If It's Not One Thing, It's Another

Can we chat a little about this ‘thing’ everyone keeps bringing up?  Is this a phenomenon in your life as a parent, because it seems to be coming up a lot lately in mine?


“So, your daughter does gymnastics ten hours a week – I guess that’s her ‘thing’ huh?” 


“So, your son played basketball, lacrosse, and baseball this year.  I like the diversity, but which one of those is his ‘thing?’”


“So, my child really loves singing, but she’s much better at acting, and I’ve been trying to convince her that theatre should really be her ‘thing.’"


Now really people, isn’t this parenting gig perplexing enough without adding another ‘thing’ to worry about?


The truth is, I can see the importance of a child having a ‘thing’ in his or her life – a sport, activity or academic ability that encourages him to practice hard, set goals, and master skills; something that builds her confidence while promoting her determination to improve; a focus that affords a growing boy or girl the opportunity for vital childhood experiences like participating on a team, respecting authority, competing for a prize, supporting others, taking criticism, failing, succeeding, sacrificing. 


Honestly, I’ve spent some sleepless nights wondering when my own children would find their ‘thing,’ and whether or not I should play a more serious role in helping them find it.  A ‘thing’ could keep them out of trouble, after all.  It could give them the chance for character building encounters and, who knows, maybe even the possibility for an exciting future based on their abilities or experience – a championship, a scholarship, a career.  Extremely unlikely on all three accounts, but hey, you never know.   Maybe there is something to this idea of forcing their hand. 


Perhaps I should be telling my children to “Pick one and go all in.”


After all, a childhood and adolescence spent on a driving range might not lead to crystal trophies and millions in endorsements, but it might lead to a job as a sports writer or a golf cart salesman or a putting instructor.  Countless hours spent on a piano bench might not lead to a sold-out audience at Carnegie Hall, but it might lead to a career as a music teacher or a score writer or a recording engineer.


I believe a passion for a game, sport, activity or subject can absolutely provide a child with the chance at a future utilizing the knowledge gained from the time they’ve invested in such endeavors.  And in a world where our focus tends to last as long as it takes to send a text message, maybe it would be beneficial to ask my kids to stop all their dabbling and choose something . . . one thing . . . to make a top priority.


But . . .


What if my child doesn’t have a ‘thing?’  What if my son tries every sport in the book, enjoys each for different reasons, does fairly well at all of them, but doesn’t ever find a favorite?  What if he never gets any better than average at tennis and golf and basketball and playing the trumpet?  What if my daughter spends the next six years of her life (and half of our life savings) in a gymnasium, only to realize at age fourteen that she no longer wants to compete on the vault, bars, beam and floor?  What if she wakes up one morning and wants to try cheerleading or softball or crocheting instead?


I think we’ve become so fixated on making sure our children have a thing to focus on that we’ve completely lost focus.  We’re allowing doubts about the future to blind us, and the blur has become more than just concern about our where our children are headed down the road.  It has become worry about where they are right now, and if we're not careful, I'm afraid it might turn into words and actions that make them wonder if they should be worried too.


Our children should not be worrying about their futures. 


Not yet.


Let them worry about kid things for now.  Let them worry about making their beds, finishing their homework, and cleaning up after themselves. 


There is all the time in the world for the big stuff.  They have entire adulthoods ahead of them.  There will be decades when they can worry about whether they’re doing the right thing and saying the right thing and being the right thing to everyone in their lives.


Right now, there are too many other things our children should be doing.  They should be making messes and eating popsicles and catching lightning bugs.  They should be blowing bubbles and telling jokes and building forts.  They should be playing catch with their friends on Monday, board games with their parents on Tuesday, golf on Wednesday, basketball on Thursday, baseball on Friday, and guitar on Saturday.  Our children should be running and jumping and climbing and laughing and screwing up and starting over and stretching themselves.


There will be SO many things vying to be a priority in our children’s lives as they become adults.  Big things.  Hard things.  Things they have to think about every single day.  There will be family, relationship, health and work things.  There will be travel, illness, exercise, and sex things.  There will be illness, death, financial, and huge decision things. 


