August, 2007
Scripture says that the sins of a father are visited down upon their children and generations beyond. I think that this can imply the consequences of the sin are carried down as well as the sins themselves. Often, when a parent has a bad habit, the kids are conditioned to continue on with the same habits. In the same way, blessings and good habits are also passed down.
This week I was with a certain (unnamed) child who had a project due. The directions called for the project to be done on 11 x 17 white construction paper, of which we were out. Most stores were also out, but finally, a couple of errands later, we scored a pack of multi-colored paper. Two sheets of white were included. As my child began the project, I heard a desperate cry for help. It seems the package of paper was the wrong size! The label said 18 x 12.
“And the problem is…?” I queried.
“I’ll get in trouble. It’s the wrong size. It’ll never work,” said child wailed.
“So…trim it,” I said with as much sarcasm in my tone as I could muster.
“Yeah, right, Mom. How am I supposed to make 12 inches turn into 17?”
I stared, dumbfounded. This was my brilliant A+ child? I turned to the wall and in dramatic fashion began pounding my head against it. Apparently I did this too well – I had a headache for hours afterwards.
“Please tell me you are not that dense!” was the only response I had at that moment.
It was the wrong response.
Said child looked at me, with hurt deep in their eyes and promptly flew out the door, crushed. (It didn’t help that other siblings in listening distance laughed at the confused one.)
As my new headache began, I went to my room to lie down for a couple of minutes to figure out how I could scrape together the remnants of my brilliant mothering gaffe.
As soon as I lay down, a certain persistent memory returned. I was in my early teens, riding with my family to some destination that I can’t now remember when we asked the age-old question, “How much longer?” My dad asked the nearest house number and then replied that it was two and a half more miles until we got there.
“How’d you know that?” I asked.
My dad looked in his rearview mirror, dumbfounded, before grunting out a gasp of disbelief and responded something to the effect of, “Well, everybody with a brain knows there’s eight blocks to a mile.”
Maybe it was because I held my dad’s opinion in such high esteem that I wanted him to think highly of me. Maybe it was because every blossoming teenager wants to be seen as smart. Whatever the reason, that response dug deep into my soul.
As I lay on my bed, God brought that back to my mind so fast, it made my head spin. (Or maybe it was the headache?? Whatever.) I realized I had just pierced my child’s soul with the sword of my sharp tongue. I went to apologize but, right then, said child wanted nothing to do with me. So I went back to nurse my pounding head. As I lay staring at the fan spinning overhead, God’s gentle Spirit again returned with his sledgehammer.
Five months ago, we decided to get a dog for my son. The intent was to give him more responsibility as well as a playmate of the male variety. (It was much cheaper than the brother he was asking for.) When we went to pick up the dog, Mike and I discussed that his sisters wouldn’t like the fact that he was getting a dog when they had been the ones pestering for one. Long story short, we ended up with two new puppies to go with the older dog we already had.
Unfortunately, it turned out I was quite allergic to the girls’ dog. We ended up having to give the sweet thing away, but we told the girls we’d try to get them another. We just didn’t realize how peaceful the house would be with one less puppy. And we went through way less food. And had fewer messes to clean up. It wasn’t long until Mike and I were trying to figure out a way to get out of obtaining another dog.
God’s Spirit brought this all back to mind. “But, God, we didn’t promise!”
His Spirit responded with a question of our intent.
Well, I suppose we intended to replace the dog. But we never intended to get the dog in the first place. She had been a spontaneous purchase.
I wrestled for quite a while over the guilt of my lousy parenting. Broken promises. Skewered spirits. Would I ever get the stupid mothering thing right? Needless to say, we are getting a third dog. And when my wounded child was ready, I approached with a humbled spirit.
Later that same night, another child emptied her bank to bring all of her money in to school in response to a need for a family that had had a fire. I remembered my parents making comments about me giving away everything so that I’d have nothing left for myself. I smiled. I’d much rather have a kid inherit my spirit of generosity instead of my sharp tongue. I let her know she was doing a good thing. “Thanks, God. I needed to know that I had a few good character traits that would be passed down as well.” Just like God to bandage my own wounded spirit.
Decades of bringing up my father’s gaffe over and over finally got him to apologize profusely for his outspoken remark. And many years later he even admitted that the eight-block rule doesn’t apply to every locale. It has become something of a family joke but all of my children will know that there are eight blocks to a mile. And though he was long ago forgiven, I’ll continue to hold it over his head whenever it is to my advantage. I just hope my own child is more merciful.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
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