Yesterday, a young woman very dear to me gave a tribute to her grandfather at his memorial service. What she said was beautiful and honoring as she said goodbye (for now) to a man who loved her deeply, as she also loved him. She shared her short talk with me, and it reminded me of the precious gift of good fathering. [I’ve written several times on fathering. It’s a hard job, maybe even harder than mothering.]
Reading her talk, she spoke of a grandfather who treasured her. As a grandparent, I understand how easy it is to just love our grandchildren. The raising, training up, civilizing of children is long and arduous, but the joy of grandchildren, both little and grown, usually requires little from us. Still to have a good father as a grandparent is a great blessing. I know this young one will miss him terribly.
Being a good father is a daunting task, especially for men whose own fathers were absent or punishing (maybe from their own sense of inadequacy or pain). As women, we are allowed to cry and vent our struggles to other women. With men, the message is too often to ignore the emotions that are hard to control or to strike out in anguish when facing disappointment or failure. I can’t imagine really.
Today, I heard of Jason O. Wilson for the first time. He is a martial arts instructor but much more. For decades, he has mentored young boys (and their fathers). Scrolling through X (formerly Twitter), I came across this quote on some of his teaching:
It’s impossible to overstate how important it is for a child to hear these words from their dad:
I’m here for you.
I love you.
I’m proud of you.
Speak them as often as you can. [v/c to the incredible @mrjasonowilson. I dare you watch his videos without tearing up.]
Having grown up himself with no father in the home, he founded Cave of Adullam. That’s the name of Jason Wilson’s transformational training academy.
Cave of Adullam is identified in the Bible as a place of refuge for David. In that period of Israel’s history, King Saul was trying to kill David, but David refused to kill the King even when he had several opportunities.
Wilson’s teaching and mentoring is like nothing I’ve seen before. He teaches discipline, but his main focus is for the boys to know they are loved. Their fathers are as much a part of their training as they are.
If you’re a dad or grandfather and you’re reading this, you obviously are invested in fathering. It is never too late to connect with your children and grandchildren. It may be uncomfortable and even unwelcome. We live in an era of family estrangement. However, you will never regret trying or starting over, if given the opportunity. As we reach out to our children, sometimes we find our own healing in the process.
Dig into Jason Wilson’s practices. His website, books, X tweets, YouTube videos, and guest spots on podcasts are extremely helpful. He’s even been a guest on the Joe Rogan Experience where they talk together for 2 hours! Wilson’s own lack of good fathering has not stopped him from fathering and mentoring well. In fact, he was propelled into that better life because of his loss. He was not defeated by the lack of a good father. His faith in a good Heavenly Father has set a solid foundation for him, and now he comforts and empowers others.
Coming back around to the impetus for this post – the grieving granddaughter of a good grandfather – she will be comforted by the love she knew in their relationship. Her children will benefit from that as well. We take note of good fathers and have hope for ourselves to be that kind of parent.
And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. Husbands, love your wives, and do not be harsh with them. – Colossians 3:15-20
On August 4, we will be 40 years married! Whew! Thanks be to God!
The flight of years shows in our bodies and minds, but for us, it is most apparent in the launch of adult children into their own lives, work, and marriages. Then…it comes back to just the two of us…and I am grateful for his company.
Our marriage has always been of a quiet steady sort . My husband and I married best friends. We were polar opposites in most ways, except our faith and being raised in Southern families, with Godly, praying mamas. He was “read and follow directions” marrying “fly by the seat of her pants.” It was definitely a match made in Heaven because we would need the God of Heaven to keep us on course as we figured marriage out…both without and, later, with children.
In fact, those of you who know us well know the struggles we have had figuring out parenting (both young children and then adult children). Also the challenges of having very different ideas and giftings on doing life. I’ve written so much about this in my journals over the years, wrestling with God and my own heart in these areas. Should our kids read those journals one day, I trust them to handle the pages of angst about our marriage with gentleness and understanding. Hopefully they have always seen us pull together more than pull apart.
I’ve often quoted Elisabeth Elliot on love and marriage. Two thoughts come to mind. She speaks of love as being “a laid-down life.” She also talks of marriage as being good for Christians to mature in their walk with God, because [in marriage] “there’s so much scope for sinning.” My husband has taught me a lot in both of these areas, and I, him – hopefully more on the lines of laying down our lives for each other, rather than the scope for sinning part…sigh.
