We're 2 weeks into Lent, and I'm learning. This has been the most challenging Lent season for me yet.
I gave up sleeping in.
That means that for the entire season (and probably continuing after Easter), I'm planning to rise an hour before my family. I've felt like my opportunity to read the bible, have a few moments of peace, and hear from Jesus has dwindled with the advent of Boy, and I sensed God's Spirit prompting me to rise at 6am to bring order to this chaotic part of my life.
I did not, however, realize how hard it would be. I've given up crazy hard things in the past. Coffee. Sugar. Soda. TV. And I've always been successful, because it seemed to me that giving up something for Jesus was just not an area where I could allow myself to fail. Yes, I do hear how that sounds. Which brings me right to what I'm learning:
Holy smokes, I'm prideful.
And oh my goodness, Lent is not supposed to be about me. It's supposed to be about Jesus and what He is doing in me when I cast off things that otherwise might entangle me.
And I am so very hard on myself.
I learned that last one on Tuesday, day 7 of Lent, when I had failed 5 times.
Yep, you heard me. We talked at our weekly staff meeting about Lent and I tearfully confessed that I had succeeded the first two days, and then fell prey to justification. I felt guilty and mad and sad and so very frustrated. I felt completely lacking of all self-control. I didn't understand why I had been so "successful" in previous Lenten fasts, but this year was so much harder.
Then it dawned on me. Lent is not about me. It's what Jesus is doing in me when I am obedient. Taking pride in my own spirituality (or whatever you want to call it) only makes me a Pharisee. Ouch.
So the staff encouraged me to have a do-over. And here I am nearly a week later saying that week 2 was an improvement, but not perfect. And I think I have to be okay with that. I'll let Jesus develop in me the necessary characteristics to "successfully" rise at 6am, cheerfully and diligently. For now, 4 out of 6 days shows progress.
I write this to tell you that if you're struggling with Lent, that's ok. I haven't got it all figured out. Obviously. Take a do-over. Make it less about you and more about Jesus. Accept progress.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Sunday, February 10, 2013
How This Foster Parent Feels About SleepCountryUSA Commercials
It wasn't the first time this topic of conversation arose. Tonight, Matt and I debated the local SleepCountryUSA commercials. And I say "debated" only because I tried really hard to play devil's advocate, but the truth is that I feel just as he does.
These commercials make me cringe.
You've probably heard them. They often use the line "Not everyone can be a foster parent, but everyone can help a foster child." My most-recently least favorite commercial talks about donating a pair of pajamas being like giving a child a "warm hug".
My discomfort with these commercials has far less to do with their efforts (I like helping foster kids, too) and much more to do with their methods. These tag lines inspire guilt, and guilt is a crappy motivator.
The part of me that cares about what other people think of me also hates the way these commercials make it sound like foster parents aren't providing for foster kids. Granted, there is a small percentage of kids who don't get placed with foster parents (about 9% of foster kids are in institutions, 6% in group homes, and 1% in supervised independent living), and I won't argue that these kids need all the help we can muster. But foster parents already get a bad rap for the occasional horror story that ends up in the newspaper. (And in case you weren't aware, those situations really are few and far between. Department of Child & Family Services does an excellent job of monitoring their foster families and overseeing the wellbeing of kids in their care.) So these commercials make it sound like neglected kids get put into foster care where they continue to be neglected. And for the vast majority of foster kids, that is just not the case. So I don't like the insinuations of these commercials.
Am I saying don't donate? No. Feel free.
Am I saying SleepCountry, or their efforts to help kids, is bad? Not at all.
Do I sound totally crotchety for feeling this way? Maybe. And I think I'm okay with that.
My point is this: if you're going to donate your time or money to a cause, don't let it be driven by commercials that inspire guilt. Give your resources to something you're passionate about. You'll do a greater good.
We live in an incredibly rich country. Even our poor are rich, compared to the rest of the world. And instead of dealing with our problems, Americans like to throw money at them and hope they'll go away. So let's not talk about all those problems that lead families to need the help of the Children's Administration, that places kids in foster care. Let's just give "warm hugs" to those kids. (Please detect my sarcasm.)
This is just our opinion. I'll even give you the grain of salt to go with it.
These commercials make me cringe.
You've probably heard them. They often use the line "Not everyone can be a foster parent, but everyone can help a foster child." My most-recently least favorite commercial talks about donating a pair of pajamas being like giving a child a "warm hug".
My discomfort with these commercials has far less to do with their efforts (I like helping foster kids, too) and much more to do with their methods. These tag lines inspire guilt, and guilt is a crappy motivator.
The part of me that cares about what other people think of me also hates the way these commercials make it sound like foster parents aren't providing for foster kids. Granted, there is a small percentage of kids who don't get placed with foster parents (about 9% of foster kids are in institutions, 6% in group homes, and 1% in supervised independent living), and I won't argue that these kids need all the help we can muster. But foster parents already get a bad rap for the occasional horror story that ends up in the newspaper. (And in case you weren't aware, those situations really are few and far between. Department of Child & Family Services does an excellent job of monitoring their foster families and overseeing the wellbeing of kids in their care.) So these commercials make it sound like neglected kids get put into foster care where they continue to be neglected. And for the vast majority of foster kids, that is just not the case. So I don't like the insinuations of these commercials.
