family

The Jesus Award

Frank

I consider end-of-year awards for elementary-aged kids to be more akin to participatory ribbons, where every child has the opportunity to feel special for something. “Way to go, Johnny, you didn’t send anyone to the hospital this year. You get the most improved bully award!” But when you pray for a child’s character, some awards stand out above all the rest.

When we were expecting our firstborn, we prayed for his (or her, we wanted to be surprised) character. We prayed he would be caring and thoughtful, putting others first. We prayed he would be trustworthy and honest, being a light to the world around him. And we prayed that he would be joyful and a loyal friend, the type of kid everyone would want to be around.

Back in kindergarten, my son received the “caring” award. That, in and of itself, doesn’t sound that impressive, but it is what he did to earn it that I am most proud of. There was a classmate who broke his arm in the middle of the year. While his cast was on, he wasn’t allowed to go out and play during recess (I don’t know if that was from the doctor or the parents) so he would spend recess-time reading or coloring in the office. Not wanting his friend to feel alone, my son would give up his recess time to hang out with him. (Of course this had the added benefit of being able to bring toys in that they could play with together. But oftentimes sacrifice can lead to other blessings.)

“I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.” (Matthew 23:36)

Yesterday, my son won an “honesty” award. Again, the award itself wasn’t nearly as significant as what it was for- he would frequently come to his friends’ defense when another classmate would lie to get them in trouble. (And as much as he liked to argue when he was going through that 4-5 transition period, my wife and I would joke that he’ll make a great lawyer some day.)

Earlier this week I went with my son on a field trip. Besides getting to spend that extra time with him, I was able to watch him interact with his friends. Driving home I asked him, “so of all your buddies, who would you say is your best friend.” His answer surprised me; it was the main troublemaker in class. He continued, “I guess you could say I’m the friend to the bullies.” I asked him why and he answered, “well, bullies don’t have any friends and everybody needs a friend.” Of course I warned him that “bad company corrupts good character” (1 Corinthians 15:33) but I did so with tears welling up in my eyes.

What proud parent doesn’t want to boast about their child? But that isn’t what this is about. No, my son convicted me and challenged my faith. His character is an answered prayer, I cannot forget that no matter how hard some days may be with him. But his character also challenges me. Am I willing to sacrifice my time- my playtime- for another? Do I stand up for others, valuing truth over friendships? And do I go out of my way to love my enemies the way that Jesus taught?

Maybe this is what Jesus meant when he said we need to be like little children?

What’s a Parent to Do?

Frank

So I’ve been spending my last several posts on the issue of mental health, getting personal with my “not autistic enough” son. In these posts, there’s been a lot of description, but not a lot of application. So I’m going to share my notes from a conference last year from a class called Parenting Children With Special Needs.

First, it is important to have the conviction that God does not make mistakes.

“As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’
‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned,’ said Jesus, ‘but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.‘“ (John 9:1-3)

Whatever you are going through, whatever your children are going through, it is all in order to display the work of God.

If you struggle to believe that (and who doesn’t at times?), remember that God can relate to us as parents.

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you!
(Isaiah 49:15)

Next we cannot blame ourselves. You did not do something wrong to cause this, nor do you deserve it for something

He does not treat us as our sins deserve
or repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
(Psalm 103:10-12)

If you’re a parent reading this, have faith that God chose you to be the parent to your child. He knows your inmost thoughts, he has your child’s days already written (Ps 139), and he picked you out of all other options to be your son or daughter’s parent. Plus, your child is no accident, he or she is not a mistake, your son or daughter was fearfully and wonderfully made (v 13-16)

Most of all, love, love, love. Love your child. Love the teachers or other parents who may be critical or judgemental, love those who are patient in teaching, serving and befriending your children.

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” (1 Peter 4:8)

For those of you who have reached out to me over Twitter or Facebook, I will continue to keep you in my prayers. Please also pray for me and my family.

Not Crying on Sundays

Frank

I have a confession to make.