Whatever these nearing forty years have produced with us together, the best of it has been 3 great young people (and the 2 beautiful extra children who’ve joined our family through them, so far)…and GRANDCHILDREN! Alongside those treasures is the unalterable way the Lord has knit us together, my husband and me, with each other and with Him.
I have some idea what is ahead, given our ages and the world around us (we’ve already been through a cancer diagnosis, big job changes, losses of dear parents, and sickness in our children and grandchildren). The hard is softened by what is promised (and proven) through God’s Word. Whatever is ahead, I am so grateful for what I’ve learned through this man who married me 40 years ago.
He has given me the face of a man who does not give up, of one who never leaves the room, of one who fights for what is right, of one who is tender toward the weak, of one who loves no matter what. I have been both the recipient of this and the one by his side as he extends himself to others.
Now, we are two again…as in the beginning of our relationship. Yet we are at a very different place. God has shown Himself to be ever-present in all these years of our lives. For many years I didn’t think marriage was to be mine…then Dave came into my life quite providentially. God gave me exactly what I needed in this husband of mine – a man as true as steel in his walk with God and with his family. We count on him; he counts on God. Whatever happens out there in front of us…I have peace, on this 40th anniversary, that God will be there for each of us, to show us how to live…as He has in all these years thus far.
We all have fathers – whether very present, present but distant, or long-time absent. Some of you may be fathers. Some of you may have wanted to be fathers but are not able to be…for whatever reasons.
This day of commemoration usually means a good meal and some sort of gifting or pampering for you dads. For all of you, with or without children, you can be influencers…and we need you. My biological father was absent long before my parents divorced.
Thankfully I have had a rich heritage of good fathers through the rest of my life – my step-dad, brothers, uncles, husband, father-in-law, son/son-in-law, brother-in-law, nephews, and loving, empowering male friends and colleagues. Most of these good fathers in my life were spiritual fathers…but fathers nonetheless.
The father of my own children used to travel with his work. He and I had a parting ritual. He runs through the “in case something happens” list [let me know if you want particulars of that – it is helpful to know]. Then, we did sort of a “Thanks for marrying me” farewell…and finally that wonderful, “If I don’t see you here, I’ll see you THERE.” When this man wasn’t present with us, he still was.
Fathering, like mothering, is not an easy job. So much dying to self. So much responsibility. What a delight for us when the men in our lives take fathering on their shoulders as they might a sleeping child. Surrendering themselves to the serving of those younger than them. I thank God for men who humble themselves in prayer for their children and who go to work every day to support their families. Working, studying, and life-long learning passed on to their children and others.
Photo Credit: Calvin & Hobbs from the blog of Kenneth Reeds
These dads are too-often taken for granted in the shadow of fathering that falls short. The absent, neglectful and downright abusive fathers cut wounds so deep that decent fathers are sometimes judged by the same measure. We watch for “the sins of the fathers to be revisited on their children” (Numbers 14:18).
Today, let’s reflect on the good fathers. Those who were present at our births, or those who came later in life to us, or those who father us out of their own great hearts. Imperfect, sure. All of us are. Yet, there are those men who go many more than second miles for us, and we are grateful. – Deb Mills
…and finally let’s live in hope that those fathers who struggle to be present or loving may one day gather themselves together, awaken to what was left behind, and reach out to the treasures they missed along the way…and may they find us within reach.
“As to my children, you are now to be left fatherless, which I hope will be an inducement to you all to seek a Father who will never fail you.” – Jonathan Edwards, his last words to his children, as he lay dying
This has been days in the writing. When I saw the quote below just scrolling through Instagram, it stopped me in my tracks. Withholding (as defined here) goes way past “not knowing what to say” or “placing boundaries” or any measure of shyness or introversion. Withholding is actually an act of aggression…a display of power. One in which any of us can find ourselves if we don’t practicing checking our hearts or intentions regarding certain people or situations.
My Mom was the most significant influence in my life growing up. Now, I didn’t have the vocabulary for a lot of what she taught me, in word and deed, until recent years. Much of what she modeled came through her love of Scripture. She wasn’t a practicing Christian in my early childhood, but still she had made some decisions as a young person (while churched or otherwise influenced) that she practiced throughout her life. She became more mature and even more compassionate in these rules of life as she patterned her life more and more like Jesus.
