I must confess: I’m obsessed with child safety. I guess there is something about becoming a parent--this instinct kicks in, transforming the mildest of us into roaring lions when it comes to protecting our babies.
No longer do I care about being liked or “nice”--though I try that approach first. If I spy injustice, I raise my voice. I believe we must speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves—and whose welfare society ignores. Children top the list.
For better or worse, my sons have a mother who keeps pushing until something gives. I am proud to say I’ve advocated on behalf of their education and health care. I believe I’ve made a positive difference—for William and Wesley Taylor.
But, more and more, something bothers me. What about those children who have neither the resources of my children nor outspoken advocates for their well-being? Have I really improved things for the children of the world? Or--paralyzing thought--what if I am just widening the gap?
Here’s the truth, to paraphrase Kaye Edwards, Director of Family and Children’s Ministries for Disciples Home Missions:
No child can be truly safe unless we, as a people of faith, work to make the world a safe place for all children.
So, while it’s great that I helped William receive quality health care and Wesley access enriched learning opportunities, I haven’t made a dent in the problem of the state of children in the world today.
Perhaps that’s why I feel unsettled. In my heart, I know that my children and I can’t prosper as long as other families are suffering. I can’t enjoy my fair share when so many aren’t getting theirs. Nowhere is this more apparent than when it comes to children’s well-being.
Right now, children’s access to health care in our country is at a critical crux. Nine million children--90% from working families--are uninsured, and millions more are under-insured. The Children’s Defense Fund (CDF) is calling for comprehensive universal health coverage for all children with the Healthy Child Campaign. Medicaid and the State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) have helped, but SCHIP is out of money and about to expire. We must push Congress to enact legislation guaranteeing all children comprehensive health insurance protection, even when they move between states.
Will you add your voice to the outcry? Will you act to improve the well-being of children--and all citizens? Visit the CDF web site to learn more about how you can help: www.childrensdefense.org/.
Remember, until we work to improve the safety of all children in our country—and the world—none of our children can be truly safe.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Through the eyes of a child
During ARK introductions, we named a joy and a challenge that each child brings to the family. One mother said, of her three-year-old son, “He just loves you for who you are.” That stuck with me.
Most of the time, I’d say the same of my sons. Sure, sometimes they’re unhappy with me because I’m standing between them and what they want. But, usually, they appreciate me as I am.
I suspect, in general, girls struggle more with moms and boys with dads because the youth get a glimpse of what’s to come. As a teen, I dreaded the thought of turning into my mother. Now, I’ve decided that’s not so bad, after all--not to mention completely inevitable.
But my boys--despite looking a lot like me--are boys. That gives us the ability to love and appreciate each other without feeling somehow co-opted.
In my experience, children see beyond the surface better than adults. They may be good at noticing details, and sometimes lack tact when it comes to pointing them out, but they still love us--despite our surface flaws.
Now, I doubt most people notice or care that my roots are showing or my thighs expanding, though these things can pull down my sense of self-worth in a world that prizes youth and beauty. But children see what matters. They see the real us.
And they love us--roots and thighs and all.
Most of the time, I’d say the same of my sons. Sure, sometimes they’re unhappy with me because I’m standing between them and what they want. But, usually, they appreciate me as I am.
I suspect, in general, girls struggle more with moms and boys with dads because the youth get a glimpse of what’s to come. As a teen, I dreaded the thought of turning into my mother. Now, I’ve decided that’s not so bad, after all--not to mention completely inevitable.
But my boys--despite looking a lot like me--are boys. That gives us the ability to love and appreciate each other without feeling somehow co-opted.
In my experience, children see beyond the surface better than adults. They may be good at noticing details, and sometimes lack tact when it comes to pointing them out, but they still love us--despite our surface flaws.
Now, I doubt most people notice or care that my roots are showing or my thighs expanding, though these things can pull down my sense of self-worth in a world that prizes youth and beauty. But children see what matters. They see the real us.
And they love us--roots and thighs and all.
Monday, March 26, 2007
ARK sets sail
Well, we finally launched ARK. The parent support group met for the first time at our house after church yesterday.
