How 9/11 Changed My View of Motherhood

They say that your worldview is forever shaped by the way the world is when you are in your 20s.

When I was 27, my world changed forever.

This week, I watched coverage of the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 tragedy in the United States, and like you, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard the news. I was a new mom, with a two-year old and a brand new baby. That baby was only a week old, and when the twin towers fell, I felt my hopes and dreams for that child fall with them.

To be sure, that day changed the world for all of us, bringing evil near and replacing freedom with fear. In those first days and weeks, I wondered what our new lives would look like. I remember my heart beating fast as I thought about about all the “maybes'“ and “what ifs” of a future I could not see.

In time, two more children joined our family, but I no longer fear for their future. I no longer worry over the circumstances that will shape their lives.

Is it because the world is safer now than it was twenty years ago?
Is it because I’ve buried my head in the sand and decided to turn my head from violence, disaster, sickness, and war?
Or is it because I simply have more courage today than I did back then?

After all, didn’t Jesus command us not to worry? (Matthew 6:25-34)

That last one is true, BUT NO, the real reason I don’t worry as much is because I finally realized that:

God’s solution to big problems has always been a baby.

Those helpless babies I rocked twenty years ago are part of God’s plan to restore the world.

It was Isaac,

the first son of God’s promise to Abraham, who became the legacy of a great nation.

It was Moses,

whose mother tucked him in a basket and sent him down the river, who delivered the Israelites from Pharaoh.

It was Samuel,

whose mother dedicated him to God before he was even born, who became a priest, a judge, and a prophet, and who anointed both Saul and David as kings of Israel.

And it was Jesus,

who came to us as a baby and saved the world from sin. It was him who preached of sacrifice and love and who ultimately calls us not to hide but to be a light in this dark world.

Whether we have children or not, we all started out as babies, and we all have the same opportunity to do good wherever we are.

For what it’s worth, it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.

—F. Scott Fitzgerald

Looking back, I’m embarrassed that I felt fear for the new life in my arms. After all, God trusted me with that child (and three others). And as long as the earth continues to turn on its axis, I believe he’ll keep using babies to bring peace and hope. Mine are growing up fast, and I’m so proud of them.

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Purposeful Parenting (Part 1): The Wonder of Waiting

The school year is wrapping up, and we are heading into summer. Those words might make you feel relieved that you made it through yet another year. Time to celebrate! However, you might be dreading these next few months with the kids at home 24/7. Parenting is exhausting work!

Years ago, I wrote a 5-part blog series on Purposeful Parenting. I’m no expert, but our firstborn did just graduate from college. Around here, we’re on the cusp of a new season. We didn’t do a lot of things right, but did we learn a lot? YES! I went back and re-read those old posts, and guess what—they’re still relevant today!

Let’s dive in….

THE WONDER OF WAITING

Normally, I hate standing in line. It’s such a bore and a waste of time. Unless something interesting happens… and last week, it did.

I got a front-row seat to a spectacular lesson in parenting in the Target checkout line. I parked my buggy behind a dad and his four year-old little boy. The boy hopped on one foot. He hopped on the other. He put his chubby little hands on everything in sight. I listened to him talk nonstop, commenting on every single thing in his field of vision. 

Nutella snack pack.
Oooohhh…Chapstick.
Tape.
Batteries.
Magazine. (Why is it behind this plastic thing?)
Gum.
Candy.

Wait a second. “Candy?”

Hands and elbows flew out every which way. Like whack-a-mole, but gentler, the boy’s father patted his little head. “No, no. Not now. We’re going to the circus.”

I’ve often wondered why we don’t host birthday parties in the checkout aisles of our favorite stores. What could be more fun than duck-duck goose and ring-around-the-rosy in the midst of our favorite things? And a goody bag to choose what we want from the endless buffet of trinkets and gadgets and treats galore.

“Tic tacs.”  The boy tugged on his father’s pant leg. “Dad! Tic tacs.” His big, brown eyes pleaded for consent. “I want tic tacs!”

It was only 10:00 in the morning, but clearly in no mood to argue the merits of one snack versus another, Dad finally said, “Would you rather have the tic-tacs now or cotton candy at the circus?”

No contest, right? I mean, of course this kid is going to choose the cotton candy at the circus. They’re headed there now, in fact. In less than an hour, he can have cotton candy before he’s even had lunch.

I sympathized with the boy. My heart went out to him. I know that pressing feeling, when now seems like too late, and the desperation of wanting something so badly that waiting feels like the most torturous thing on earth.

But you can guess what the kid picked. He picked the green tic-tacs. Because every four year-old needs a 1 1/2 calorie breath mint to make it through the day. Right?

His poor dad didn’t even see it coming.  Incredulous, he asked, “Really? You would rather have tic-tacs than cotton candy?”

From behind my buggy, I couldn’t help but smirk. A child after my own heart.

