A Worthwhile Quest?

Our little Emerald just turned 3 months old, and like most babies, she’s sometimes frustrated by the short list of physical skills she possesses. Although she’s an easy baby, lately she’s demonstrated an eagerness to move on to the next thing.

Trying to sit, at 3 months

When she’s put down for a diaper change, she wriggles her limbs, coaxing them to get stronger. As she rests in the vibrating infant seat, she strains to raise her head in an effort to get upright. When we stand her up in our laps, her shaky legs do their best to stay straight. And she can’t wait to sit on her own.

That’s how it is with us humans, even with mini-humans. We seem always to be questing after what’s coming next. For children, that’s physical gains. For adults, it’s in the world of business, academia, parenting, or any other endeavor-of-the-moment.

Pursuing excellence with eagerness is a good thing, unless of course we’re doing it with improper motives, such as racing to outdo someone else or chasing success for money. And what if we’re running after that next thing just to get away from what we’re doing now? We have to be careful in thinking about our what’s-next. God asks us to seek balance, living somewhere between questing and contentment.

As a young mom I used to long for my baby’s next developmental stage. “Once he can sit up, he’ll be much happier. When she can finally crawl, she won’t be so fussy. After he learns to walk, he’ll have something to do.” I was doing too much questing at the cost of appreciating the here-and-now. The problem is, when we’re constantly reaching for the future, we’ve already checked out of the present. And right along with that, we’re tempted to believe the lie that everything is always better, just ahead of where we are.

Of course we should make sensible plans for tomorrow, but never at the expense of today. We’ve all heard the expression, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray.” That quote, buried in a 1785 poem by Robert Burns, was written after he plowed through a nest of mice and was bothered by the unwitting destruction he caused this “family.”

His actual quote was: “The best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry, and leave us nothing but grief and pain, for promised joy!” None of us know when our preparations and expected joy will be plowed through by unexpected happenstance, which is a biblical principle. And when we decide not to jump ahead of ourselves (or God), we’re released from the worry that usually accompanies over-planning.

Stop and Go

But when God gives the green light, that’s when we go with gusto. As for little Emerald, judging by the way she’s gusto-ing toward each next physical milestone, I’d say she’s already been given the green.

“Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.” (Matthew 6:34)

A Surprising Gift

Making Kids MindBack in 1984, Dr. Kevin Leman wrote a parenting book entitled, Making Children Mind without Losing Yours with chapters like this one: “How to Act When They Act Up.” He recognized that parents needed help and gave some good advice.

Part of the problem is that parents never know what to expect. Their task is full of surprises. Although some are glorious (like the intensity of love for a child), some are horrendous (like the power of a temper tantrum). And as we look back on our efforts at the end of two decades, we wonder if what we did was good enough. We see mistakes and have regrets, but we also see we did some things right. But time’s up, and the way the kids “turned out” is generally the way it stands.

Despite all the surprises of parenting during those in-the-home years, the biggest one for me came after our active parenting had ended and our 7 had all left the nest. Nate and I had gotten started on the parenthood journey in 1973, and I figured motherhood would fall off a cliff when baby Nelson reached the age of 21. It was a big surprise that our relationship morphed into one of adult-to-adult while still retaining strong attachments as mother-and-son, father-and-son.

Although we’d had our share of “run-ins” during the growing up years, once Nelson became an adult, our problems melted away, and we were free to become friends. With our eyebrows raised, Nate and I used to talk about the wonder of that new stage of parenting.

Now, since our children are grown and all leading productive lives, the same delightful change has occurred in each of them. These adult siblings are looking out for their mother and each other, and they work hard to have time together. If I keeled over tomorrow, I have no doubt they’d all stay close-in-heart.

I’m still their mom, though in different ways now, and each of them reminds me often of the special place I have in their lives. It’s undeserved but so appreciated.

All of this adult-child blessing is actually God’s intention for all parents. It’s as if he says, “When I sent you a new baby, I knew I was giving you an enormous assignment. But you took it on, and now, in these years after the difficult days have passed, you’re learning the depth of what I meant when I said ‘children are a gift.’ ”

Adult kids (…all but Lars)

My heart breaks over some of the mistakes I made as a mother, and yet my children demonstrate loyalty and love  to me anyway. If I’d have known about all these goodies waiting for me at the end of active parenting, I would have been much less likely, during the stressful years, to have the mind-losing moments Kevin Leman referred to in his book. But none of that matters now, because I’m surrounded by the lovely surprise of one of God’s best gifts: my adult children.

“Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift? Oh, how blessed are you parents, with your quivers full of children!” (Psalm 127:3,5 The Message)

Trails

Sky writingWhen driving back to the Chicago area at dusk recently, the trail-marks of O’Hare’s jet planes made a beautiful criss-cross pattern in the sky highlighted by a gold and blue sunset. I could hardly pay attention to the road for wanting to stare at it, so I snapped a photo instead, to study later. The jets that made the trails were nowhere to be seen, but we knew they’d been there because of what they’d left behind.

Baby rattle

 

When I walk through my house and see baby items, I know a baby has been here. Of course they belong to Emerald, and she lives with us, so that makes sense. But even when she’s tucked into her bassinet, out of sight and sound, evidence of her former presence has been left behind.

Gel flower

That’s true even for my other 6 grandchildren. Today I was sweeping when I noticed something cute on one of the heating duct grills. It was a tiny window cling in the shape of a flower. I’d given all the children sheets of the clear, Jello-like decorations, and most of them lasted only long enough for a day’s play. The purple flower, however, had gone astray and became a sweet reminder of the children who had recently stood playing in that place.

God leaves reminders of where he’s been, too, hoping we’ll recognize his activity and think about the fact that he was nearby. If we take the time to notice, we can see his “trails” all around us, for example outdoors every day. They’re visible in large ways (the heavens on a clear night) and small ones (the diligence of a squirrel transporting acorns).

We can also see God’s trails in people, like the testimony of someone whose life has been changed after committing to Christ. We see it when we watch a tiny start-up church flourish and grow, when a girl forgives the one who abused her, and when a terminally ill person dies with a smile on his face. All of these things are trailer-markers letting us know God was there.

One major difference, though, between God’s trails and those of jetliners, babies, and preschoolers is that after he leaves his mark, he doesn’t leave. He stays with the new Christian, the growing church, the girl who forgives, and the dying man.

And about that dying man? When his soul flies away, it’s so quick and complete that not even a wisp of a trail will be left behind him.

[Our lives] ”pass quickly and we fly away.” (Psalm 90:10)