Several of us were trained by Kaye Edwards in the Adults Relating to Kids (ARK) program last November. But then came the holidays, which extend into January for us thanks to the twins’ birthday. I’m not exactly sure what happened to February, though I seem to recall a blizzard that shut down the city, followed by a spate of sub-zero temps. March brought spring breaks to schedule around and—well, here we are.
We invited 10 parents—four couples and two single moms—but only seven showed up. Kids were sick, and I think maybe one mom got lost trying to find our house. Still, it was a good beginning. We ate lunch, got to know each other a bit, reviewed the ARK format, and tried a situation circle.
We were supported by a couple in the church whose children are grown, but who care about bringing young parents together. These folks prepared lunch for and played with the kids, and even picked up the pizza for us. Other people are pitching in to help with the kids and the food. Next week, we’re meeting at the church and doing pot luck.
The kids had fun, and the adults got a little friendlier. We shared some of our parenting struggles and empathized with each other. All of us have at least two kids, so sibling conflict was a hot topic. We talked about how different our relationships are with each child.
One thing became clear--the kids know how to push our buttons! Hearing the thoughts of an outsider helped me remember not to personalize everything. Easier said than done in the heat of the moment, but I think discussing our struggles with other parents will strengthen us so we can respond differently when those familiar buttons get pushed.
Getting this group out of the harbor makes me happy. So, join me in an imaginary glass of bubbly. We’re on our way to becoming better parents.
Several of us were trained by Kaye Edwards in the Adults Relating to Kids (ARK) program last November. But then came the holidays, which extend into January for us thanks to the twins’ birthday. I’m not exactly sure what happened to February, though I seem to recall a blizzard that shut down the city, followed by a spate of sub-zero temps. March brought spring breaks to schedule around and—well, here we are.
We invited 10 parents—four couples and two single moms—but only seven showed up. Kids were sick, and I think maybe one mom got lost trying to find our house. Still, it was a good beginning. We ate lunch, got to know each other a bit, reviewed the ARK format, and tried a situation circle.
We were supported by a couple in the church whose children are grown, but who care about bringing young parents together. These folks prepared lunch for and played with the kids, and even picked up the pizza for us. Other people are pitching in to help with the kids and the food. Next week, we’re meeting at the church and doing pot luck.
The kids had fun, and the adults got a little friendlier. We shared some of our parenting struggles and empathized with each other. All of us have at least two kids, so sibling conflict was a hot topic. We talked about how different our relationships are with each child.
One thing became clear--the kids know how to push our buttons! Hearing the thoughts of an outsider helped me remember not to personalize everything. Easier said than done in the heat of the moment, but I think discussing our struggles with other parents will strengthen us so we can respond differently when those familiar buttons get pushed.
Getting this group out of the harbor makes me happy. So, join me in an imaginary glass of bubbly. We’re on our way to becoming better parents.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Is boring ever good?
There is a camp of folks that says kids just need to deal with being bored at church. They suffered through worship, so they figure their kids can, too. I’m not big on that theory. But, then, I’m not big on boredom. Granted, no one made me sit through church every Sunday. Maybe I’d be better off if they had--but I doubt it.
In Always in Rehearsal, author James H. Ritchie, Jr. interviewed children about worship. Although he avoided the word “boring” when he talked to the kids, it came up. My kids tell me church is boring—school, too, for that matter. They say these requirements “waste their time”, leaving too few hours for activities of their choice.
I tell them only boring people get bored. But I know what they mean.
I don’t find church boring now, but neither do I find my heart lifted on a regular basis. The contemporary service I attended last week was warm and inspiring--full of participatory music and challenging questions about diversity.
I loved it. I read about a study in Stockholm that found religious folks tend to be lower on measures of serotonin than non-religious. I guess you might say last Sunday’s service was serotonin-enhancing. It felt good--and it was good for me. That’s compelling.
I suspect kids today have an even lower boredom tolerance than I do. But I don’t view church as entertainment. We’ve got to listen to children, believe in them, and welcome them into our lives as people--not sub-people. And we must engage and include them in worship.
Boring just won’t cut it.