Am I saying don't donate? No. Feel free.
Am I saying SleepCountry, or their efforts to help kids, is bad? Not at all.
Do I sound totally crotchety for feeling this way? Maybe. And I think I'm okay with that.
My point is this: if you're going to donate your time or money to a cause, don't let it be driven by commercials that inspire guilt. Give your resources to something you're passionate about. You'll do a greater good.
We live in an incredibly rich country. Even our poor are rich, compared to the rest of the world. And instead of dealing with our problems, Americans like to throw money at them and hope they'll go away. So let's not talk about all those problems that lead families to need the help of the Children's Administration, that places kids in foster care. Let's just give "warm hugs" to those kids. (Please detect my sarcasm.)
This is just our opinion. I'll even give you the grain of salt to go with it.
Tuesday, February 05, 2013
Dinner, Elbows, and other Grievances of Parenthood
So many completely ridiculous moments have happened in our family in the last week, I feel like I have a month's worth of blog fodder. Alas, I have promised myself that I will do nothing/as little as possible to humiliate my children online.
So I'll just share one of today's golden moments, which is more about me than him.
You see, I'm my mother's daughter. (I think I start a lot of posts this way?)
And regularly, I open my mouth and her voice comes out.
And table manners are one of my pet peeves, because they were so emphasized when I was a kid.
Today at the dinner table, I noticed Boy leaning on his elbows while he ate, which allowed him to bring his face down to his plate and thereby shorten the distance his fork must travel in order to successfully shovel each bite into his mouth. So I took his elbow and moved it off the table.
Immediately, I flashed back to my childhood, and told Matt that I just remembered that my mom used to flick my elbows with her fingers. (I'm probably not allowed to do that. And good thing too. No offense, Mom.)
After dinner, Matt informed me that my, shall we say, "emphasis" on table manners was making mealtimes tense.
I may have suggested he take over etiquette training. I may have suggested he teach an etiquette class. I may have suggested he take an etiquette class. I was in fine form.
And as we debated/argued, he finally launched this perfectly logical question: why are elbows unacceptable at the table?
I paused. All I could come up with was "it's rude."
"Why is it rude?"
...
I've got nothing. I laughed because I couldn't come up with a single reason. I laughed till I cried. And then I called my mom (who didn't answer). Yeah, mom. Why are elbows on the table unacceptable?
She didn't know either, and sent me to google. Apparently, this rule surfaced in the Middle Ages when people were seated closely and at long tables, meaning your elbow would be in the middle of another's dinner plate. Now that we dine more comfortably, many say the rule is defunct. I think I'm losing this one.
******
Also, as I write this post, Boy sits at the table, coloring a little book of pictures he made at school. This is a consequence, because if you lie to me and tell me your teacher says you're not allowed to color something just because you don't want to color it, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm gonna make you color the whole blasted thing.
So I'll just share one of today's golden moments, which is more about me than him.
You see, I'm my mother's daughter. (I think I start a lot of posts this way?)
And regularly, I open my mouth and her voice comes out.
And table manners are one of my pet peeves, because they were so emphasized when I was a kid.
Today at the dinner table, I noticed Boy leaning on his elbows while he ate, which allowed him to bring his face down to his plate and thereby shorten the distance his fork must travel in order to successfully shovel each bite into his mouth. So I took his elbow and moved it off the table.
Immediately, I flashed back to my childhood, and told Matt that I just remembered that my mom used to flick my elbows with her fingers. (I'm probably not allowed to do that. And good thing too. No offense, Mom.)
After dinner, Matt informed me that my, shall we say, "emphasis" on table manners was making mealtimes tense.
I may have suggested he take over etiquette training. I may have suggested he teach an etiquette class. I may have suggested he take an etiquette class. I was in fine form.
And as we debated/argued, he finally launched this perfectly logical question: why are elbows unacceptable at the table?
I paused. All I could come up with was "it's rude."
"Why is it rude?"
...
I've got nothing. I laughed because I couldn't come up with a single reason. I laughed till I cried. And then I called my mom (who didn't answer). Yeah, mom. Why are elbows on the table unacceptable?
She didn't know either, and sent me to google. Apparently, this rule surfaced in the Middle Ages when people were seated closely and at long tables, meaning your elbow would be in the middle of another's dinner plate. Now that we dine more comfortably, many say the rule is defunct. I think I'm losing this one.
******
Also, as I write this post, Boy sits at the table, coloring a little book of pictures he made at school. This is a consequence, because if you lie to me and tell me your teacher says you're not allowed to color something just because you don't want to color it, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm gonna make you color the whole blasted thing.
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