“Yes, Dad. Yes!” Perplexed, the dad gave in.

He sighed. “It’s just a mint, you know.”

But I don’t think that little boy even heard him. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t flinch. He clutched the tic-tacs to his chest as if protecting a great treasure.

I have to admit, I really wish I could have followed them to the circus because my guess is that that little boy forgot all about the tic-tacs when he saw those billowing clouds of pink and blue spun sugar. The empty box of tic-tacs would be poor comfort for the throngs of kids with candy pushing past him on the way to their seats.

Delayed gratification is hard, even for adults. We want what we want when we want it. How many times have I hit the “buy” button when I know I should have waited? How hastily have I sent an angry email when I should have given myself time to process my anger? Over and over again, I have robbed God of what he might have done because he didn’t do what I thought he should have done on my timeline.

I am reminded of something I read once by psychologist, Carl Jung. He said, “If there is anything we wish to change in the child, we should first examine it and see whether it is not something that could be better changed in ourselves.”

So, while I’d love to be able to see into my future, to know for certain that something even better waits for me there, I am sometimes like a little child, hoarding tic-tacs in my pockets and cheeks, not believing that the cotton candy exists or that it’s waiting there for me, or regretfully, even that I deserve it. In moments of weakness, it seems cruel and unusual to make me wait for something that may or may not be real.

Just because I haven’t yet seen it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

I want to show my kids that waiting can be wonderful, that the in-between isn’t only pain and longing, but that even if it is, it’s okay, and that while we don’t know for sure what the future holds, it’s not always in our best interest to propel ourselves headlong into desire. What heals me on these days is the gentle reminder that I am not alone. All of us have spent a season in the in-between and I bet if we sat down across the table, over coffee, sharing our stories, you would tell me your tales of waiting, too–how it was worth it and what you learned and why you wouldn’t go back and change it for anything in the world.

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Jump in the Mud Puddle

People tend to describe me as more of a half-glass-full type of person, but even I can admit: these last few months have dragged. Long weeks of depressing news have been interrupted by short bursts of fun, but even I’m having a hard time staying positive when I don’t know how long this current reality will go on.

I’ve noticed among my friends this sort of collective sorrow. I wouldn’t describe it as depression, but it’s like the earth let out one big sigh.

And so I’ll admit it: I’m jealous of the children. For children, everything is novel and new, and the world fills them with joy. I would like to find that kind of joy. It shouldn’t be hard, actually. We all know someone who brings out the kid in us. Just watching a kid do something he/she loves can make us smile. And how many of us have had one of those experiences where we are reminded of ourselves as a kid?

Just recently, I saw that old Tootsie pop commercial on TV—the one with the owl who has to figure out how many licks it takes to get to the center of the Tootsie pop. Just thirty quick seconds brought back of flood of happy memories of me watching cartoons and eating sugary cereal in front of the TV on Saturday mornings while my parents slept.

My son plays soccer, and a few weeks ago I attended a game after a big rain. There were mud puddles everywhere, and there was this one kid wearing rain boots and just having the grandest time. I tiptoes around the mud puddles as I walked into the game, but that kid lifted his knees high and stomped right through them. He splashed and giggled like it was the most fun he had ever had in his life.

And it made me laugh, too, because I have to be honest: I would have loved to jump in that mud puddle.

But of course I was wearing my good jeans, and I didn’t want to ruin my shoes and the thought of driving home wet and muddy, not to mention how silly I would look—a grown woman playing in the mud puddle. Imagine!

You can guess what I did. I talked myself out of it.

That’s what adults do. We talk ourselves out of things—thinking of all the ways something won’t work or why it doesn’t make sense or how silly we’ll look doing it.

And then we wonder where all the joy went.

Brian Sutton-Smith, the pre-eminent voice in play theory, has a lot to say about the benefits of play. In fact, he’s quoted by a lot of other mental health pioneers, including the well-respected modern behavior scientist Brene Brown. Sutton-Smith was the first to say that the opposite of play isn’t work; it’s depression.

“The opposite of play isn’t work; it’s depression.”

— Brian Sutton-Smith

If you’re feeling down in the dumps, maybe the solution is easier than you think.

Maybe you just need to jump in a mud puddle.

And also, maybe we need to shift the way we see the mud puddles in front of us.

To a kid, a mud puddle is an opportunity—something to be embraced.
To an adult, a mud puddle is a hazard—something to be avoided.

Perspective is everything. And the good thing about mud puddles is that they are neither half full nor half empty.

If a glass of water is invitation to drink, a mud puddle is simply an invitation to play.

For more information on the benefits of play, you can watch these Ted Talks:

The Decline of Play: this one explores the link between the decline of play and the rise of depression and anxiety in adolescents and young adults.

Play Helps us Grow at Any Age: This one is just 12 minutes and will demonstrate how play can help you deal with the hard stuff of life.

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