In Always in Rehearsal, author James H. Ritchie, Jr. interviewed children about worship. Although he avoided the word “boring” when he talked to the kids, it came up. My kids tell me church is boring—school, too, for that matter. They say these requirements “waste their time”, leaving too few hours for activities of their choice.
I tell them only boring people get bored. But I know what they mean.
I don’t find church boring now, but neither do I find my heart lifted on a regular basis. The contemporary service I attended last week was warm and inspiring--full of participatory music and challenging questions about diversity.
I loved it. I read about a study in Stockholm that found religious folks tend to be lower on measures of serotonin than non-religious. I guess you might say last Sunday’s service was serotonin-enhancing. It felt good--and it was good for me. That’s compelling.
I suspect kids today have an even lower boredom tolerance than I do. But I don’t view church as entertainment. We’ve got to listen to children, believe in them, and welcome them into our lives as people--not sub-people. And we must engage and include them in worship.
Boring just won’t cut it.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Thank you, my village!
Last night, I walked my children over to Wednesday night group (the infamous FISH group which I started last fall). Few kids showed up, so the two adults combined elementary and middle-school groups and headed to a local park. And, get this: they sent me home. My husband and I got to go out for dinner together. It was wonderful to talk and only be interrupted by the server.
I wish this was not so unusual. We’ve known for years that we’d benefit from regular “date nights”, but we just don’t do it. Last night, my church family provided the respite I needed.
I long for our church to be a haven for children and families. But the reality is that a few volunteers keep Sunday school, Worship & Wonder, and other children’s programs afloat. The support system feels threadbare—because it is. Folks burn out under these conditions. I know, because I did.
I’m recovering, but I hear some don’t. I love Worship & Wonder, so I try to help out at least twice a month. But, after a couple weeks, I feel ready for some sanctuary time.
Looking around, I notice that those folks I might tap to help with the children are holding together the also-threadbare choir or playing another role in worship. The truth is that most people warm the pews on Sunday, which, I realize, is better than staying home in bed. Some serve on boards—too many, probably, but we’re in the process of changing that—or volunteer in other ways. But few hands work darn hard to make church meaningful for children and families, and the majority of those hands belong to mothers of young children.
I don’t want to grow resentful. I know parents need time away from their energetic children. In fact, that’s my whole thesis here. And not everyone feels called to work with children. Many folks are just exhausted and overwhelmed. I know I am. Please help me, so that I can find a balance that strengthens and nurtures me, so I can strengthen and nurture my own children and others.
I’ll give that prayer up to God.
I wish this was not so unusual. We’ve known for years that we’d benefit from regular “date nights”, but we just don’t do it. Last night, my church family provided the respite I needed.
I long for our church to be a haven for children and families. But the reality is that a few volunteers keep Sunday school, Worship & Wonder, and other children’s programs afloat. The support system feels threadbare—because it is. Folks burn out under these conditions. I know, because I did.
I’m recovering, but I hear some don’t. I love Worship & Wonder, so I try to help out at least twice a month. But, after a couple weeks, I feel ready for some sanctuary time.
Looking around, I notice that those folks I might tap to help with the children are holding together the also-threadbare choir or playing another role in worship. The truth is that most people warm the pews on Sunday, which, I realize, is better than staying home in bed. Some serve on boards—too many, probably, but we’re in the process of changing that—or volunteer in other ways. But few hands work darn hard to make church meaningful for children and families, and the majority of those hands belong to mothers of young children.
I don’t want to grow resentful. I know parents need time away from their energetic children. In fact, that’s my whole thesis here. And not everyone feels called to work with children. Many folks are just exhausted and overwhelmed. I know I am. Please help me, so that I can find a balance that strengthens and nurtures me, so I can strengthen and nurture my own children and others.
I’ll give that prayer up to God.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Strength in vulnerability
Why do people abuse children? Why does society devalue children? Why do we have such intense emotions towards our youngest and most vulnerable members?
My latest read, Regarding Children by Herbert Anderson and Susan W. Johnson, gave some insightful suggestions. Forgive my clumsy interpretation and go read the book yourself for a masterful telling, but the basic ideas is this: we hate the vulnerability of children because we hate our own vulnerability.