Not that long ago, I went through a period where I didn’t want to go to church.

Yeah, I know. Me, you, everybody; this isn’t much of a confession. But this wasn’t because I wanted to sleep in or catch the early NFL game. No, I didn’t want to go to church because most of the time I would come home crying.

This is our usual Sunday morning routine. Get up and get ready for church. Eat breakfast, making sure that our son had a high-protein, low sugar balanced meal. Sometimes we’d pray in the car on the way there. If it wasn’t out loud, I would always pray silently before dropping off my son in class. We would take him to his classroom, he would grip tightly to our hand or our leg, and we would have to pry him away to get him to go in. He’d try and escape back out the door, sometimes stopping to sit just outside in the hallway. Other times, he would find a chair off by itself and plant himself there, pull his knees up and bury his face safely behind them.

About a half-hour in to our church service, a volunteer would come and tap me on my shoulder to tell me my son was having problems. I’d leave worship, sit him down and try to talk to him one-on-one reminding him of the importance of following directions and not being disruptive to the other students. Sometimes I’d let him go back to class. Other times, if it was really bad, I’d keep him out with me. I wouldn’t dare take him in to the church service. So we would sit. Alone. Waiting for church to be over. I’d feel every glance and glare from people walking by. I’d smile politely but I can read their eyes: “what’s his problem?”

Let me for a moment define “really bad” which unfortunately was much of the time. My son would crawl under the table and kick the mechanism that folds up the legs. It made a neat sound, rattling against the metal. It fascinated him. Other times he would start tearing up his paper into little pieces, just to see how small he could make a rip. Sometimes he’d wonder what those pieces of paper would taste like, so he would proceed to eat as many as he could before a teacher could intervene. He wouldn’t join in circle time when everyone would be singing together. He wouldn’t sit still in his chair. A teacher could only put up with this for so long before they would have to call for reinforcements- me.

So while sitting outside of class and outside of worship, my son and I would have deep talks. Sometimes I’d take him outside just so he could run around in circles to burn off all of his extra energy. Sometimes we’d talk about God and Jesus. Most of the time we’d talk about what made my son tick.

But by the time church was over I would be near tears, crawling out of my skin. “Why didn’t we take two cars?” I’d ask myself. The silent, invisible wounds from every comment and sideways look were killing me.

Here are some comments we’d hear. Maybe you’ve heard them, or some variation, yourself:

  • Boys will be boys. He’ll grow out of it.
  • If you kids are going to be disciples of Jesus, they need to be more outgoing. You need to teach them to not be so shy.
  • You need to do something about your son, there’s no reason at his age he shouldn’t be able to sit still.
  • No, there’s nothing wrong with him, you just need to teach him self-control.
  • I don’t think you’re disciplining him enough at home.
  • Remember, spare the rod and spoil the child.

So I’d leave church wondering if we were wrong about our son. Maybe we just needed to spank harder, discipline him more severely. At best I was paranoid about his condition, at worst I was a failure as a parent.

Sound familiar?

But there were others in our church who watched this from a distance. They recognized it. They felt our pain. And soon we’d have parents giving tips of what worked for their children and share the struggles they have had. One mom, a parent of two teenagers with autism, said that she recognized it as soon as she met our son. Affirmation! Relief.

Some teachers also understood. One makes a point to assign my son to be a helper- keeping him busy and out of his chair. Others know that when he’s sitting off by himself, that they just need to leave him be until he is ready and acclimated to his new environment.

And we changed our habits too. Yes, a high protein and low sugar breakfast is still a must. But now we also give him coffee every morning. While that may sound strange, caffeine is a natural stimulant that has the same effect (in principle) as ADHD drugs. Explaining this to one parent changed his life- he noticed that when he’d drink tea or coffee he wouldn’t feel as much anxiety and could focus better. He is know on ADHD medication and you’d think he was a completely different person.

