Category Archives: Parenting

Get to give.

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Growing up, I couldn’t have asked for more. I was wanted and welcomed into my family and have no excuses for the bad stuff I’ve done, no one to blame for my mistakes.

Being born as the second girl, I once pressed Dad to tell me the truth. “Were you disappointed I wasn’t a boy?”

When he paused before answering I said, “So… you were.”

“Only for 60 seconds,” he said. And I took him at his word.

That was the undercurrent of our father-daughter relationship. Although he was generally pleased with me, when I disappointed him, it lasted only about 60 seconds. I never once doubted his love.

Mom was his opposite, remaining a kid at heart even at 92. She dressed in costume for every holiday, and loved playing games and practical jokes. She often told me, “You make me laugh!” Coming from a woman who never muffed a punch line, that was high praise.

Eventually I became the middle child, a great place to be. Firstborns have to lead, and babies never get out from under that label. The middle kid can bounce along beneath parental radar, no problem.

If I was asked to give a one-word summary of my childhood, it would be “secure”. I wasn’t ridiculed at home, labeled as something I wasn’t or compared to my more intelligent siblings. My friends were always welcome, even in droves, and when decisions were being made, my opinion was heard.

So?

Big deal.

Who cares?

It does matter, and here’s why. God blesses people for only one reason: to bless other people. Everything I’ve been given wasn’t/isn’t mine, including the intangibles. It all belonged and still belongs to God.

Sadly, I’ve often failed to be responsible in passing along the goodies that came to me. It wasn’t as if my folks weren’t continually modeling the giving principle. Dad would solicit our help in spreading out the charity envelopes he accumulated throughout each year, in preparation for slipping a check into each one. It seemed like a great deal of giving to me, since there were dozens of different charities represented. But I guess that’s the point he was quietly trying to make.

And Mom gave herself away in countless ways, first to other people’s children but then to neighbors, friends, strangers, the needy, the elderly. She was modeling what she hoped I would be eager to give away years hence.

My entire life ought to be about serving and giving. Because it’s not, I’m falling short. My folks sat on committees and boards, taught Sunday school, stood for Christ in the neighborhood, entertained weekly and worked hard every day.

Mom used to tell us she dreaded shaking hands with a preacher because her calloused, rough skin might injure his petal-soft palms. But Dad worked just as hard at his engineering firm, despite having soft hands. Both of them modeled valuable, virtuous habits.

Maybe there’s still time for me. Both Mom and Dad lived into their 90’s, so if I figure it out fairly soon, I might have one-third of my life to get it right.

“When someone has been given much, much will be required in return; and when someone has been entrusted with much, even more will be required.” (Luke 12:48b)

Afraid of the Dark

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As a young child, I remember being afraid of the dark — not exactly the dark, but of what might be hidden in it. One night I cried with gusto from the upstairs bedroom, hollering for Dad to come and save me. When he appeared in the doorway, I wailed out my problem. “A big bear’s in my closet!” I said, pointing to the half-open door and the darkness inside.

He confidently walked toward the closet, calmly telling me there was no bear in there. “I’ll prove it to you,” he said.

Although I wanted to believe him and he’d never lied to me before, I was trembling as he reached for the door knob. Scooting into my covers till they were up to my eyes, I shouted, “Watch out!”

He bravely reached into the darkness, pulled the string to turn on the light and said, “See? There’s no bear.”

Squinting from my twin bed, I inspected the closet from a distance. And there was the clothes bar with all my familiar-looking dresses hanging on it, and no bear. He was right, and I could relax. With Daddy in the house, I felt safe.

Several of my own children have gone through periods of fear, virtually always at night. As a three year old, Klaus wouldn’t sleep in his room alone but insisted on bunking with seven year old Linnea. Then, when Hans was three, he wanted to sleep face-to-face with Klaus, who had grown into a fearless four year old.

Some of my widowed friends have struggled with fear too, after their husbands died. Although most men would be no match for a robber with a gun, most wives feel secure anyway when sleeping next to them. But once a mate has died, imagination alone can be fear’s invitation to come on in.

On several occasions since Nate has been gone, fear has crept into my bedroom with me. Climbing onto the bed at night is still the loneliest moment of every day and sometimes produces fear. “Did I just hear something? Is someone coming?” (It took a while to get used to acorns thumping on the roof or cracking on the gutters.)

But what’s a widow to do? She can get a big dog like Jack, but far superior to that is to call on the God from whose eyes nothing is hidden. Scripture tells us fear doesn’t come to us from the Lord but is an emotion from our enemy, Satan. Bringing the Heavenly Husband into a mental confrontation with fear is to replace anxiety with peace, just as my earthly Daddy did for me years ago.

Having confidence in God’s ready presence is a definite help during fearful moments. And being certain he is with me when it’s dark outside the windows or just dark inside my emotions is even better than owning a big, barking, protective, snarling, attack dog.

”For you are my lamp, O Lord, and the Lord will lighten my darkness.” (2 Samuel 22:29)

Roadside Memorial

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We’ve all driven past small, hand-made memorials on the side of the highway, and this week I noticed a new one very near my home. Pulling off onto the grassy shoulder of the four lane road, I walked back to the cluster of items that made up the memorial. A beautiful wooden cross held a plaque that read, “Frankie L. Pipkins III, May 30, 1991, January 6, 2010.”

Frankie died at 18. I felt sick to my stomach, envisioning a horrendous car crash and a family’s shock. As I stood and studied what this young man’s loved ones had left in memory of him, I hoped maybe someone from his family might come by to visit the memorial, too. I craved more information about this teenager and wanted to ask questions of the people who loved him.

Next to the cross was a Christmas wreath decorated for the holidays with a string of red lights, silver bows and several ornaments: a pewter half-moon with an angel sitting on it next to the word “peace”, an old-fashioned Santa, and four ceramic ornaments with the words “hope, love, dream, wish.”

Also hanging from the wreath was a girl’s silver necklace with a ring on it, a pair of guy-sunglasses and two beaded necklaces with small footballs hanging from them.

Artificial sun flowers and lilies nearly hid a telling piece of the memorial. Nestled in the grass at the base of the cross was the insignia from Frankie’s vehicle. The FORD logo, still attached to a jagged piece of red metal, sent a chill up my spine. I’m not sure why anyone would place that there, but as I crouched near the ground, I saw small hunks of red metal everywhere.

Bending to pick up one piece, I realized they were all firmly embedded in the hard ground, probably driven in by the terrible impact. But just when I started to weep over this young person’s violent end, I spotted something hopeful, a note written by hand and put next to the cross:

“Psalm 115:15 – May you be blessed by the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.”

Had Frankie been raised in a home where God was lifted up and his Word taught? Did he know the Lord as his personal Savior? If he did, he’s healthy and whole in paradise, possibly shaking hands with Nate. But what about his family? Are they healthy and whole? Although we had “only” 42 days with Nate, Frankie’s family had only one instant to absorb the dreadful truth.

I gathered up several stems of Queen Anne’s lace growing nearby and laid them next to the cross. If the Pipkins family ever visited their memorial, they might be encouraged to know that someone else had stopped to think about their Frankie, too.

“Discipline yourself for the purpose of godliness, for bodily discipline is only of little profit, but godliness is profitable for all things, since it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.” (1 Timothy 4:7-8)