I said all this to say that she was the opposite of a withholding sort of person. Even as an introvert.
Maybe growing up in a home with an alcoholic father and a timid mother influenced her willingness to show up for people – her brothers, her friends, her children, and strangers she met day-to-day. She did not withhold herself from others – all sorts of others – and it made for a beautiful life. This from a woman who worked full-time, raised four kids, and dealt with a cancer that would take her life too soon. Well, it didn’t take her life. Her life was finished at 75 to the glory of God. Even in her last hours and experiencing pain and increasing weakness, she was encouraging all of us around her. She even woke up from a coma that had silenced her to say “I love you” in response to one of her little grandchildren’s goodbyes to her.
This woman. Now you can understand why this issue of withholding feels so wrong to me. I understand people needing boundaries in toxic relationships, however, the practice of withholding can take boundaries up several notches. This probably isn’t a winsome topic because we don’t think what we’re doing is mean-spirited…it’s just because we are busy, or shy, or can’t do one more thing, or (fill in the reason).
Withholding can have different faces depending on what our intent or inclination is. It can be withholding of:
We have all experienced withholding – either as the one holding out on others or the one experiencing that neglect (whether intended personally or just in the wake of not being chosen for any of the above).
What do we do with this issue? If you’re reading this, you are already on the path to solutions. Those who don’t read this sort of piece don’t see this as a problem. Certainly, none of us are necessarily entitled to whatever is sensed as being withheld. However, if we don’t want to be on the giving end of withholding, we can note it and practice the opposite – a humility, intentionality, watchfulness, and graciousness can move us toward an openness and willingness to be there, even when others are not.
Parenting is a long season where withholding can become a habit – when we as parents get exasperated with our children’s choices and when we are shaken in our sense of who we are and how we’re doing. An example is well-communicated below by Youth Dynamics of Montana. If we have struggled with parenting or have been harmed by our own parents’ withholding, our temptation is to extend that same experience back, over time, either with our kids or our parents.
For me, it’s a daily battle to be like my Mom, but one I want to come out winning, or at least fighting. To be that person who works to catch the eye of people, to engage and encourage, to be courteous and deferent, to include, to give where there is opportunity, to serve when I know I can, to share information that would help, to let people in and to show up for others. All of this models good for our children and is a blessing to those around us. Choosing not to withhold myself, my people, and my resources by tightly circling the wagons.
There’s a great call to action by the Prophet Isaiah on what can happen (if I could interject) when we don’t withhold. When we show up, God shows up in exponentially greater ways. Is that your experience?
Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who have an anxious heart, “Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you.”
Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute sing for joy. For waters break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert… – Isaiah 35:3-6
A few nights ago, we had a houseful of company. I was nervous about it. Not because of the children coming; for sure, they would love being here. It was the parents. These folks are some of the loveliest people we know, but our houses were very different. These were all young people who somehow knew intuitively how to decorate homes that looked straight out of magazines.
Anyway, I was nervous that our home, our “style”, would seem tired to them. As they piled in that evening, with hugs and laughter, kids heading straight to our own grandchildren’s playroom, my fretting abated. These precious ones were all the ages of our children; we loved them, and they loved us.
Then, it happened. One of the girls, who is style personified, commented out loud, “This is a grandma’s house.” I’m pretty sure she meant it as a compliment, but it stirred a little chagrin in me… It’s true. No way around it. This IS a grandma’s house. Vintage. Family pictures everywhere. Memorabilia. A china cabinet full of antique glassware from my mama…my children’s grandma.
Then in a moment, my troubled thoughts cleared as fast as they had come.
I am a grandma and this is my house. It is comfortable and all are welcome. Countless long talks have been had on that old sofa and chair set. Tears shed and joys reclaimed. Family reminiscing at the dining room table. Stories. Stories. Stories. Children doing their best to out-silly each other, for their own and their grownups’ entertainment. Good food. Good times. Good memories made.
Our kids, all in their 30s now, have sweet memories of their grandparents’ homes. They still have one living, and MomMom’s home is definitely and beautifully a “grandma’s house” – a place that pulls us in with a big hug of welcome. With a bounty of baked goods, candy dishes full to overflowing, and the promise of coffee, iced tea, hot chocolate, or mulled cider – depending on the season. Picture albums that go back decades and decor that changes through the year, celebrating every holiday. A feast for the senses.