This isn’t just my son I’m talking about. Teaching class a few weeks ago, the lesson was on Palm Sunday. The kids were restless so I suggested we go outside and have a parade for Jesus. We marched around our church building singing as loud as we could, shouting “Hosanna in the Highest!” But there were two boys who dragged along behind, covering their ears. Even outside in the open, this was too much stimulation for them. My son hung back with them. He understood.

Chances are, there are children at your church, in your Sunday-school class, friends with your children that have either ADHD, autism or maybe even both. It might be your child and you don’t know what to do. It used to be said that one in 88 children would have autism. That rate has recently been raised to one in 50. More than one in 10 have ADHD with boys twice as likely as girls to be diagnosed, a percentage that has increased 70% in the last five years. A 2009 study suggests that one in six children have sensory integration issues that impede their daily functioning.

Let me repeat:

  • 1 in 50 children have some form of autism.
  • More than 1 in 10 children have been diagnosed with ADHD.
  • 1 in 6 suffer from sensory integration issues.

These are children at your church, in your neighborhood, maybe even your home.

As I continue to say in this series of posts, you are not alone in dealing with this. Talk about it. Share what works and doesn’t work. Don’t be afraid of the label and have your child checked out.

For the church, one of the most important things to do is to educate others. Sunday-school teachers are volunteers; they are not likely to be professionally trained teachers or have degrees in special education or developmental psychology. If it looks like your child’s teacher doesn’t know what to do, it is probably because they really don’t. And this was the hard lesson for me- don’t take their lack of understanding personally. Be kind. Share. Offer encouragement.

Most of all, have hope. It does get better.

Not Autistic Enough

Frank

I have a new supervisor at work who calls all of us his Aspergers cats. I guess you could imagine a workplace environment full of Sheldons from Big Bang Theory. While I can see that in many of my coworkers I struggle to see that in myself. Yet I’m not very social, I can perseverate on subjects, I am borderline obsessive-compulsive in my habitual routines, and when things stray from my expectations my world is completely rocked.

These are things I have come to recognize as I’ve gotten older, but looking back I can now see some hints. According to my mom, when I was young parades would scare me- the loud noises would bring me to tears. I remember one Christmas receiving a fireman’s helmet, complete with a light and siren on top, that was the coolest thing in the world. That is, until I turned it on. When I got married, my wife and I lived in a little apartment. One day steam from the shower caused the smoke detector to go off which sent me into a panic attack. (Are you sensing a theme?)

I would consider my social skills and obsessive-compulsive behaviors to be personality quirks. But sensory overload- that I think is a real issue.

You’ll notice I didn’t mention the “A word” in last week’s post, God Made Me Broken [ed. note: this has been sitting in draft so long this used to read “yesterday’s post”- I apologize for the delay getting this out]. At the time we were dealing with my son’s speech issues we worried about how this would affect him socially. The “A word” was always in the back of our minds, with my wife being a special education teacher and me with my quirks. Yet my son would make eye contact and would respond to his name- traditional rule-of-thumb tests in a toddler or preschooler.

But… He had his struggles socially. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t maintain relationships. He would find things to perseverate on. And he did not adjust well to change. (Sounds a lot like his father). But he managed for the most part. That is, until a little over a year ago…

We noticed at school he was getting into trouble more and his grades were starting to slip. It wasn’t long before it felt like he was tanking school completely. (And there were some environmental issues that contributed, but I won’t go there) Everything seemed consistent with that dreaded A word: Autism.

We went to our medical provider and had him checked out. To be diagnosed for autism, one needs to show deficiency in three areas: social, language, and play. To us, this was a no-brainer. I mentioned his language issues before. But I didn’t mention that as part of getting his IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for speech he was evaluated by a occupational therapist and we concluded that he had Sensory Integration Disorder. This explained why he didn’t like to swim, would only run if he could touch something next to him (a fence or a wall), why he needs his snuggles every night, why he freaks out when his sister orders mac and cheese at a restaurant, and also why he cannot sit still in a chair to save his life. (More on SID at the end of this post…) And his struggles in preschool and kindergarten appeared to be socially related.

