Just Wait Until You Have Kids...

Kids.

There are some things about them that are universal. One is they don’t understand the sacrifice it takes to be a parent. How could they?

I remember my mother saying, “When you have kids of your own you’ll understand…” I thought that was just something parents said to make kids stop asking, needing, wanting, doing, begging, taking, whining.

Now I know better. It is really a cry to be understood; a longing to make these small (and not so small) people in our homes sympathize with our plight. Good luck.

Parents.

There are some universal things about us, too. We say things that our parents said, namely the things that drove us crazy when we were kids.

“Just wait until your father gets home.”

“Quit slamming the screen door!”

“If your friends jumped off a cliff would you, too?”

“Quit crying, or…”

“If you do that your eyes will stay that way.”

“Eat it, it’s good for you.”

“When you have your own house I’m going to wipe jelly on your walls!”

“Just wait until you have kids of your own!”

I actually remember thinking how ridiculous some of my parents’ statements were. Then, one by one, they found their way into my mouth and came out just when my own children were learning the ancient skill of eye rolling.

At one point I made a rule that no child under my care was allowed to roll his or her eyes. Especially when I made one of the parental statements mentioned above.  Eye rolling is equivalent to having the last word. And, when I make a parents-only statement, I want it to be the last word.

I remember my dad telling one of my brothers that he didn't want to hear one more peep out of him. I walked down our long hallway upstairs with my brother as he whispered, “peep…peep…” only loud enough for me to hear. It was hard to stifle my giggles.

Looking back I see my brother’s rebellious attempt at having the last word. I wonder if he used the “not one more peep” statement when he was raising his own children. Likely, yes.

As my kids get older I find ways to tame my tongue. Not that I shouldn't verbally correct them, but I find that too many words sometimes diminish effect. And the parents-only statements lose their effect after about the first use.

The longer I talk the less “they” seem to listen. I am finding with the teenagers under my roof that they have some clever one-liners of their own. I’m trying to listen. Trying to remember. Trying to understand. While they have yet to experience parenthood, I have the benefit of having experienced adolescence already. And while I will not condone bad behavior, I must remember. I must have patience. I must have mercy.

As my kids (slowly) learn to become adults, I am still learning to be a parent with each new stage that arrives. It's just too bad I don’t have more than two, I could have gotten this thing down by number three. Maybe.

The Price of Procrastination

Once someone called me "Johnny-on-the-spot." I'm not sure if it was meant as a compliment, considering the context I heard it in. Nevertheless, I do have a reputation for not letting the grass grow under my feet. It can be obsessive. And it isn't always beneficial. Ask my family.

While I abhor procrastination, I must confess I dabble in it, especially when it comes to my gardens. My thumbs are skin-colored, if you know what I mean. I enjoy the garden, but it doesn't seem to return my affection.

Still, I garden. And the meager produce that comes out of it is enjoyed by my family. Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming the garden for it's stingy offering. I take full credit. I do just enough to get by. I'm sure we all have areas in our lives where we do just enough to get by. Mine is the garden.

Like I said, we do enjoy whatever produce comes out of the garden. This week it is beans. Pretty, aren't they?

What you see is the price of procrastination. Two nights ago I visited my garden and noticed that there was about a meal's worth of green beans ready to be picked. They were long and green and lovely. Something else must have distracted me on my way to the house to get a bowl for picking because I didn't return to the garden that night. But I went tonight and picked the beans... half eaten!

Bunnies.

Cute, furry, cuddly, greedy, vicious bunnies.

I know it was the rabbits that rudely gnawed off half my beans because I have seen an abundance of them in the yard lately. And to think I was sad today when my son told me he threw a rock and barely missed a rabbit's head. I was horrified to think he may have hit it. Now, not so much.

Again, I must take full credit for the condition of what was to be a fresh addition to a family meal. Had I picked those beans as soon as I knew they were ready, the rabbits would not have gotten the chance to munch on them. They could have at least finished their meal. Bad manners!

Earlier, as I picked what was left of the beans, I noticed some lettuce that is ready to be harvested. I didn't take the time to pick it because I had a couple of other things I wanted to do. Read a book. Walk the dog. Sort some laundry? Anything but the lettuce. Perhaps I'll go out first thing in the morning to pick the greens. Right at the crack of dawn. When the rooster crows. While the dew is still on the grass. Maybe this time I'll beat the bunnies.

Waiter, I'll Have Some Crow...

The older I get the more I do things that I once said, "I'll never..." about. A.K.A. eating crow. You know the flavor: a plate full of "I'll never..." swallowed down with a little pride. Hopefully it is served with a side dish of humility and an extra helping of "shut the pie-hole."

I don't know what it is that causes me to make a decision long before the situation ever arises. I remember when I was pregnant for my daughter (first child) I said I would never take any medication during labor and the doctors would not be allowed to use any unnatural devices to get the baby out. After a 30 hour labor I logged in some morphine an epidural and one extraction device that looked like a plunger. Of course my first meal after giving birth was crow. I'm pretty sure I had it a la mode.

I could go on to reveal other vain "I'll never..." statements that resulted in what seems to be one of my favorite meals. I am in the process of raising children. That alone should bring the I nevers to a screeching halt. When will I learn?

This week I ate another plate of crow. I wasn't even hungry. But I ate it anyway.

Our 1.5 year old lab swallowed some rocks. Anyone who has ever had a labrador retriever or seen the movie "Marley and Me" knows that labs are capable of some pretty outrageous things. Rocks! And it wasn't her first time.