That recent evening with my young family friends marked a change in my sensibilities. I hope to embrace the fact that our parents felt the sting of the Great Depression and, because of that, it had a huge impact on my life as well. Our parents taught us to spend money carefully, hold onto things (“you might need it later”), fix what gets broken, and treasure keepsakes of past generations. And so it goes.
Maybe we’ll paint the oak cabinets, and maybe we won’t. Maybe, we will update our furniture, and maybe we won’t. Hard to say…but I’m not going to feel bad about it. That’s just foolish really.
Unlike our children and probably grandchildren coming up, I’m more a maximalist than minimalist, more vintage than modern, more cluttered than orderly (sigh), and preferential toward brighter colors than earth tones [Joanne Friedrich]. Our married children, like our young friends, have beautiful easy-on-the-eye homes…different than mine. We are different generations, and that’s completely okay.
David Marine, a marketing officer for a large real estate company, wrote the sweetest piece on “grandma’s house”:
“As a kid, it was a magical place with cabinets full of treats and a freezer that was apparently stocked year round with ice cream. Food tends to be a central theme when it comes to Grandma’s house. I remember my grandma would make me whatever I wanted for dinner, and she would always have a special treat that involved some kind of mixture of confectionery delights.
It’s a place full of love. It’s where getting spoiled rotten is a way of life. It’s where you look at those photos on the wall or on top of that coffee table that seem to cover the course of the better part of a century.
My kids love Grandma’s house. It has special toys and snacks that they don’t get a home. There are juice boxes and candies that are rare in other parts of the planet they have seen but seem to be plentiful in this small corner of the galaxy. On top of that my boys have the rare opportunity to also go to great-grandma’s house, the same place I visited at their age.
So what makes Grandma’s house so special? It’s simple. That’s where Grandma lives.”– David Marine
And with this house…you also get a sweet Papa in the bargain.
[This sweet book was chosen by our sweet daughter to read at her birthday lunch with me and all the grands. It is lovely and quite poignant for me because I, like Mama Seeton, had a whistle to summon the kids. My whistle also had just two notes, like in the story above, but used as in a bobwhite call. For the many years we lived in large, noisy cities, it came in handy. My adult kids will still look up to find me when I whistle softly at big family gatherings. Love this about them…and that they’ve passed this story onto our grands.]From Mama Seeton’s Whistle by Jerry Spinelli, art by LeUyen Pham
Memories of childhood can be sparse…difficult to pull forward into the present. It’s hard to accept that some of those memories, as we re-engage with them, are still colored by the fears of a 7y/o or the anger of a 15y/o. Even though we now, as adults, can reframe them. Those memories don’t have to keep us as victims. We are grown now. We can look at them again from a different viewpoint…and heal.
I’ve been immersed for a few years now in examining family of origin stuff, generational trauma, and how those experiences (both the bad and beautiful) are passed onto our children. Some close friends and family have said to me that exploring the past is not helpful. Being present in the present is the way to live. I agree for the most part, except the past is still with us in the present. I don’t want the past to mess with my present…or the future of my children and grandchildren.
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of attending an Allender Center conference on our family of origin story. What a treat to sit under the teaching of these wise therapists and hear how to engage the memories of our childhood. This is not at all about blaming parents for mistakes they made raising us. However, it is about confronting what we continue to carry with us from those days. We often say, “They did the best they could…or knew to do.” That may be true. As I look at my own parenting, I sometimes didn’t do the best I could or knew to do. Sometimes I did wrong to my children. It is part of life along with the beautiful, so we reckon with it and wrestle with it, for the sake of the good that is possible.
We can learn from our mistakes and our parents’ mistakes on a path to healing. In the conference I attended, Allender, Loerzel, and Young all called for three components necessary in engaging our family of origin stories:
Curiosity, Kindness, and Community – We don’t just leave the past “in the past”. It is always with us. However, to heal from the hard of our past, we must gaze into our memories with curiosity and kindness and within a trusted community. Sometimes memories seem few and spotty, but as we engage them, recalling them, they will come more to our consciousness. The adage, “If we don’t learn from the past, we’re bound to repeat it.”, is truer than we think.
I have appreciated taking a deeper look into my own family of origin (thanks to the helps and guidance of these therapists, Dr. Curt Thompson, and others).
Here’s part of my story. Consider examining your own. You might be surprised at the freedom that comes.