These authors suggest that there is a continuum between disregard, contempt, and abuse of children that arises comes from the same root cause. We see their neediness as a reflection of our own weakness—and we can’t stand it.
At the risk of sounding sexist, I’ll suggest that men carry a heavier burden in this area. Society reinforces them for being strong and macho. But we were all children once--and we retain a vulnerable core. Yet, somehow, we project our anger at our own perceived inadequacies onto our children. This perpetuates the cycle of low self-regard and the belief that we must put forth a stoic front to be acceptable in society.
The authors make the case that parents can’t do it alone, in part because of this psychological transference. Parents need support to remember that children are gifts from God, not possessions. They are ours to guide, not to control. We need a larger community to help raise our children. And we, as the larger community, need to take responsibility for guiding all the children we’re privileged to know.
This is a far cry from the current practice of looking away from a child in need of guidance for fear of “interfering”. As a parent of lively boys, I’ve often felt irritated when someone else intervened with my children’s behavior. I took it as a personal affront—and evidence of personal failure. Now, I see that, in most cases, those people were offering a gift to my family. The community stepped in when I was too tired and battered to be an effective “guide”.
Once again, it comes down to us. We must understand ourselves and strive to change our behavior in order to offer our children different options. This isn’t easy, especially in the maelstrom of family life.
But, if we value children, it’s essential.
My latest read, Regarding Children by Herbert Anderson and Susan W. Johnson, gave some insightful suggestions. Forgive my clumsy interpretation and go read the book yourself for a masterful telling, but the basic ideas is this: we hate the vulnerability of children because we hate our own vulnerability.
These authors suggest that there is a continuum between disregard, contempt, and abuse of children that arises comes from the same root cause. We see their neediness as a reflection of our own weakness—and we can’t stand it.
At the risk of sounding sexist, I’ll suggest that men carry a heavier burden in this area. Society reinforces them for being strong and macho. But we were all children once--and we retain a vulnerable core. Yet, somehow, we project our anger at our own perceived inadequacies onto our children. This perpetuates the cycle of low self-regard and the belief that we must put forth a stoic front to be acceptable in society.
The authors make the case that parents can’t do it alone, in part because of this psychological transference. Parents need support to remember that children are gifts from God, not possessions. They are ours to guide, not to control. We need a larger community to help raise our children. And we, as the larger community, need to take responsibility for guiding all the children we’re privileged to know.
This is a far cry from the current practice of looking away from a child in need of guidance for fear of “interfering”. As a parent of lively boys, I’ve often felt irritated when someone else intervened with my children’s behavior. I took it as a personal affront—and evidence of personal failure. Now, I see that, in most cases, those people were offering a gift to my family. The community stepped in when I was too tired and battered to be an effective “guide”.
Once again, it comes down to us. We must understand ourselves and strive to change our behavior in order to offer our children different options. This isn’t easy, especially in the maelstrom of family life.
But, if we value children, it’s essential.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Building bridges
I just read Parenting in the Pew by Robbie Castleman. Like other parents of grown children, she has a perspective I lack. She can look back and celebrate the fruits of her labors. She gained credibility with me when she admitted that, when she asked her kids what she did to help them worship, they each recalled the time she spanked them for misbehaving in church. I don’t advocate spanking, but I appreciate the honesty. So, she wasn’t a perfect parent. Join the club.
But Castleman was committed to family worship. She insisted her sons sit with her when they wanted to be with friends. No toys or coloring books entered the pew. She educated her children—and others—on how to participate in the worship service. Most of all, she sought to model the type of reverent, praise-filled worship experience she wanted for her sons. She realized she had to change her own attitude toward worship before she could affect her children.
That’s powerful stuff. This book shook me up. I don’t agree with every suggestion. But I respect the work Castleman put into raising her own family and the effort to encourage other families to worship together.
Yesterday I attended an early contemporary service. I sat in the front row with my friend and her children while her husband sang with the praise band. The service was lively and engaging, but rich in content. I wished my children were with me, mostly because they would have seen a different look on my face than they usually see in church—a more worshipful look.
