So I’ve been thinking

We were at my parents’ house on Christmas day. Erin came in the kitchen talking on a toy phone, having a socially accurate and perfectly clear conversation with whomever she was imagining to be on the other end of line. I couldn’t help but wonder…Where’d she learn that?

Of course, the answer was obvious. From me. She learned by watching me, by listening to me, by observing me, her mom, who often spends an hour or more on the phone at one time with my sister or my mom. To be honest, I was pretty impressed. Her phone etiquette was amazing. Her conversation…perfect. I chuckled. And then I stopped as a second, quieter question crossed my mind. A scarier, much-more-important, prompted-by-the-Spirit kind of question. 

What else is she learning from me?

 

It was a serious question, which, in recent days, I’ve asked regularly. And so far, the answer has been altogether too convicting.

For example: 

The other day, I tried to turn on Mickey Mouse for my kids to watch. The computer searched for a bit and kicked me back to the main menu. Weird, I thought. I started it again when, out of the blue, Erin says, “Hey, Mommy, are you gonna cry out loud now?”

It took me a second and then it hit me. I say it all the time — “for crying out loud!” It means “Why won’t this thing just work, dangit, I’ve already tried it multiple times!” And it’s usually accompanied by a particularly unladylike (and un Christ-like) “grrrrrr” sound. So when Mickey had to be restarted, Erin very innocently wanted to know if I would be crying out loud this time. 

Ouch.

See, I know I’m an easily frustrated person. When things don’t go my way or when someone makes my life harder (which happens a lot with 3 toddlers in the house), I get huffy. Even angry. It’s not something I’m proud of. It’s a part of my personality that I’ve excused for years. And now, suddenly, my twins are 3, and I’m faced with the reality that my quick-anger, easily-frustrated, sharp-tongued, impatient reactions to everything (no matter how big or inconsequential) are teaching my kids something. 

Like when I ask where she put some little nothing and her first reaction is “I’m sorry, Mommy.” As if she has to apologize immediately…apparently to smooth out any chance that I may “cry out loud” at her because she didn’t have it.

Ouch. 

 

So, I’ve been trying to do some honest assessment…What are my kids learning from me?

Are they learning to judge people as somehow “less” because they don’t look like we do, don’t have what we have, don’t live like we live? Because that’s what I do.

Are they learning to get angry when things don’t go their way? Because that’s what I do.

Are they learning to yell at people while we’re driving, critiquing them and calling them names, because “well, they can’t hear my venting so it’s okay”? Because that’s what I do and think. 

Are they learning to only give to those people to whom it’s easy to give? Because that’s how I do it.

Are they learning to demand their own way, as fast as it can be handed to them? Because that’s how I function. 

 

And I also wondered…what could I be teaching my kids?

What if they saw me reading my Bible and praying as much in a day as I’m on the phone or computer? Would they absorb that as efficiently as they’ve picked up my lessons on “how to use social media”?

What if they saw me reach out to the unlovable neighbors, on purpose, because those are the people Jesus would reach out to?

What if I showed them that all people, even the ones who can’t hear what I’m saying, deserve to be respected and shown God’s love?

What if I spoke to them with grace instead of frustration, with patience instead of anger, with love instead of accusations?

 

I’ve often heard it said that God uses our kids to mold us as much as He uses us to mold them. And of course, it’s true. But to be honest, the reality that what I’m doing has a much greater impact on my kids than what I say to them has hit me hard recently. It’s a brutal truth, but I’m glad to see it now, instead of realizing it when they’re teenagers. And I’m glad that God intervenes, using us in spite of our brokenness to grow our kids into who He wants them to be, if both we and they will let Him. 

Of course, I definitely need to cry out loud less often. I probably need to talk on the phone less often, too. And a lot of other things as well. One day, I’d love to have that “gentle and quiet spirit” Peter talks about. I don’t have it. Not yet. But thankfully, I do have the Spirit of gentleness and peace…so there is hope for me yet. There is hope that I won’t completely screw my kids up. That the lessons Erin (and Alex and Megan) take away from our years together will be greater than how to use the phone and get frustrated over nothing. Because I can always start over today, turning back to him for guidance and wisdom and strength to live this life IN Him.

Which is, I’d guess, exactly what He was intending all along.