For All Your Repeating Words

Sometimes I feel like a broken record, scratching out the same few words of the same old tune over and over again….and the longer I sing those words, the less kind they sound. Please remember to rinse your dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Don’t forget to put your dishes in the dishwasher, okay? Hello? Dishes? They go in the dishwasher….remember? Dishes! (stomp) Dishwasher! (stomp) Now!!! (stomp) There are times I question whether I can go another day on repeat. Picking up the same belongings left out by the same people. Cleaning and wiping the very same things over and over again. Calling the same kids back to complete the same chore they did half way AGAIN. Encouraging the children once more to use their words to love, not to hurt. Reminding the little people, again and again, to respect the experience and wisdom of the big kids. Reminding the big kids, for the millionth time, they aren’t the parents. I encounter the same people every day, do the same tasks every day, say virtually the same instructions and reminders every day, that I half expect my iPhone to sound each morning at exactly six o’clock with “I got you babe.” December seems to be a month where resentment builds in my mama heart. My attention and devotion to my family and home is even more prominent as I consider their needs and wants, and facilitate intentional moments to shape them in meaningful ways during these Christmas days. The time and energy I pour into this season is something I want to do, something I do with joy. And yet, it’s the time of year I get hurt more easily when they don’t respond with similar effort and greater gratitude. It feels like winter settling into my spirit, not just out my window.

Earlier this week, I left some children home while I took another to dance. When I returned, the one thing I had asked them to take care of was left mostly undone. Plus, there were the remains of two eggs that had been dropped on the wool carpet in the family room. In addition to the obvious question what were eggs doing in the family room? I had a few others for the children as well. Like Why don’t you respect my instructions? Why does obedience seem to fly out the window when I walk out the door? Why do I have to keep up with my responsibilities, but you don’t? Why am I going above and beyond to create a wonderful Christmas and you’re simply keeping up with the bare minimum? It wasn’t so much this particular moment that sent me into a minor mother strike. It was a building up of the assumption that I wasn’t respected or appreciated enough, a growing frustration that I have to constantly repeat myself. And before I knew it, I was locking myself in my room for the evening. That is, right after I announced that there would be no dinner cooked that night. Instead they could feast on an early bedtime {and maybe an apple, since I’m kind}. Clearly, I did not respond with grace. I knew it in the moment and I know it now. But grace or no grace, the verdict is still out whether that was brilliant parenting or a very childish response. As I’ve processed my emotions and frustrations, and invited God into a truer, more meaningful response to all the repetition I do, I surfaced with a fresh perspective: I haven’t been looking at the problem with eternal eyes. Sometimes I focus on the momentary outcome, rather than the forever goal. The ways I call my children to help around the house, the truths I repeat day after day, the expectations I continually lay before them in how they ought to treat one another – it has to be less about the outcome and more about the shaping of their spirits, the teaching of their hearts. Sure, I want (and need) help around the house, and of course I want them to participate in the keeping of our home. But when I ask my children to do the dishes, or any other task, my motivation must be grounded in the longing I have to partner with God in establishing the work of their hands. It can’t be about getting the task done. Likewise, when I repeat, over and over again, to my children the way they ought to treat one another, my motivation must come from my deep desire to inspire them to love with their words and hands. It can’t be that I simply want them to follow through with my expectations of kindness. Do you see how this changes things? Do you see how it takes a momentary act that produces frustration and transforms it into the eternal shaping of a child’s spirit? If my focus is on getting the dishes done, then when the children don’t follow through and complete the task, I’ll be frustrated by their laziness and that I have to repeat the instruction. However, if my focus is on teaching them a work ethic rooted in love and grace, then calling them back to the task, repeating my words and instructions gives me another opportunity to speak truth and remind them of the values that come from our understanding of who God is. When the goal is relationship, not task, then repetition becomes reinforcement, not a nagging response. For parenting is less about what I’m calling my children to do, and everything about who God is calling them to be. This doesn’t eliminate the need for discipline and the completion of responsibilities. It simply changes my focus to the divine calling I have to join the Father in the raising of my children, not just in body, but in spirit. If Mark and I don’t teach them, who will? If we don’t repeat and repeat to reinforce values, who else will take the time? Instead of looking at the repetition as an ongoing burden, I have the choice to see it as an opportunity to repeatedly breathe life into my children through my shaping words and graceful responses. I cannot say that this truth has changed my attitude….yet. I’m still grumbling a bit and a little too focused on me. But I’m praying this into my spirit so I can approach my ever repeating days with greater grace and purpose. All to the glory of God! Now excuse me while I run the path to my mother’s house to tell her just how much I appreciate all the little and big ways she loved us during Christmases…and all the days in between. And for all her repeating words that have been etched into my heart, forever.