In addition to these evaluations he also underwent a series of tests whose score would help determine where on the Autism Spectrum he would fall. My wife and I also had to fill out a form describing our impression of his behaviors and what stimuli would set him off.

When we returned to the pediatric psychologist to hear the results we were eager to finally have an explanation, that we could finally receive the help we needed, that prayerfully someone would finally understand.

But we were wrong. My son scored just short of the limits defined by the DSM-IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) for autism. (Important note: soon the DSM-IV will be replaced by DSM-V which limits the range of the Autism Spectrum even further, which is subject to much debate.) And he showed that although he had struggles in language skills and sensory processing, he was not deficient socially.

So what was this? I wish I could’ve understood all the psychobabble as the psychologist spoke, but I was too much in shock. I heard Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified (PDD-NOS, which is a fancy way of saying it looks a lot like autism but isn’t and we don’t know what to call it) and Juvenile Bipolar Disorder which can be confused with ADHD+ (not just ADHD, it’s ADHD Plus!). As he was speaking I was picturing my son, reviewing the tests in my mind, and trying to filter what the psychologist was saying through the definitions of autism as I understood them.

And a light went on.

I should note at this point that I am not a psychologist. I am not an expert in brain development or gene-mapping. In other words, I don’t really know what I’m talking about. But I do know what I’ve seen and it occurred to me that many of these diagnoses overlapped, which explains why autism is so difficult to identify and is often misdiagnosed. Remember the three areas that help define autism- social, language, and play? Imagine any two of the three overlapping: social and language for example and how those behaviors would be different than if language and play overlapped. And I saw a pattern in my head- ADHD, Bipolar, and Sensory Integration are each overlaps of two out of the three. Autism would be an overlap of all three. Again, I am not an expert and this certainly isn’t definitive, but it fit my son to a T.

And sure enough, there was something to this. A few months ago a study was released that claimed there was a genetic link between many of these mental disorders.

Vindication? I wish. My wife and I still joke about our son being “Not Autistic Enough” during good times, and we get discouraged when his teachers cannot understand him, or his diagnosis, during the bad times. We wish we could just slap a (relatively) well-understood label like autism to defend him. We’re still struggling through this and learning a lot. And yes, this means there is another post (or two) coming.

I mentioned I was going to revisit Sensory Integration Disorder. This was another revelation for us as parents. It explained so much and helped us immensely. A a parent, if you’ve never heard of this and cannot figure out what is wrong with your child, I’d recommend checking out The Out of Sync Child. I also recommend everyone read this article, The Impossible Child, from the Psychotherapy Network. It is long, but necessary to help understand what these kids and their parents fight through. To be perfectly honest, the first time I read this article I cried because that was me narrating. That was my son being described. Maybe it will also shed some light for you. And like I said, I still have a lot to say about this, so I encourage you to come back (and I promise it won’t be so long between posts this time!)

God Made Me Broken

Frank

I’m proud of my son for many reasons: he’s an expert Lego builder, he has deep spiritual insight, he has a heart to serve, and he has nearly photographic memory to just name a few. But a story I love to tell as my badge-of-honor so to speak is the fact that he got expelled from preschool. (I take comfort in the fact the Albert Einstein was expelled from high school)

The reason he was expelled was because he was a biter. A lot of kids are, but you want to make sure you don’t bite the wrong parent’s child. We learned that at that age, biting is an expression of frustration because the young boy or girl cannot yet talk to communicate their wants and needs. That described my son perfectly- he didn’t communicate… for a very long time.

Once enrolled in elementary school, we started him in a speech program. It was several months later during a meeting to review his IEP (Individualized Education Plan) that his speech teacher dropped this bomb.

“He told me ‘God made me broken!'” My jaw dropped. He understood that he was different. He knew he struggled to communicate and that affected his friendships and his performance at school. He knew something was wrong.

As a parent, the temptation is to question what you might have done to cause it. I tore myself up over it. Did I not show him enough love? Did I not roughhouse with him often enough? Did I not take enough time every night before he went to bed to read to him?