Adults provide the bridge between children and worship. Sometimes the bridge is short; sometimes it feels never-ending. But we must be willing to be that bridge between our children and God in God’s house. We must be there beside them. And we must show why we are there, and why we believe they must be, too. Robbie Castleman understands this.
Thanks to her, now I do, too.
But Castleman was committed to family worship. She insisted her sons sit with her when they wanted to be with friends. No toys or coloring books entered the pew. She educated her children—and others—on how to participate in the worship service. Most of all, she sought to model the type of reverent, praise-filled worship experience she wanted for her sons. She realized she had to change her own attitude toward worship before she could affect her children.
That’s powerful stuff. This book shook me up. I don’t agree with every suggestion. But I respect the work Castleman put into raising her own family and the effort to encourage other families to worship together.
Yesterday I attended an early contemporary service. I sat in the front row with my friend and her children while her husband sang with the praise band. The service was lively and engaging, but rich in content. I wished my children were with me, mostly because they would have seen a different look on my face than they usually see in church—a more worshipful look.
Adults provide the bridge between children and worship. Sometimes the bridge is short; sometimes it feels never-ending. But we must be willing to be that bridge between our children and God in God’s house. We must be there beside them. And we must show why we are there, and why we believe they must be, too. Robbie Castleman understands this.
Thanks to her, now I do, too.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Exploring faith
We just returned from Chicago, where the kids had a blast at the Children’s Museum. I love children’s museums, because everything is “on limits”. As a parent, I can relax and enjoy my children. Basic human kindness still applies, of course, but kids can be kids. It’s so refreshing.
So, I’ve been wondering--what would a Children’s Museum of Faith look like?
Faith is personal, so we’d need lots of arts and crafts materials for self-expression. We’d need paint in every color, clay, and markers to cover the walls with words and pictures.
And we’d need music, of course. Instruments kids could play and music of all styles—from hymns to contemporary praise songs. Dancing might be mandatory.
Maybe we’d have a giant bible with colorful pictures and on-going skits with actors portraying faith stories. Really, we’d need representations from all faith traditions, to help children learn how others worship God.
We’d need a water play area, full of splash and dash. Outside the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, underground sprinklers spurt up on a timed schedule. In the summer, children and adults dance in the water together. I think we’d need something like that.
I’d like to find a way to help children experience the sensations of flying, sunshine, gentle rain, snowflakes, and falling leaves. All these things evoke God to me.
Oh, I know this is crazy talk. How could we ever find consensus on something so personal and controversial? But, still, its fun to imagine.
I’ve resisted the more colorful VBS programs because they seem less substantial. But, perhaps we need to give fun, play, and hands-on learning a higher priority. After all, children know how to celebrate life.
Maybe we need to pay closer attention.
So, I’ve been wondering--what would a Children’s Museum of Faith look like?
Faith is personal, so we’d need lots of arts and crafts materials for self-expression. We’d need paint in every color, clay, and markers to cover the walls with words and pictures.
And we’d need music, of course. Instruments kids could play and music of all styles—from hymns to contemporary praise songs. Dancing might be mandatory.
Maybe we’d have a giant bible with colorful pictures and on-going skits with actors portraying faith stories. Really, we’d need representations from all faith traditions, to help children learn how others worship God.
We’d need a water play area, full of splash and dash. Outside the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, underground sprinklers spurt up on a timed schedule. In the summer, children and adults dance in the water together. I think we’d need something like that.
I’d like to find a way to help children experience the sensations of flying, sunshine, gentle rain, snowflakes, and falling leaves. All these things evoke God to me.
Oh, I know this is crazy talk. How could we ever find consensus on something so personal and controversial? But, still, its fun to imagine.
I’ve resisted the more colorful VBS programs because they seem less substantial. But, perhaps we need to give fun, play, and hands-on learning a higher priority. After all, children know how to celebrate life.
Maybe we need to pay closer attention.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Who's teaching whom?
I’ve been reading books about children in the church. It’s lovely to realize how much groundwork has been laid. Experts have recognized that children come with faith already “built in”. Like the rest of us, they need to strive to live faithful lives. But faith is not something we must impart to children—they already have it in abundance.