My parents grew up in the American South at the end of the Great Depression. They knew poverty. I know next to nothing about my paternal grandparents, but my mom’s parents were very much in our lives. That’s grandma in the picture below surrounded by some of her grandchildren. Grandpa rarely made it into a picture. He was a loner and alcoholic who clearly experienced terrible disappointment during those years of under-employment. 5 children, all boys except mom who was the middle child. Her role in the family was a buffer for her dad’s anger, and the boys all left home as soon as they could get into the military.
[My 3 brothers and me in the front of pic][Grandpa and Grandma Byrd, my mom’s parents]
My biological father didn’t work. He grew up on a farm, but when he and mom married, he just couldn’t quite hold down a job. Mom worked long days, but instead of my father caring for us, she had to hire babysitters. He didn’t want the responsibility. I don’t know much more. They divorced when I was 5 or 6. I saw him only once after that.
[My biological father]
Abandonment and neglect were part of my mom’s childhood and part of mine. She loved us and did what she could to feed us and house us. While we were growing up, we didn’t feel particularly poor. I did somehow experience food insecurity and fear which led to a life-long struggle with food and fear that I hoped not to pass on to my children.
Generational trauma has become a fascination for me in recent years because of the therapists above and others and because of its frightfully common occurrence. It is a concept that winds its way through human history (“sins of the fathers revisited on their children to the third and fourth generation”). We know from personal experience that we learn habits and responses from our parents (and they learned from their parents). We have the capability, as parents ourselves, of continuing healthy expressions of care for our children. We also have it in us to stop the succession of wrongs we have endured in family relationships…if we are attuned to them in our own parenting and grand-parenting.
Attunement – our parents’ ability to read how we were doing/feeling
Responsiveness – our parents’ willingness to respond to our upset (whatever it might be)
Engagement – our parents’ desire to genuinely know us (at a heart level, whatever age)
Affect regulation – our parents’ ability and willingness to soothe us, whatever our emotional state was at the time – scared, angry, shut down, etc.
“Strong enough to handle your big emotions” – our parents’ ability to stay with us when our emotions were potentially uncomfortable for them; not taking these big emotions personally but welcoming them rather than shaming them.
Willingness to repair – our parents’ willingness to own and right any harm they may have done to us as children (whatever the age).
My siblings and I grew up much loved by our Mom. She did what she could to give us a safe and secure childhood. One of her struggles was having had a childhood that leveled its own share of hard. She brought that forward without knowing. She knew abandonment and didn’t want us to experience it. I believe this is one of the reasons, ironically, that she divorced my biological father. We wouldn’t have to experience up-close his own lack of care for us. Never knowing him or his family, I have wondered in recent years what affected his own neglect of us.
You can tell it’s all very curious for me. I hope you are curious as well. Not to blame a parent but to understand your experience growing up and the impact of attachment in your relationship to your parents and their relationship with theirs. With the hope of setting a foundation of deep love and care for your children and theirs. It doesn’t have to be the situation of where “hurt people hurt people”.
Would you consider journaling your family of origin story and processing it with trusted individuals? Curiosity, kindness, and community – Be curious about your family as far back as you can take it. Treat those memories…those family members…with kindness. It’s very possible those memories will have greater meaning as you explore them as an adult. Where they were painful, repair and healing are possible…if we don’t just try to stuff them somewhere out of sight, out of mind. In community, our stories help us to understand each other and ourselves…and find the beauty and freedom there in the discovery.
Even Hollywood gets it right sometimes. In the TV show FBI (S6, E2, “Remorse”), the last line of the episode is so pertinent. A father (who struggled with alcoholism) talking to his teenaged son (who had begun drinking and was repentant):
“Mistakes are just part of the game. What’s important is what we do next.” Owning your part. Asking forgiveness. Treating each other with kindness, not contempt. Repentance and repair.
I’ll come back to this another day…hoping to learn from your journey as well. Thanks for stopping by.
[Mom, our step-dad, and our 3 kiddos – much loved all the way around][Dave’s parents][4 generations with Dave’s grandmother, mom, and our first-born][Another 4 generations pic with Dave’s dad, Dave, our son, and wee grandson]…they grew up so fast.
Hello, Dear Ones. As I write, Keith Jarrett‘s Shenandoah is playing in the background. Have a little sit with me, and let’s talk about birthdays and seasons. My birthday has just passed, and it was truly fine. Full of reflection of past years and wonder at the possibility of another calendar year added to my life.
