller.  
     Cathy is not, so she found other ways to connect.  One incident that all the kids hold dear was when Cathy was driving them somewhere through the rural Ohio countryside, when she suddenly parked the car alongside a grassy, treelined area blanketed in autumn leaffall.  She ran with them through the crisp, multicolored leaves, kicking them high in spumes of color, and falling into piles of them, to roll over and over across the ground, laughing the whole time.  This Mom, who was forever cautioning her brood to respect their clothing-- to not tear or soil their apparel-- so surprised and delighted them that day that they have never forgotten it, though it took place nearly 20 years ago.

     Regardless of your children's ages, you can always find some common ground, if you are willing to bend somewhat to meet them there.  When our oldest dyed her spiked hair in her high school's colors, purple & gold, I would pick her up after she had shopped, and would walk through the mall with her, stopping to meet her friends when she saw them.  She thought it was very cool that I was not ashamed to be seen with her and that I would actually converse with her peers.
     When she was a high school senior and preparing to enlist in the Navy after graduation, I bought two tickets to a concert by one of her favorite artists.  It was a two-hour drive from home, and the whole way there I encouraged her to guess where we were going (she never came close).  When we arrived, she was utterly incredulous that I would do this for her (she knew that the music would not be of my choosing).  I was deaf for about the first hour of the drive home, but it was worth it for the pleasure it brought her and the cementing of the bond between us.

     When our son was in middle school, for his birthday I got Harlem Globetrotter tickets for him, me & his two best friends.  Oops!!!  I didn't know that his two best buds couldn't stand each other!  I had to seat Josh between them then sit behind them all to keep the peace.  Didn't matter to Josh, though-- he appreciated my intent, & he had a great time.
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     My point?  Look beyond the immediacy of child-rearing; the physical needs, the training, the responsibilities...  See also the privilege, the opportunity, the beauties of parenthood.  And always keep in mind that the One who gave you the assignment never intends for you to fail.  You will succeed-- only trust in Him; call upon Him in your needs; confess to Him your doubts and fears, and accept His encouragement.  You are never alone...

al

[delila]

Al,
   If an epiphany is a bright, clear place where one can see what realizations are
made of, then a vortex, accompanied by the background noise of a toilet flushing, is
its opposite.  For days I’ve been fighting the suck of the vortex.  And perhaps part of
the vortex for me is the associated assumptions I make of x assembly people, how
they will view/judge/see/understand my choices, reservations, history.  So it is not a
personal strike against you, Al, just me treading water and grime against the vortex -
which I acknowledge you neither created nor suggested had power over me.

   I found two poems today, while I was supervising library classes.  They’re
found in a book of poems I bought, ironically on my first trip to Fullerton for a
seminar.  The book is called Postwar Polish Poetry, an anthology, edited by Czeslaw
Milosz, who, in 1980 was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.  Anyhow, I post
them both now since they are both so short and  so powerful as I read them today.
Again, I make this assertion that the horror that struck Europe during the W.W.II is
similar to, if not a reflection of the cult experience that was ours.

Foundations (by Leopold Staff)
I Built on the sand
And it tumbled down,
I built on a rock
And it tumbled down.
Now when I build, I shall begin
With the smoke from the chimney.

The Bridge (by Leopold Staff)
I Didn’t believe,
Standing on the bank of a river
Which was wide and swift,
That I would cross that bridge
Plaited from thin, fragile reeds
Fastened with bast.
I walked delicately as a butterfly
And heavily as an elephant,
I walked surely as a dancer
And wavered like a blind man.
I didn’t believe that I would cross that bridge,
And now that I am standing on the other side,
I do not believe I crossed it.


Sometimes, Al, when I can hear the vortex, feel it sucking me under, I am back there,
in the assembly, treading water, only, in the vortex I’m not half the swimmer I am in
the present.  And all the condemnation that was mine then, is mine once again and I
choke it down, spit, cough it up.  It is not my intent to be offensive, just honest.  But
with all the spitting, I am vulgar too.  Girls shouldn’t spit, I know.
delila

[Margaret]

That vortex - it's why some cult experts say that people who've left the same cult can't hang out together.  I think we're demonstrating that it's not necessarily true for us.

The poems are great.  There's also much about escaping communism that is true for us.  Solzenityn said about Russia, "Nobody thought the way back from communism would be easy, but nobody thought it would be this painful."

[Kimberley Tobin]

That vortex - it's why some cult experts say that people who've left the same cult can't hang out together.  I think we're demonstrating that it's not necessarily true for us.

The poems are great.  There's also much about escaping communism that is true for us.  Solzenityn said about Russia, "Nobody thought the way back from communism would be easy, but nobody thought it would be this painful."

I think it depends on where in the process the former "cult" members are.  I find it very hard to spend time or speak with people who are unwilling to look at what we came from and clearly identify the problem and initiate change.  If they are simply attending another "church", but maintaining the same assembly mentality, IMO there is no difference and I really don't want to have anything to do with them.  my 2 cents.

[Andrea Denner]

Kimberley,
I think she means those of us who really left.

Andrea