Yes.  There is absolutely a part of me that longs for each of my children to have a thing – a talent, a love, a sport or activity that draws them in and holds their interest in such a way that they can’t help but become great at it.  But when I look back at my own life and my own things, all of which lasted but a short season, I see the fault in pushing my kids to choose something specific to channel their energies into.  There will be plenty of pressure for them to manage in the future - they don't need it from Coach Mom right now. 


Hopefully, despite my insistence (or lack thereof) that there be a special “thing” in their lives, my children will eventually discover there is one thing that matters more than anything else.  It won’t be a sport they played in high school.  It won’t be a talent they’ve developed since toddlerhood.  It won’t be a shelf filled with awards and accomplishments.  


It will be a man, and a love so amazing that EVERY. OTHER. THING pales in comparison.  


And that one thing . . . that man called Jesus with the ever abundant love . . .


HE will be the thing that makes my children whole. 

Romans 13:8   Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.

Dogs are the most interesting little creatures.  Macie has been with our family for almost five months now and honestly, it’s been the longest five months of my life.  Nothing can compare to adjusting to life with a puppy.  Many people say having a puppy is similar to having a newborn, and while that makes sense from a poop cleaning perspective, I must say, after five months of poop cleaning with my newborns, I was still madly in love with them.  After five months with Macie, I’m pretty sure dog people have a gene not present in a single cell of my body. 

Still, in the hopes of modeling an attitude of persistence to our children, we’re keeping Macie, much to my chagrin when she shows up at the back door with mud covering her entire face AND three quarters of each leg.  It turns out our puppy likes to dig. 

Aren’t you jealous?

The funny thing is . . . I’m receiving an education from our little Macie.  She hasn’t cured my OCD yet, even though that was one of the reasons I agreed to get her.  (Leave it to me to count on an animal with a brain the size of a walnut to work through all my issues and make me normal.)  Still, I am learning quite a lot from our Christmas puppy.  She has become somewhat of a teacher in our home, going about each day imparting little lessons on life.  I guess she got that whole teaching thing from me, huh?  The desire to educate and a love of sitting directly on the vent when hot air is blowing out.  Too bad she didn’t inherit my dislike for dirt too.

Yes.  Our Macie, the pooping, digging, dirt-loving puppy who literally makes me want to turn back time and make a totally different decision that would involve an aquarium instead of a leash, is providing me with a great deal of insight into the humans in my life. 

This might sound a little crazy, but hey, if you’ve read anything I’ve written in the last few years, you know crazy is par for the course.   So all insanity pushed aside, I happen to believe Macie knows a bit about self-esteem.

I know, I know.  Dogs don’t watch their weight and color their hair and consider paying hundreds of dollars for rat poison to be injected into their face.  They don’t compare themselves to others and search all over town for the perfect outfit for that big night out and wear a pair of heels that pinch their paws into oblivion just because they happen to be the perfect shade of taupe.  They don’t even know how to use a mirror, or a scale for that matter.  Dogs can’t possibly know anything about self-esteem. 

Yet . . . I beg to differ.

Maybe it’s because she’s my dog.  Maybe it’s because I know a thing or two (or twenty million) about self-esteem. Maybe it’s because I watch my weight and color my hair and am currently considering paying hundreds of dollars for rat poison to be injected into my face . . . again.  Maybe it’s because I compare myself to others and hunt for the perfect outfit and own several pair of shoes that are worthy of being called torture devices.

Or maybe. . . it just might be . . . I mean it’s possible . . . yea, okay, I suppose Macie might know a little something about self-esteem because hers was destroyed when I looked deep in her eyes and told her she sucks. 

Yes.  I really did that.  I know you dog people hate my guts right now and plan to report me to the Animal Rights Coalition first thing in the morning, but when your puppy whines at the door to go out for the one-hundredth time in an hour and you know she does NOT need to go potty, you really do think she sucks.  And sometimes, your fuse is just short enough to tell her so.

The vet gave me a rather interesting piece of advice during one of our many expensive puppy check-ups not long ago. I was telling the good doctor that Macie wouldn’t go up and down stairs by herself, and that she absolutely hated to leave our yard to go for walks.  I thought it was cute.  I thought it was because she was so little and inexperienced and because she didn’t like wearing a collar.  The vet responded by telling me I should be sure to pet Macie from her nose to her tail.  She said mama dogs show affection to their puppies by providing them with touches all over their bodies, and that it would help build confidence in our puppy if we rubbed the entire length of her body on a regular basis.  

