“I’m not raising victims here!” I yelled above the fracas.
(I know all the fancy words for “chaos” at this point in parenthood.)
I was in a heated, lose-lose parenting situation involving a Lego masterpiece that had been compromised, multiple pieces of missing king cake, and a three-year-old brother who actually does frequently take his brothers’ treasures and probably gets away with it most of the time.
As the volume in the kitchen increased, I stepped onto the Soapbox.
“Let me tell you something, young men. If you let your happiness depend on when everything feels fair to you, then you’re going to walk through this life living out of a whole lot of self-pity and resentment. You. Will. Never. Ever. Be. Happy.”
Blank stares.
Then back to the fracas.
You know, I thought that 16 years into parenting, I’d be more…calm? Self-possessed? Effective at instilling virtues in 8 and 9-year-old boys?
Sigh.
Years ago at a playdate with my library’s moms and tots group, one of the moms mentioned how she approached mothering her two little boys as “raising kings.”
“I think of all the qualities I would want a good king to have,” she explained, “And I try to teach them those things.”
That young mother’s sweet philosophy has stayed with me all these years. I think it’s because it has always echoed something for me from the Chronicles of Narnia series—books that have been dear to my heart since I read them in the 3rd grade.
In the first book of the series, English siblings Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy Pevensie walk through an old wardrobe and into the magical land of Narnia. After many adventures, they ultimately become legendary kings and queens of Narnia, lauded for their virtue and goodness.
The odds are that my children are all going to be little kings and queens of something one day. They will lead a family or a team or a company or a project.
Of course I want to raise good kings and queens. Of course I want my kids to be good human beings and good leaders. And I could list out a dozen virtues I’m trying to instill in my kids.
In the trenches right now, though, I struggle to keep a right heart about this parenting stuff. My two oldest children are barreling their way through high school right now, and I catch myself all the time acting like—well—like I’ve only got 2 or 3 more years to produce Narnian royalty.
I correct this or that child for the same fault over and over again. I come down way too hard on the child who I find out has only been brushing teeth once per day for years. I lay awake at night wondering if certain of my children are going to leave this house not knowing how to make a good apology or yield cheerfully in preference or—heck—floss. I worry that I’ll forget something, that I won’t get through to them, and that they’ll suffer one day because of it.
When I parent from that place—from the Soapbox or from straight-up anxiety or in my worst moments from straight-up pride—I’m not my best self. I’m not effective. I’m harsh. I’m certainly not reasonable.
Recently, the Holy Spirit used Narnia to bring something new into focus for me.
The Pevensie children had to leave home, experience some real suffering, have some pretty dangerous adventures, and meet new adult mentors in order to become the legendary kings and queens of Narnia.
I wonder now if that’s the story line for all of us.
We all spend a lifetime becoming, and the truth is that a lot of our becoming happens after we leave home.
Goodness, it occurs to me that I’ve been blogging for 16 years now, and it’s basically my personal public record of becoming.
For those of us in these middle years of raising kids, what if we asked God to help us catch ourselves when we fall into parenting that’s about producing a perfect product on a strict timeline?
What if when we pray for wisdom, we start asking Him now to give wisdom to our children’s future mentors and friends?
What if when we pray for our children’s protection, we start asking Him now to protect and guide our children on their life’s adventures once they’re outside of our home?
And what if when we pray for peace, we invite Him to start preparing our own hearts now to maintain our peace when we have to watch our children suffer one day?
I’m not here to write a flowery post about how the kids will be all right. I know some of your kids and dear ones aren’t all right at this moment. And I know some of youaren’t all right at this moment.
I’m here to proclaim the goodness of God.
To remind you—and myself—that it doesn’t all depend on us.
To remind myself and anyone who needs to hear it that the prayers of a parent are irresistible and precious to the Heart of God.
To share my testimony and conviction that God writes straight with crooked lines.
To point myself and others to the unfathomable designs of Divine Mercy.
And I’m writing to remind myself and maybe you today of this:
It’s true: none of us are victims here.
St. Peter writes that we are “a royal priesthood, God’s own people.” We are royalty. We are irreplaceable, unrepeatable, beloved sons and daughters of the Most High God.
I hope I live out of that truth, in front of my kids.
And I hope my children will watch me for all the years we are on this earth together dragging myself doggedly to the well of Divine Mercy, letting Him love me and call me out of all the darkness inside and outside of myself, and into His marvelous light.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, that you may declare the wonderful deeds of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.
-1 Peter 2:9