Of course while I was busy kicking myself, I forgot that there were physical issues as well- he had torticollis (a strain in the neck that keeps one from turning their head all the way or holding their head up straight) and he had ankyloglossia (was tongue-tied) which required a frenulectomy (to cut the tissue under his tongue). The latter was so bad that he could not completely chew his food and would sometimes choke. Both, obviously, contributed to his late speech.

But he wasn’t a doctor, so how was he supposed to know that this was relatively common? He was my firstborn, so how was I to know I didn’t do something wrong? The stress and struggle we went through as a family during this time felt immeasurable. And it set the stage for later (yes, you’re going to have to come back and read another post).

What did I learn through all of this? I wish I could say something as lofty and noble as “trust God!” but I can’t. I learned a lot about myself, actually. I learned I stress out over my family way too easily. I learned that I really have no idea what I’m doing as a parent. But I also learned that I’m just like everybody else- no one really knows what they’re doing, they just rely on the best information they have, and everyone stresses out about their children.

My son thought he was “made broken” but on the contrary, he was made special. That requires me to listen to him more carefully because he communicates in his own special way. It calls me higher to encourage him more when he gets down over things he cannot control. And if it’s even possible, you might say I love him more.

“As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’ ‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned,’ said Jesus, ‘but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.‘”
(John 9:1-3)

I also learned that God has a purpose in all of this. I may not yet know what it is (I’m praying for the next Einstein, or as he now likes to say the next Tony Stark) but I know that this is all so that His glory may be revealed.

This also created in me a greater sensitivity to other children and other parents. I cannot judge because I don’t know what they’re going through. I have learned to empathize with families who are down in the dumps who struggle to understand that whatever they are going through is beyond their control, that they do not need to blame themselves.

What kind of struggles have you had as a parent; have you ever felt like you ‘failed’ in some way?

Are there times you struggle because you feel like you don’t understand your son or daughter?

I love how Veggie Tales close out their shows: “Remember kids, God made you special, and he loves you very much!”

Uninviting

Frank

Have you ever uninvited someone to church? No, I don’t mean you called someone up and actually asked them not to come. But rather have you ever acted in such a way that made your life, your church, your Jesus uninviting?

One of the emotional heart-strings to pull when it comes to evangelism is to imagine standing in line like sheep and goats waiting before the judgement seat of Christ. You are there alongside neighbors, coworkers and friends. And they, in tears, ask you, “why didn’t you tell us? Now it is too late!”

Ideally our lives should stand out in such a way that is both attractive, bearing the fruits of the Spirit, while at the same time foolish by the world’s standards. But it is just as likely that the way we conduct ourselves in public is unattractive- that even if we would have “told them” they would probably reject the invitation.

How well to manage your temper? When you are stuck in traffic or when someone cuts you off, how do you respond? The person in the car next to or behind you might just be the next person you are reaching out to.

Are you patient? When you are in line at the grocery store are you agitated, anxiously checking your watch while grumbling under your breath? If you shop at the same store frequently, and most of us have our routines, then the person behind you in line has seen you before and your actions and attitudes leave an impression.

How do you conduct yourself at work? Do you participate in workplace gossip, laugh at inappropriate jokes, talk down about rivals or competitors? Face it, you spend more time at work than you do anywhere else.

What does your family look like in public? Are your children always fighting, are you always yelling, or are you spoiling them by giving them everything they are asking for? Do you talk back at your spouse, argue in public? Again, people notice.

What do your Facebook posts say about you? Do they reflect worldly values, are they caught up in political debates, are they boastful? What is the reason you post what you do on social media, to glorify God or yourself?

We can have non-stop evangelism programs, discipleship workshops and outreach campaigns. We can knock on doors until our knuckles are bloody. We can stand on street corners loudly proclaiming the Gospel. But if our lives don’t show it, we might as well just asking others not to come.

Protect This House!