Last winter it was discovered that she ate some batteries. My husband administered hydrogen peroxide to induce vomiting. Two batteries and five rocks were ejected from Nancy Drew's belly. What?

Well, the rocks she swallowed this week did not come up. She needed surgery. My husband and I did not have the astronomical amount of money surgery would cost in our budget. But... Nancy Drew. We love her!

Years ago we had marveled at the amount of money people had poured into dogs for surgeries that cost hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars. Us? Never!

Well, when our beloved Nancy Drew was sick, rocks lodged in her small intestine, facing certain death or surgery and possible death, we had to take a look at the menu. There were only two selections.

1. Do nothing and watch her die

2. Get the surgery done and hopefully, extend her life

We chose number two and had the surgery done. In other words, I ordered crow. This time, however, it tasted pretty good. In fact, it was sweet. Nancy Drew pulled through the surgery. Sure we have a long recovery ahead of us and triple the work of caring for this dog. But she's alive. And she's so very, very sweet.

Nancy Drew eats rocks. I eat crow. What a pair we make!

Seeing Past the Sacrifice

The other day I was thinking about a job I'm doing to earn a little cash for various family extras: camp for the kids, driver's ed, camping trip... While the job isn't particularly what I aspire to spend my time doing, it is temporary and will provide the funds for out-of-budget expenses. For a brief moment, I was tempted to complain about the job. Not my cup of tea, exactly. Hard. Strenuous. Tiring.

My pity party was stopped short by a man on the radio who was talking about seeing past the sacrifice. I missed most of the program, but caught enough to make me think. Sure this job is a sacrifice. But it is also a temporary gig. A means to provide something. Just a job.

It occurred to me that my mounting problem was focusing on the sacrifice itself, not the reason for it. When I focus on the sacrifice, I become unhappy. A daunting task, however, should never be the focus. That is a breeding pool for self pity, resentment, discontent.

The focus ought to be on the result, or reason, for the sacrifice. Do I want my kids to experience camp? Yes, I do. Will it be nice to have another driver in the house? Yes, it will. Is the planned camping trip important for my family? Yes, it is.

The results of the sacrifice are worthwhile. They may not be necessarily needful, but worthwhile nonetheless.

I think about another, greater sacrifice that carried a much more weighty result. An eternal result, in fact. It involves a cross and a willing subject. Jesus. When I think about the sacrifice he was willing to make on behalf of mankind, my own small, mostly simple sacrifices seem so easy. So piece of cake. So walk in the park.

Do I really have the audacity to complain in light of what someone else, namely God, has done for me? Something needful. Necessarily needful.

I wonder how different things would be if Jesus had just focused on the cross and what he had to endure. While he acknowledged the cross, even grieved it, he remained focused on one thing: the reason for his sacrifice. It was me. It was you. He saw past the sacrifice. He saw salvation.

It helps me to remember that. It helps me to take my focus off the sacrifices I make for my family. We all make them. We all do things that we would rather not. Why? Because it is necessary to get the desired result. If the sacrifice isn't going to benefit anyone, why even do it?

Today I go to the job again. I consider the alternative. No camp, no driver's ed, no trip. Yes, the sacrifice is worth it. I chose it. I will not complain. Neither will I focus my energy on the sacrifice. Before I know it I'll be sitting around a campfire with my family. Making S'mores. Laughing. Talking. Relaxing. Enjoying.

Only One Free Freedom

Today on this Fourth of July I think about freedom. Mostly, I think about the fact that I haven’t really done anything to earn the freedom I’ve been given. We in America all know the saying “Freedom isn’t free.” And even though it feels free to me, I know different. Others have paid the price, beginning with those thirteen colonies that fought for America back in 1776. It has been the few fighting for the many ever since.

We enjoy freedoms in America that many people in this world can’t even comprehend.  

Freedom of speech is one. We can say whatever we want. There are countries that practice strict censorship and some that punish its citizens for saying the wrong thing. Oppressive.

Freedom of the press is held dear in America. As a journalist I am free to write what I want. Of course facts are of utmost importance and my publisher has the right to reject my work. And, I am not involved in any sort of investigative or whistle-blowing coverage that some news writers are so I feel pretty safe. But in some countries, journalists have been injured, imprisoned, even murdered for what they have written. Criminal.

As hard as it is for me to comprehend, children fall under the category of freedom. It seems unreal to me, but the control of how many children a couple has does exist. While we largely consider children a blessing in America, there are those who consider children a burden on society. Sad.

We are free to assemble: hold meetings, get together and discuss… whatever! It is so common in America that I have a hard time even imagining that some people on this globe do not have the right to gather together for whatever reason they want. Unbelievable!

I could go on and on. The right to bear arms. The freedom to travel wherever I want in my country. The right to get an education, join a political party, own private property.

When I think about it, I am privileged indeed.

There is one freedom, however, that I hold most dear. It is not a freedom that can be taken away from me no matter where I live. It can be had by anyone in any country and at any time. It is the freedom to believe in a living God.

While some may disagree with my faith, and there are countries that don’t allow deviation from its prescribed religion, faith in Jesus Christ is a freedom that can never be taken away from anyone. It was not earned by any colony or any political group, a soldier or any other individual on earth. It is a free gift to all no matter what his or her “prescribed” religion is. It has no barriers based on gender, ethnic background or location on this planet.

It is the only freedom that is free to mankind. And it is the most beautiful freedom of all. It can never be taken away. Never be revoked. Never be voted on. Never be quieted. Never be lost.