Children love stories, so we’ve found ways to communicate time-held tales through carved figures and colorful pictures. There are creative methods to teach, and encourage our children to wonder, about spiritual matters.
So why do I feel like something is missing? Is it because school and the rest of society ignore these traditions? Or have I just not found enough ways to bring faithfulness into our daily lives? Maybe I sense we still have much work to do in welcoming the children in our midst.
I'm bothered by the presumption that children must be restrained and constrained in church. Yes, there are times we must “be still and know”. But children come with a natural exuberance that sings of faith in God. We diminish that when we ask them to tone it down whenever we gather in community. Where can we sing and celebrate with full voice and body?
Outdoors, perhaps?
Today, I’m finding God out in the sunshine where spring is in early bloom. Today, I celebrate long legs dangling out of suddenly too-small shorts. I celebrate rubbing sunscreen into freckled cheeks for the first time in six months. I celebrate the hoots and hollers of a family bike ride. I celebrate the wonder of the first hint of renewed life.
My children celebrate life’s wonders every day. Me, I need a gorgeous day like today to remember how blessed I am. So, who’s teaching whom?
Children love stories, so we’ve found ways to communicate time-held tales through carved figures and colorful pictures. There are creative methods to teach, and encourage our children to wonder, about spiritual matters.
So why do I feel like something is missing? Is it because school and the rest of society ignore these traditions? Or have I just not found enough ways to bring faithfulness into our daily lives? Maybe I sense we still have much work to do in welcoming the children in our midst.
I'm bothered by the presumption that children must be restrained and constrained in church. Yes, there are times we must “be still and know”. But children come with a natural exuberance that sings of faith in God. We diminish that when we ask them to tone it down whenever we gather in community. Where can we sing and celebrate with full voice and body?
Outdoors, perhaps?
Today, I’m finding God out in the sunshine where spring is in early bloom. Today, I celebrate long legs dangling out of suddenly too-small shorts. I celebrate rubbing sunscreen into freckled cheeks for the first time in six months. I celebrate the hoots and hollers of a family bike ride. I celebrate the wonder of the first hint of renewed life.
My children celebrate life’s wonders every day. Me, I need a gorgeous day like today to remember how blessed I am. So, who’s teaching whom?
Monday, March 12, 2007
I love to tell the story
Yesterday I was the storyteller for Worship & Wonder. I shared the story called “Jesus and the Children”. As you might imagine, I love that story.
The children sat rapt, giggling only when I placed a little wooden child on her head by mistake. She toppled over, karate-kicking Jesus. But I hope those children got the message. I hope I communicated the tremendous value I see in every face.
Somehow, in that worship space, everyone pulls together. The circle helps. The children seem to grow in stature--perhaps because we’re all sitting on the floor together. I see so clearly that they are fully formed spiritual beings. There is no hierarchy.
I didn’t say or do everything exactly right, but it didn’t matter. The children and I weren’t alone in that room Sunday morning and I think everyone could sense it.
How can we draw families together and evoke God’s presence? Or, rather, how do we grow more aware of what is always there? Do we gather around the dinner table or the campfire? Where else can we make circles of God’s children and take time to give thanks and praise? When can we ask questions and wonder together?
Every family needs this time together. All families need this time with other people. Why don’t we sit in a circle for adult worship, I wonder? Why is it such a performance? Why isn’t there more give and take?
I feel God near when I am part of a circle. I like a candle in the middle as a reminder of the light of hope. Worship & Wonder provides this place for the children—and for me. What a gift.
The children sat rapt, giggling only when I placed a little wooden child on her head by mistake. She toppled over, karate-kicking Jesus. But I hope those children got the message. I hope I communicated the tremendous value I see in every face.
Somehow, in that worship space, everyone pulls together. The circle helps. The children seem to grow in stature--perhaps because we’re all sitting on the floor together. I see so clearly that they are fully formed spiritual beings. There is no hierarchy.
I didn’t say or do everything exactly right, but it didn’t matter. The children and I weren’t alone in that room Sunday morning and I think everyone could sense it.
How can we draw families together and evoke God’s presence? Or, rather, how do we grow more aware of what is always there? Do we gather around the dinner table or the campfire? Where else can we make circles of God’s children and take time to give thanks and praise? When can we ask questions and wonder together?