Frank

In the busyness of the Christmas season, I’ll be reposting some of my favorite posts and scaling back my original content. Leading up to New Year’s I’ll be posting a best-of 2012. This particular post was published in September and had the most page views of the year.

College football is officially underway, which is great news for me because this past baseball season has completely stunk. With the length of the baseball season, or even with basketball and hockey, you can’t expect teams to win every game at home. But in football, winning every home game is what separates good teams from mediocre, and being able to win on the road separates the great from the good. So winning at home is a priority for teams. You are defending your turf, you are playing in front of your fans- there is just something inherently more at stake. So athletic apparel company Under Armour has the slogan, “Protect This House” which works great on t-shirts, posters and billboards when combined with mascots and school colors.

We, too, need to protect our house:

“When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives, it finds the house swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that man is worse than the first.”(Luke 11:24-26)

It is not enough to just clean up or rearrange the furniture, we need to actively protect our house. When you made the decision to follow Jesus, there were some things that were obvious that needed to be thrown out of the house. Things in your heart you knew you needed to rid yourself of. But did you replace those things with anything else?

I remember a friend of mine not buying into the addiction ministry I’m a part of. “Even if you quit drinking or smoking, you’re just going to replace it with something else,” he would say. Of course he’s right. So what is the “something else”?

Switching gears slightly to your literal house, do you ever feel like an evil spirit has completely moved in? You know what I’m talking about, when everything seems to turn into a fight with your spouse, the kids are unusually wild and crazy, and bills are past due; when you can’t seem to catch a break. So you pray and you step away and you hope that things will be better tomorrow. The problem is, if you kicked that evil spirit out of your home he is only going to come back later with some of his friends.

So what are we to fill our house with in the meantime?

Do we fill our house with things? Is that what we are teaching our kids, that they can have any toy they want, watch any movie they want whenever they want, ask for anything they see advertised on TV? More things, more movies, more toys, more games, more gadgets, more electronics. Bigger, faster, better, newer. Our children notice when we complain that our iPhone 3 is no longer good enough even though we just got it a year ago.

Do we fill our house with food? As a kid we knew which house we wanted to go play at after school because they had all the good snacks. Chips, cookies, junk food. Are we teaching our children that happiness comes from sweets? Do they see us snacking between meals when we tell them that they can’t?

Do we fill our house with the World? Do we always get wrapped up in politics, news, celebrity gossip, or sports? I was convicted thinking that sports elicit a more emotional response from me than anything my family may accomplish. Do I get up and cheer their achievements as loudly as I cheer a touchdown? Are we filling our house with TV? Do you realize how much television and the Internet influence our values? Even shows that are described as “family friendly” like Dancing With the Stars, Survivor, or even American Idol teach us that modesty isn’t important, that it’s ok to back-stab if it helps us to get ahead, and that it’s ok to mock those who are willing to step out and aspire to greatness (really the first few weeks of American Idol are appalling). Do we fill our house with pornography? Pornea in Greek means “stimulating” or “pleasure”, so this is more than straight-up porn and includes things such as the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, Maxim Magazine and the Victoria’s Secret catalogue, even much of what passes for celebrity gossip as who is dating who, who has the best beach body, et cetera. So what are you watching on TV late at night? Where are you surfing the Internet?

Do we fill our house with negativity, criticalness, or gossip? Are the conversations around the dinner table about what so-and-so did today at work, or how much you don’t want to go to church tonight after dinner? Your attitudes rub off, especially on your children. Or instead are your conversations filled with encouragement or edification?  Your attitudes rub off on your children. “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” (Ephesians 4:29)

When the evil spirit comes back, he will bring all his friends. So you will need to protect your house. So fill it with something!

Fill it with the Holy Spirit and with the Word of God. That doesn’t mean you hang Bible verses around the house, or buy religious trinkets at your local Family Christian, or even literally to “write them on the doorframes of your house” (Deuteronomy 6:9). Deuteronomy 6 reads earlier, with respect to God’s Laws, to “impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” (v 7) How much do you talk about God with your family? Do you share what you are studying in the Bible? (Are you studying the Bible?)