Grateful.
Oh…there was a momentary pity party. A singular evening-long regret that I have not always stewarded friendships very well. Not sure that will be changing (sigh…) which then took me again to gratitude for the friends who have stuck with me through all these years. What treasures you are!
This birthday has unfolded…with cake, cards, family, and some of those faithful friends showing up anyway.
Life is such an amazing thing. In every season. As we get older, so many things change but our hearts don’t really age. We still long for closeness with those we love; we seek out purpose in our days; we pray to finish well. All the things.
A few hours ago, I had birthday lunch with a dear friend who is coming up on her 80th birthday. We both lamented that if birthdays punctuate life, then those celebrations ahead could barely count into double digits. Those times with family. Those opportunities of looking back and ahead. This beautiful woman with a heart full of love wondered aloud if she was/is doing what she was supposed to do with her life. I am so glad she trusted me with that, because it was my joy to remind her of the huge ripple effect she has across so many lives. All the good quietly overflowing from this servant of a woman. Continually.
My heart is just encouraged thinking about her…and inspired by the possibility of living life well at 80.
Another friend gave me a beautiful photo calendar. Every page has a picture of this tall, proud maple tree in our yard. She had taken a picture of the tree through all the months of this year – in all its glory, in every season. If that maple tree could talk, it would not lament one season over another one, I don’t believe. Oh, it may remember most gladly the leafy summers or its deep red Fall foliage, but each season has its own sweetness, its own beauty.
As happens, I find, one experience flows into another, deepening the lessons we’re meant to learn. Facebook Memories today took me to a blog I read 10 years ago written by Amanda Hill. She wrote about “glory days” and reflected on seasons, using the example of the towering oak eventually ending up in bundles of firewood. Here are the last few paragraphs – so worth your read:
I am not good at letting go. I hold onto old pictures and handprint wreaths and have all kinds of problems letting friends slip away through the years. I want to hold onto them like warm blankets, safe and folded, loved and cared for, put away in a cedar chest. I want to hold onto a better time or a better place when secrets were yet unearthed and I was an oak who protected. I want to go back to a time when I didn’t believe anyone could really chop me down.
And yet sometimes we have to be stripped down to be built up again. Ripped into bundles and packaged differently and oftentimes devalued in the world’s eyes to realize what our true worth is. A piece of wood cannot again become a tree, but it can light a glorious blaze of sacrifice…
This is a worthy calling as great as a tree standing tall, for “we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28.
Don’t look backward. Let the past slip through your fingers like fine sifted sand, knowing that God will reshape, and reuse, and redirect into something magical. Your glory days are ahead. Brilliant blazing bursts of light that will dance and spit and pop with fire.
Burn bright. It’s what you were born to do. – Amanda Hill
I’ve embraced this birthday with peace and even joy. Thankful for the life that’s been given to me. All of it.
Every birthday. Every season. With still many adventures ahead.
Our kids grew up with “Calvin and Hobbes”(1985-1995) created by Bill Watterson. Last week, on the Facebook page Everything Calvin and Hobbes, an essay was posted detailing Calvin, as an old dying man having his last visit with his friend Hobbes. It reminded me once again of all the seasons, before children and after, and relationships that weave together to make this wonderful life in all its hard and good. Thank You, God.
Thanks also to any of you still reading this ramble. Wish you could come by to share the last piece of my birthday cake.
We were born curious. Little children asking “Why?” over and over again. Wanting to know, to understand, to shine light on this great big world of ours.
“Curiosity is the very basis of education and if you tell me that curiosity killed the cat, I say only the cat died nobly.” – Arnold Edinborough
As we get older, we get comfortable with what we know. Our sense of wonder too often flattens into the daily routine. We have occasional forays into a trending pursuit, or we hunker down for a time to develop a new skill. Can we call those activities and intentionalities curiosity?
Curiosity comes out of a desire to understand those around us and the world we share.
“Listen with curiosity. Speak with honesty. Act with integrity. The greatest problem with communication is we don’t listen to understand. We listen to reply. When we listen with curiosity, we don’t listen with the intent to reply. We listen for what’s behind the words.” – Roy T. Bennett, Compassionate Curiosity – Asking Good Questions
Curiosity communicates caring. As we fix our gaze on another person and ask the questions needed to actually get to know them, we show genuine interest. That interest draws the other person into a space of belonging…of belonging with us. Curiosity about the world, beyond the person, fills us with wonder.