Every family needs this time together. All families need this time with other people. Why don’t we sit in a circle for adult worship, I wonder? Why is it such a performance? Why isn’t there more give and take?
I feel God near when I am part of a circle. I like a candle in the middle as a reminder of the light of hope. Worship & Wonder provides this place for the children—and for me. What a gift.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Contemplating children
Can children be contemplative?
I’ve tried lights out, quiet music, yoga tapes, prayer, and meditation with small groups of children. Some refuse to close their eyes. Others squeal and giggle, as if to try and scare away the silence.
I guess they’re anxious. Children, like most of us, spin through their days in a whirlwind of activity. Socially, many rely on silliness for attention. Those who could be leaders may not set the right tone. Peer response matters more than adult.
Being still--with others--doesn’t come naturally to most kids.
One reason I love to read to my children is that they become entranced, and atypically quiet. When a volunteer told a story using an African drum last year, the children were mesmerized. The kids tuned their frenetic energy to the frequency of the drum.
But I don’t bring that steady rhythm to a group. My pitch is higher and more discordant. Until I quell my own anxiety, I can’t help the children calm themselves. Until I remember to pray for God’s guidance, I can hardly expect the children to do so.
Working with children requires an ironic mix of reining in and letting go. It’s the dance of discernment—and the dance of life. Will we find joy? Will we remember to give thanks and praise?
And, can we seek the quiet place within--so that the children will be able find theirs?
I’ve tried lights out, quiet music, yoga tapes, prayer, and meditation with small groups of children. Some refuse to close their eyes. Others squeal and giggle, as if to try and scare away the silence.
I guess they’re anxious. Children, like most of us, spin through their days in a whirlwind of activity. Socially, many rely on silliness for attention. Those who could be leaders may not set the right tone. Peer response matters more than adult.
Being still--with others--doesn’t come naturally to most kids.
One reason I love to read to my children is that they become entranced, and atypically quiet. When a volunteer told a story using an African drum last year, the children were mesmerized. The kids tuned their frenetic energy to the frequency of the drum.
But I don’t bring that steady rhythm to a group. My pitch is higher and more discordant. Until I quell my own anxiety, I can’t help the children calm themselves. Until I remember to pray for God’s guidance, I can hardly expect the children to do so.
Working with children requires an ironic mix of reining in and letting go. It’s the dance of discernment—and the dance of life. Will we find joy? Will we remember to give thanks and praise?
And, can we seek the quiet place within--so that the children will be able find theirs?
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
A voice for the vulnerable
I wish I could be in Washington, DC this weekend. Child advocates are gathering to work together and lobby congress to commit more funds to children’s causes, at home and abroad. These are my people--folks who care about children. So, I feel I should be among them.
But, to be honest, I’m a little relieved I can’t go. I'm overwhelmed by the scope and apparent hopelessness of societal and global problems. The current picture is so sad for so many of the world’s most vulnerable. You don’t have to look far to see the evidence. We don’t value children in the United States, as reflected by our priorities and policies.
Yes, there is much work to be done.
For now, my work is at home, supporting my own children as they grow. Caring for the boys will prepare me for the advocacy work where I hope to devote my energy in the future. This is my time “in the trenches”.
Or, maybe not. Parenting is tough, but it also gives me an excuse to build a protective shell around my family. I know I’ll have to summon the courage to face hard truths if I hope to fight injustice and abuse. And I know, with God's help, I’ll do it. Until then, I’ll pray for those people in DC, and the world over, who are practicing what some of us prefer to preach.
They will make the world a better place.
But, to be honest, I’m a little relieved I can’t go. I'm overwhelmed by the scope and apparent hopelessness of societal and global problems. The current picture is so sad for so many of the world’s most vulnerable. You don’t have to look far to see the evidence. We don’t value children in the United States, as reflected by our priorities and policies.
Yes, there is much work to be done.
For now, my work is at home, supporting my own children as they grow. Caring for the boys will prepare me for the advocacy work where I hope to devote my energy in the future. This is my time “in the trenches”.