Fill your house with prayer. When someone enters your house do they know that they are entering a place of worship? I don’t mean to change out all your windows for stained glass, but Jesus promises that when two or more come together in His Name, there he will be. (Matthew 18:20) Are you gathering together as a family in Jesus’ name? Your home is a place of worship. Or it should be. Do you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs to one another? (Ephesians 5:19) Do you pray together as a family?

The truth is, that evil spirit will come for an uninvited visit. He may overstay his welcome. You may be successful in driving him out. But he always comes back. Always. And sometimes he doesn’t come back alone. You need to protect your house.

Annoyances or Blessings?

Frank

A couple of Fridays ago my daughter had to get six stitches in her chin. According to her teachers, she fell from some playground equipment. According to her, she was running with her eyes closed. Knowing her personality, I can believe both.

I had the day off, but had dialed in to a meeting. About half-way in, the phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number of her school. A couple of minutes later, my wife called. And called. And called. About the third time I figured I better answer the phone.

Slightly annoyed by the interruption, I answered. After hearing what had happened I responded with the usual husband-speak, “uh huh, oh ok, uh huh…” and told her that my meeting was almost done and I’d head over after. (In my defense, at this point, the school was saying the standard, “oh, don’t worry we put a band-aid on it and some ice. She’s not crying…”

Another couple of minutes pass and the phone rings again. “Sheesh, can’t I get a break?” I thought to myself. My wife tells me that they think she might need stitches. “Oh, ok. I’ll sign off and head right over.”

Still annoyed I head over to the school (my wife beat me there) pick my daughter up and take her to the doctor. I remained totally into myself up to the point the nurse removed her bandage to reveal the depth of the wound. Then all my attention was squarely on my precious daughter.

Parenting sucks. I say that just because I’m selfish. I like my own time. I like to pick my own movies. I like to have my own spot on the bed that I won’t be crowded out from at four in the morning. And I like my days off. But I love my children.

I think of the blessing of having a job that provides insurance so that my daughter could get her stitches. I am blessed that I have days off for times such as this. I am blessed with a wife who is less selfish than I am to keep me on my toes and help me feel compassion towards my children. I am blessed that my daughter was even in school in the first place where she could eventually hurt herself.

Not everyone is so blessed. Katie Davis relates in Kisses from Katie how she begins to adopt some of the children around her. These children are lucky if they can go to school. Lucky to have homes made of clay with tin roofs. Lucky if someone will attend to them in the hospital. I say lucky, not blessed, because the blessings come later. Katie is a blessing meeting their needs to allow them to attend school. She is a blessing to open up her home to others when theirs is washed away by rain. She is a blessing to pay for medical care so that a nurse will actually pay attention to the crying little girl on a cot. She is a blessing to allow herself to be called “mommy” by children who do not have one. Or I should say, didn’t have one before. And Katie accepts all of this lovingly, with joy and thanksgiving seeing what God is doing in her life.

Maybe the bad attitudes, frustrations and selfishness didn’t make it past the editor’s desk and are left on the cutting room floor, to mix metaphors. But as I read this book, I believe she is sincere. Yes, this is hard, she admits that. But she doesn’t care. And that convicts me because it puts parenting in perspective. Her perspective, not mine.

“Children are a gift from the LORD; they are a reward from him.” (Psalm 127:3 NLT)

This blog is part of a book club reading Kisses from Katie. Jason Stasyszen and Sarah Salter are leading the discussion. Head over to their blogs for more.

God Sets the Lonely in Families

Frank

It was our second date. My wife-to-be and I were browsing books at Borders and making small talk. She was talking about her family and her childhood. She said something about her birth certificate and I told her mine was the same.

She was stunned, unable to process what I just implied. In all her time praying to God for a husband who is like this, from there, does that… one prayer always stood out, that he would understand her like no one else could. And my nonchalant comment sealed the deal in her heart. (Me, I was slower on the uptake. It took me a couple more months to recognize what God was doing.)

