Category Archives: Parenting

What did you do all day?

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Having just returned from a week with Linnea, Adam, and three of my grandchildren, today’s post is a tribute to all parents of  young children. (Note: The details expressed here are not the experiences of last week, as you know from yesterday, but are a composite of parents in general.)

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Mud play

A husband arrived home from work one day at the same time he always did. As he pulled into the driveway, he spotted his two young children playing in a mud puddle in the front garden. He was shocked to see they were still in their pajamas, and the chocolate smears on their faces told him they’d had treats just before dinner. After greeting them but keeping his distance in the face of all that mud, he asked, “Where’s your mother?”

“In the house,” they pointed.

When he walked through the front door announcing his arrival as always with “Honey, I’m home!” he slipped in something on the floor: peanut butter, a blob the size of an egg. Quickly removing his shoes and tip-toeing through a mine field of debris, he looked in the direction of the kitchen where he hoped to see his wife making supper, as she always did. But all he saw was wall to wall chaos.

Off the hook

A bucket from the sandbox, turned sideways, sat on a pile of sand, the shovel nearby. There was chocolate pudding on the couch, milk-soaked Lucky Charms ringing a bowl on the desk, and bits of cut-up paper strewn like confetti. The wall phone dangled by its cord.

Kicking toys and books out of his path, he found the refrigerator standing open and an uncapped gallon of milk lying on its side, its contents puddled around books on the floor. A brand new box of Band-aids had been emptied on the counter, some stuck to dirty dishes. Wet dish towels littered the floor.

Oozing goo

A brand new bag of cookies had slipped into a sink full of cold, greasy dishwater, and the table, usually set for dinner, was covered with coloring books, crayons snapped in half, markers without their caps, and open glue oozing onto the table. Glitter sparkled everywhere.

Starting to panic, this husband began hollering for his wife. “Honey? Honey!”

“Up here,” came her calm voice from upstairs.

Fearing she’d fallen and couldn’t get up, he bounded up the steps, stumbling over dirty laundry and stuffed animals. With nervousness in his voice he called, “Where are you?”

“In the bedroom!”

He burst through the door and found her—still in her pajamas, propped comfortably in bed with three pillows, reading a book. Smiling at her husband, she greeted him with a smile. “Hi, Dear.”

Seeing she was perfectly fine, his anger flashed.

“What in the world went on here today?”

“Well,” she said, “every day I do many different things, but today? I didn’t.”

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“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 19:14)

Look and See

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March is the month we northerners like to “think Florida.” After wintertime, whether severe or mild, the thought of replacing naked grey trees with green palms is enticing. Both Nate and I grew up in nuclear families that piled into the family sedan and headed south about this time of year, making the long, slow road trip part of the vacation fun.

Then Nate and I took our first couple-trip to Florida before we had children, staying with college friends in Reddington Beach. And after children, we locked onto a tradition that carried on for decades, driving a minivan full of kids and blow-up toys to Sanibel Island every spring.

When our Linnea found her true love in a family that had lived in Florida for several generations, we had another good reason to head to the land of orange trees and shell beaches. This week, we’re back again, at least Birgitta, Emerald, and I are. We’ve been hanging with Adam, Linnea, Skylar (4), Micah (3), and Autumn (1), though it’s been far from ideal.

Micah

All 3 children have been sick, starting with ear-aches, then upper respiratory infections, moving into hacking coughs, followed by severe pink eye, fevers, vomiting, and finally head colds. Part of living in sick bay all week has also been the struggle to get necessary medicines into these little people, stretching creativity and sometimes patience to the limit.

Skylar

Though we’ve kept face-washing cloths separate, the children have shared their sicknesses anyway. That is, all except 4-month-old Emerald. Our additional challenge has been to keep her disease-free, and with all the juicy coughing and sneezing going on, that hasn’t been easy.

Autumn.

Raising children can be demanding, but this complex week has been over-the-top. So why did God allow such an assault all at once, and during the week of our vacation? Why did he ask so much of these young parents? Is it simply a forced learning of sacrifice? Or maybe his insistence that they give more than they get? Or even a test about putting others ahead of themselves?

I think it’s something different than all that. Every parenting struggle is an opportunity to search for God, who buries himself like hidden treasure within the details of difficulty. There’s a verse in Isaiah that I used to read negatively: “Truly you are a God who has been hiding himself.” (45:15) But could it be he hides in order to see who will work to find him?

During a week of swollen eyes, runny noses, and tear-stained cheeks, I’ve found him in several places: in the ever-expanding patience of Adam and Linnea; in the way a very sick Micah rested his head on my shoulder during story time; in Skylar’s thoughtfulness as she faithfully covered her cough while close to the baby; and in God’s gifts of grace to endure the assault of diseases he allowed.

Emerald

And I’ve seen him as he’s protected Emerald, who will be heading home tomorrow… disease-free.

“The one who seeks, finds.” (Matthew 7:8)

Continuity of Christianity

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The Bible tells us God has never changed, not all the way from before Creation through to this day. That’s the reason his salvation plan saved souls in centuries past in the same life-changing ways it does today.

In the past few days I’ve been studying my family tree by way of two 3” thick albums chock full of pictures and data about those who came before me. Yesterday I mentioned my paternal grandfather, Carl Johansson, whom I’ve been getting to know through these pages.

Having been born in Sweden in 1866, he boarded a ship for America while still a teenager of 19. Five years later, after becoming a citizen of the United States, he Americanized his name from Johansson to Johnson in an effort to become “thoroughly American.”

But whether in Sweden or America, he testified to having aligned with Jesus as personal Savior during childhood and holding onto that spiritual citizenship both as a Swede and as an American. He told his family he had made sure of that on confirmation Sunday at the Swedish Evangelical Free Church before the ceremony. Early that morning, as a 12 year old, he’d climbed to the attic and “gotten right with God,” figuring he’d better not stand among the confirmed without first confirming his faith in a one-on-One meeting.

Young father CarlCarl number 2

 

 

 

 

My dad, the second Carl Johnson (above), remembered his father praying at his bedside in Swedish: “God, who loves the little children, look to me, a little one.” Young Carl asked older Carl whether or not he prayed that way in his own prayers, and when he said he did, little Carl asked why. His father said, “Because in God’s eyes we are all little.” I like that this godly father was at his little boy’s bedside for a prayer time, and also that his spiritual instruction was both simple and accurate.

In the many photographs I’ve seen of my grandfather, his serious expressions mask the fact that he had a much lighter side. A business man and property owner, he suffered badly during the Great Depression of 1931-32. But in an effort to cheer a friend who had also lost he said, “Can’t we still sit on a bench and enjoy each others company just the same?”

Such levity (and common sense) during financial hardship is evidence that his faith was the bedrock of his life, not his real estate holdings or other possessions. But his beliefs showed in other ways, too. After losing his footing while swimming as a teen, he had a close call beneath a series of big waves. Once safely back on shore a friend said, “Did you pray while you were down there?”

His answer was revealing. “It was too late then. Praying should to be done before that.” Wise words by a young man who prayed.

Surely someone of strong belief in God had been praying over Carl Johansson, but who? I found my answer in ancestor data referencing my Swedish great-grandfather, Johannes Andersson, born in 1819….

“To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.” (Romans 8:6)