Or, maybe not. Parenting is tough, but it also gives me an excuse to build a protective shell around my family. I know I’ll have to summon the courage to face hard truths if I hope to fight injustice and abuse. And I know, with God's help, I’ll do it. Until then, I’ll pray for those people in DC, and the world over, who are practicing what some of us prefer to preach.
They will make the world a better place.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Floundering
Here’s my confession. I started a children’s church group, and it failed. Actually, that’s not true. The group took off. I failed.
I wanted something better than child care for the elementary set on Wednesday nights. So, I started FISH--Friends Inspired to Share and Hope. The kids, including my 8-year-olds, loved having their own gathering. But I quickly found myself in over my head.
I adored the kids, but I struggled to fill an hour and a half with meaningful activity for the diverse group. Plus, my boys didn’t seem to listen and I often exploded with frustration after we got home.
Mostly, I just got burned out. I hear I’m not the first church volunteer to experience this phenomenon. So, I gave my notice at holiday break. FISH ended up falling on the already-full plate of the Director of Children’s Ministries. Sorry, Susan.
What did I learn? One person—or even two or three—can’t make a ministry thrive. Ideally, we’d have rotations and substitutes. We had folks willing to fill in once or twice, but not the foundation to create a new program.
I plan to go back and help with FISH when the weather warms up and we can go outside--funny how much that active time helps kids. And I’m thinking hard about the structure we must build to support children and families at our church. None of us has the shoulders to carry the weight alone.
But—working together—I believe we can build something strong and enduring.
I wanted something better than child care for the elementary set on Wednesday nights. So, I started FISH--Friends Inspired to Share and Hope. The kids, including my 8-year-olds, loved having their own gathering. But I quickly found myself in over my head.
I adored the kids, but I struggled to fill an hour and a half with meaningful activity for the diverse group. Plus, my boys didn’t seem to listen and I often exploded with frustration after we got home.
Mostly, I just got burned out. I hear I’m not the first church volunteer to experience this phenomenon. So, I gave my notice at holiday break. FISH ended up falling on the already-full plate of the Director of Children’s Ministries. Sorry, Susan.
What did I learn? One person—or even two or three—can’t make a ministry thrive. Ideally, we’d have rotations and substitutes. We had folks willing to fill in once or twice, but not the foundation to create a new program.
I plan to go back and help with FISH when the weather warms up and we can go outside--funny how much that active time helps kids. And I’m thinking hard about the structure we must build to support children and families at our church. None of us has the shoulders to carry the weight alone.
But—working together—I believe we can build something strong and enduring.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Opening up the table
I’ve been working on a study guide for a book called Children at the Lord’s Table by John T. Hinant. The book illuminates the historical practice of serving communion to children, as well as the results of a survey of modern practice at Disciples of Christ churches.
Hinant’s thesis—and mine—is that the table should be open to everyone. What message do we send children when we don’t include them in this fundamental Christian ritual?
I struggle with a world that seems to have little regard for children. I believe children have faith--and the ability to see what is true--that far surpasses that of most adults. Perhaps that’s why we shush them and brush them aside.
Of course, children need boundaries. But children also need to be welcomed to enter God’s home--and to sit at his table.
Are we doing what’s best for children at church or what is most convenient for us? Is church a place with open arms--or closed doors?
Children wiggle. Children giggle. Children make noise. Sometimes, children burp and fart. So do adults, for that matter.
Children welcome here. Children welcome here. Children welcome here.
Let’s say it until we mean it.
Hinant’s thesis—and mine—is that the table should be open to everyone. What message do we send children when we don’t include them in this fundamental Christian ritual?
I struggle with a world that seems to have little regard for children. I believe children have faith--and the ability to see what is true--that far surpasses that of most adults. Perhaps that’s why we shush them and brush them aside.
Of course, children need boundaries. But children also need to be welcomed to enter God’s home--and to sit at his table.
Are we doing what’s best for children at church or what is most convenient for us? Is church a place with open arms--or closed doors?
Children wiggle. Children giggle. Children make noise. Sometimes, children burp and fart. So do adults, for that matter.
Children welcome here. Children welcome here. Children welcome here.
Let’s say it until we mean it.
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