You see, I could understand her like no one else could because like her, I am adopted.

I admit I have selfishly held this post back. November is National Adoption Month. I’ve been wanting to post something. I have friends who have adopted. We’ve made efforts to get tied in to the local Foster system. And there are a hundred other better reasons to post this than my own selfishness. Because writing this is hard. It exposes emotions, and I don’t like to feel. But today, Thanksgiving, I realize I am thankful for nothing greater because I see God’s divine providence at work in my life and my wife’s through our adoptions.

“From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us.” (Acts 17:26-27, emphasis added)

So as I thank God today for my family and the course my life has taken I cannot ignore the role my adoption played. So I thank God that I was adopted. And I thank God for my friends who have adopted or taken in foster children from the inner city to China and everywhere in between. I thank God on behalf of all those who now have homes who otherwise would not.

But the work is not done. Davd Platt shares in Radical Together how he approached the county Department of Human Resources to find out how many families it would take to meet all the adoptive and fostering needs in the county. He was told 150 families. When he invited his congregation to a later meeting if they were interested in serving in this way (after preaching from James 1:27) 160 showed.

I heard on the radio the other day that there are more Christian Churches (broadly defined) than there are foster children in North America so if every church only took in a single child, that need could be completely eliminated. I have trouble believing that when I see the needs in my own community. In California there are 63,000 in foster care and 12,000 children waiting for adoptive families.

And so I thank God for those who are presently moved to meet this need. One of my blogger buddies, Jason Stasyszen is going through the process to adopt from Japan. You can follow that progress on their Facebook page. Here’s a video they put together. (grab a tissue)

Thank you God for blessing me with a family who loved me and raised me. Thank you for the same for my wife. Thank you for bringing the two of us together. Thank you for those who have hearts for the fatherless. Move our hearts to not be ignorant of their needs. Thank you for the many blessings you have given us so that we can share them with those in need. Amen.

“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
is God in his holy dwelling.
God sets the lonely in families” (Psalm 68:5-6)

Helicopter or Drone?

Frank

By now school is back in session for everyone. The last wave started either yesterday or today following the Labor Day holiday. My kids started last week. My wife, this week.

The first day of school is marked by parents taking extra pictures while frantically making sure their child has everything ready. A certain type of parent, the “helicopter parent”, will even follow their child to school to make sure they get in the right classroom, get along with the right kids, and do all the “right” things. They watch to make sure Johnny isn’t picked last when teams are drawn up for kickball and make sure Sally is called on first when she raises her hand in class.

The name, helicopter parent, comes from the image of these parents hovering over their children in every facet of their day. I want to add another type of parent to our nomenclature- the drone parent (more catchier than UAV parent, I think). This parent also hovers, but not as close. Like an un-piloted drone, they hover high up where they can’t be seen, but are constantly on surveillance.

I admit, I’m a drone parent. We followed our children to school, took all the pictures, hugged each maybe just a little too long and watched as they went off to their class. But we didn’t leave. We stood back and we watched. How would our son respond to his new teacher? Which of his best friends are back after the summer and will be in his class? Unlike helicopter parents, who have a reputation of control, drone parents simply stand back and watch and respond to the data they receive.

But even that is too much. Watching other parents drop their children off last week- some helicopter, some drone, some “bombers” (drop the kids off and fly away)- it occurred to us that it didn’t matter how close we stayed or how much we watched. As other parents commented on which teacher was the best (and of course, their child had to be in that class) and which children were the worst, we realized that it all really doesn’t matter. Yes, it is important that our children receive a quality education. Yes, there are certain kids and some demographics that are obstacles to learning. But we are not dropping off our children to never see them again. They may spend more of their waking hours at school, but it is ultimately at home where they will learn the most. One teacher or one bad apple child in the first grade will not change the ultimate fate of my child.

So the drone has to fly back to base. We have to let them go. We have to trust that God is in control.