Honestly, I laughed like someone watching the top ten funniest Saturday Night Live skits of all time when she said it.  Not out loud, of course.  Out loud I said, while nodding my head in vigorous understanding, “Wow, that’s really amazing.  I’ll be sure to do that.”  But inside, I was laughing.  I was throwing my head back, clutching my stomach, gasping for breath by snorting air through my nose laughing. 

And then I went home.  And I lived my life for a few days.  And I was a mama to my own two little puppies.  And I realized . . . the vet was serious, and it was no laughing matter.

People are just like puppies.  We need to be loved completely.  We need to be loved from head to toe.

I can’t love only the intelligent, obedient, respectful parts of my son and neglect to love the rest of him.  I have to love ALL of him.  I can’t love only the helpful, caring, thoughtful parts of my daughter and neglect to love the parts I would change if given the chance.  I have to love ALL of her.  When my husband is bald and wrinkled and has hair growing out of his ears, I have to love his shiny head, aging skin, and furry body.  I have to love ALL of him.  Every single bit.  From head to toe.  I have to love the people in my life completely. 

Sometimes, it’s hard.  Sometimes, I see things in the people I love that, for a time at least, make them seem a little less lovable.  I see selfishness and pride and greed and the inability to pick up a towel from the bathroom floor and take it to the laundry room where it belongs.  I want to tell them, “I love you, but . . .” 

I love you, but I would appreciate it if you would follow directions the first time I ask. 

I love you, but I need you to take the trash out on time and help me with the laundry.

I love you, but I don’t want you to use that tone of voice when you’re speaking to me.

What am I telling the most important people in my life if every time I declare my love for them, I finish the statement with something I’d like them to do differently?  What message are they hearing if I claim I love them, but only if they are willing to change, to do things my way?

If I truly want to follow the example of unconditional love God demonstrates for us every single day, I have to share my love for the people in my life when they are at their most unlovable.  When Charlie is cranky and irritable and I’m so frustrated with his ingratitude that I want to send him to Africa to see what it’s really like to know sorrow, I need to take him by the hands, look him in the eyes and say . . . Oh, my son, oh how I love you.  When Libby is sassy and emotional and I’m so angry at her impatience that I want to send her to boarding school for eternity, I need to wrap her in my arms, squeeze her tight and say . . . Oh, sweet girl, oh how I love you.  When my husband is messy and forgetful and I’m contemplating the idea of tossing his golf clubs into a very deep lake, I need to press my forehead to his, run my fingers through his hair and say . . . I can’t possibly describe how much I love you.

Because the thing about unconditional love is that there can’t be a ‘but.’  There can only be . . . I love you.  Period.  End of story.  Forever.  Always.  No matter what.

I.  Love.  You.

Jesus didn’t say, “I love you, but you’re a sinner.”  Jesus said, “I love you because you’re a sinner.”  Jesus said, “Not only do I love you, I love you so much I’m willing to die so that your sins will be forgiven.” Jesus walked on the earth for less than four decades, but the central theme of his life, the core of his message to all mankind, can be wrapped up in three simple words. 

I love you.

He did.  He does.  He will never stop.

There are no ‘buts.’

I rub Macie from her nose to her tail many times a day now, and she is no longer afraid to go up and down the stairs or to leave our yard.  In fact, I might have taken the vet’s advice a bit too far, because I’ll be darned if that monster, I mean puppy, didn’t decide last week that she was going to squeeze right through the bars of the outrageously expensive wrought iron fence we bought just for her.  Let’s just say the “you suck” comment was nothing compared to what I said to her after that escapade.

I’m trying to love the people in my life from head to toe as well.  It’s not always easy.  Unfortunately, Jesus and I have very little in common at this point.  But I want to follow him.  I want his life to guide mine.  I want to use his example as the driving force in all of my words and actions. And if I’m going to follow Jesus, I have to love like he loves.  I have to love without any ‘buts.’ 

I have to love . . . completely.