“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existence. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery each day.” – Albert Einstein, —”Old Man’s Advice to Youth: ‘Never Lose a Holy Curiosity.'” LIFE Magazine (2 May 1955) p. 64”
What happens to us as we grow up? Do children lose their sense of curiosity and can it be regained? Yes and yes. Be curious yourself about the children around you. Have they already shrunk their worlds into a small group of friends and a few preferred activities? Do they find people intriguing and nature wholly fascinating? Are they open to being a part of a larger community…one that is multi-generational and multi-cultural?
Recently I came across an Instagram post by Ian Simkins. As you swipe left, across several screens, Simkins talks about the curiosity of children and what happens as we get older. Before I can really impress upon my grandchildren to be more curious, I have to practice it myself.
Jeffrey Davis, a researcher and business consultant, gives us a compelling look at curiosity as a key to belonging:
Curiosity is the proactive facet of wonder that spurs us to question the way things are and our desire to learn or know. Curiosity propels us to become more engaged in new experiences, seek novel perspectives, and—especially important—connect with other human beings in more enriching and meaningful ways.
As much as we’re wired to crave belonging, we’re also wired for bias...which is why we naturally gravitate toward people who look like us, share similar views, or come from similar backgrounds. It’s also why we pursue things that are comfortable, familiar, and reinforce our existing beliefs.
In short, our brain unconsciously sizes people up as friends or foes to keep us safe, inadvertently closing us off from the connections we so desperately need. But when we allow wonder and curiosity to take the wheel, we can break out of our bias boxes, and often, we’re much happier for it.
Strike up a conversation with a stranger.
Lead with questions out of genuine curiosity.
Share experiences of wonder.
By leveraging wonder and igniting your curiosity, you can build more authentic connections, deepen your relationships, and improve your mental and physical well-being.
I want to challenge us to stay curious. To show genuine care for others. To practice life-long learning about our world and the people who populate it.
Then, we can model curiosity and care to our children…coaxing them into the wonder that surrounds us. Taking it all in with gratitude…because we don’t necessarily deserve the goodness in our lives, but we have it just the same…curiously. Wonder at that for a bit!
Many say of me, “God will not deliver him.” Selah But you, LORD, are a shield around me, my glory, and the One who lifts up my head. – Psalm 3:2-3
Blessed be the LORD, for He has heard my cry for mercy. The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped. Therefore my heart rejoices, and I give thanks to Him with my song. – Psalm 28:6-7
Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you. Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world. – 1 Peter 5:7-9
Last night, in the car leaving his taekwondo lesson, our 7 y/o grandson wanted to talk about the most recent conflict between Israel and Palestine. I was shocked that he knew about it given such an adult situation. Maybe he heard his parents talk. Maybe they were praying as a family for the conflict…now war.
He had amazingly mature thoughts and questions about it. You can imagine that it led to a discussion that went all the way back to Adam and Eve and all the way forward to Heaven and Hell. He wondered if America would ever have war and what that would look like. We talked about both the sadness of the situation for Israel and Palestine, and we talked about what our response as Christ-followers must be.
I grew up in the 60s and 70s. During the Vietnam War era. I also grew up with a mom who taught us not to hate. It was never acceptable. If we loved Jesus then we did not have the privilege or luxury or burden (however you see it) of hating another individual or group of people. It went against everything we understood of Jesus, including His very own teaching to love even our enemies (Matthew 5:44).
During the Vietnam war, the culture was mixed (as it is today) with opinions on what was right and what was wrong. In high school, I wrote letters of encouragement to soldiers (brothers, friends, and sometimes strangers who became penpals). Writing to boys only a few years older than me…gone to war.
In college, I, like so many others, participated in protests of a too-long and too-costly war. Protests and prayer vigils.
You’ve got to be taught To hate and fear, You’ve got to be taught From year to year, It’s got to be drummed In your dear little ear You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late, Before you are six or seven or eight, To hate all the people your relatives hate, You’ve got to be carefully taught.
In these days, we cry out to God for the sake of Israel and Palestine…and the rest of the world, not knowing what will happen in the days, weeks, months, and years ahead.
Address God. (Focus your prayer on the One who hears and answers.)
Pour out your heart. (Bring Him your complaints and concerns.)
Request help. (Ask God for what you need.)
Express trust. (Affirm your faith in His character and His Word.)
Praise Him. (Worship Him because He is worthy.)
“Confessing trust in God is the hinge that turns our grieving into grace, tears into trust, and worries into worship.”– Jennifer Rothschild
If you’re like me, you’ve lost confidence in much of what we see in the news. Or at least, we sift through several accounts of events to determine what might be true.
This I know: something catastrophic is happening in the Middle East right now which will most probably have a wide ripple effect into coming generations. There is much to lament here. God’s face is the only one to which we can look with complete trust and confidence.
Many are they increased that troubled me Many are they that rise up against me Many there be which say of my soul There is no help for him in God
But Thou, oh Lord are a shield for me My glory and the lifter of my head Thou, oh Lord are a shield for me My glory and the lifter of my head
[Repeat]
I cried unto the Lord with my voice And he heard me out of His holy hill I laid me down and slept and awaked For the Lord sustained, for he sustained me
Thou, oh Lord are a shield for me My glory and the lifter of my head Thou, oh Lord are shield for me My glory and the lifter of my head
[Repeat Twice] For Thou oh Lord are a shield for me My glory and the lifter of my head Of my head My head*
Early riser here. In fact, I rarely need an alarm.
In other seasons of life, the morning came with joy. For some time now, I have struggled with negative thoughts…not so much anxiety or depression as much as a certain sense of feeling undone.
Since reading Tyler Staton’s Praying Like Monks, Living Like Fools, my morning routine has changed some. No more mindless scrolling through various social media on my phone. It is no longer within reach. Once up, I make my bed. That lifelong routine continues. However, while still in bed, just barely awake, I now do two things to clear my head and set my heart for the day.
1)I recite the Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13). This is actually the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples when they asked him to teach them how to pray. Whether you have a relationship with Jesus or not, if you believe in God, this prayer is one you can embrace. A friend, younger than me, said to a small group of women recently in a study on prayer, “We should memorize the Lord’s Prayer”. It struck me as odd because, in my generation, we learned the Lord’s Prayer in school. Led by our teacher, we recited it as a whole class every day along with the Pledge of Allegiance. Whatever our religion or lack thereof. Until 1962, when the U.S. Supreme Court ruled school prayer (led by teachers) unconstitutional.
This prayer helps me to turn my thoughts to God and the creeping uneasiness changes more to hopefulness.
2) I recite Psalm 23. This psalm, often referred to by its first line “The Lord is my Shepherd”, was written by David, a shepherd himself before he became king. In meditating on this psalm, I’m reminded of God’s care of his sheep. No matter what happens, he keeps his eye on us. He provides for us, anticipating our every need, and welcomes us Home to be with Him at the end of our lives.
These two passages are easy to memorize and even easier to make part of a morning routine They have done wonders for my waking to a new day.
So what does this have to do with generational trauma? I’ve written often about this previously (and strongly recommend reading these pieces if you haven’t already).
We have all experienced some sort of trauma through our families, across generations. Some (including in my own family) would rather not “go there”, and I understand. However, it is in recognizing our trauma and taking steps toward healing that helps us to avoid continuing the trauma in our children and grandchildren.
“As adults, we want the same things our children need – to be safe (no “bracing for impact” in relationships), to be seen (truly known by those most significant in our lives), to be soothed (our emotions understood and acknowledged, without judgment, even when they are big and out of proportion), and secure (that no matter what, we are loved. Our persons are NOT leaving the room).
Whatever we may have experienced as children, we can alter our present. Whatever we did as young and overwhelmed parents, we can move, with love and insight, to a better situation with our kids. The past is just that…the past. We can be truly with each other, in the here and now…if we are brave and willing to be humble.” – Deb Mills
The major component of trauma in my own life was abandonment. I don’t know about my grandparents’ childhood, but from my grandparents’ adulthood through the present, my family has felt the sting of abandonment. It is generational and can not only affect us but our children as well. Abandonment is a very real source of trauma and can actually find its way back up the family tree, if we don’t do the work of rooting it out. [The longer stories are in my blogs above.]
What better way to start each day praying to and meditating on a Father who will NEVER abandon his children!
[Below you will find further resources on generational trauma and a helpful graphic on the power of showing up.]
