The Beauty of Repetition

There we sat, my little buddy and I snuggled up in our little cabin by the lake, anxiously awaiting the dawning of a new year. We started this tradition last year, a sort of anti-New Year’s celebration.  Not that we were against the New Year, but rather that we started celebrating it in a much different way. The children voted to spend New Year’s Eve 2012 at our recently purchased lake house with only our little family. We welcomed 2013 with the lake lapping at the shore. Their Daddy set off a few fireworks in the brisk winter sky. It was… peaceful…joyful. So we did it again this year. We loaded up kids and dogs and party horns and hats and headed to the icy wonderland of the lake.
 



Our Icy Wonderland

My little guy and I were snuggled up, waiting for the ball to drop, when the local news interrupted our festivities. It was kind of a downer, really. I mean, who wants to hear about the year’s high homicide rate when there is a crystal-encrusted sphere ready to drop from the sky? I thought about turning it off for a bit, but Grant wanted to listen to an upcoming story.  I can count on one hand the number of times our kids have watched the local news, precisely because of the aforementioned propensity of our local news to cover such happy topics as homicides and abuse. Fun stuff. Or not. Great conversation starters, too. The story that caught Grant’s attention, however, was one about the “bridge people” of Tulsa.  The bridge people are those men and women who “live” under the bridges.

He was glued to the television. God had a plan when he placed us at the cabin on a cold New Year’s Eve watching the late night news. The news reporter interviewed a woman living under the bridges, a grandma. The grandma spoke about how cold it gets at night. About her former life and how mental illness always seemed to lead her back to the streets.  The news station announced that they were going to be collecting blankets that would be distributed to those who needed them. Grant was quiet after the story concluded.  In his old age (seven) he has become my quiet thinker. He announced that he was tired and just wanted to go to bed.  We witnessed the ringing in of 2014 in Sydney and Paris, and that was good enough for him.

Blankie

As I lay next to him in his little twin bed, he began to talk. “Mom, I bet it’s hard for those people when it gets so cold at night." His voice became serious as he scratched and rubbed the silky side (or what's left of it) of Blankie, his constant bedtime companion since he was a baby.  "I mean, when you live outside, a blanket is EVERYTHING.” He gazed at me with brown eyes big as saucers and blinked his long lashes as he emphasized, “EVERYTHING! We have lots of blankets at home.  We should give some to those people when we get home.” He went on, “I bet we could give them some other stuff, too.”

“That’s a great idea, buddy, “I responded. “Like what?”

“Well, I bet they could use a backpack for their stuff. Maybe some food.”

I was speechless.  It was my turn to look at him with eyes big as saucers. He didn’t want to give them his old Skylanders that he never plays with anymore or some bubblegum he didn’t like.  He wanted to give them something that they could actually use. He wasn’t thinking about himself, but about what he could do for others. He was seven, and he was finally starting to GET IT!

It was a thankyoujesusgloryhallelujah moment for this mama.  You see, you have to know my kids to understand why this was such a celebration-worthy occasion. Our daughter, Anna, was born an old soul… a giver from the start. She has plans to adopt twelve children, eight dogs, and half a dozen other living creatures. She heard about a family who lost their Christmas presents in a fire and immediately asked me if we could help. She had her friends bring gifts to her tenth birthday party that could be donated to a dog shelter. On a family trip to Guatemala, my then-eight-year-old begged me to keep taking pictures "so that I can show my friends how blessed we are.”

Then there is Grant. My snuggly, dimpled baby boy. He developed a textbook case of colic at around four weeks old.  I used to say that's why God gave him those adorable dimples. The colic lasted until…eh…let’s just say a really long time.  That entire first year is a blur. Grant is fiery and loving at the same time. He is intense. Passionate. In his early years, it seemed that the saying “Hell hath no fury like Grant scorned” might be appropriate. Generous was not a word I would have used to describe Grant. It was brutal. And exhausting. I blamed my husband, because everyone said our boy was ornery just like his daddy was “back in the day.” The honest truth? He’s also a lot like me. Do you remember that part in "Father of the Bride" where Steve Martin (George) is talking to his future son-in-law (Bryan), played by George Newbern, about the long line of passionate people? That's us.

 

George: You know, Bryan, Annie's a very passionate person. And passionate people tend to overreact at times. Annie comes from a long line of major overreactors. Me. I can definitely lose it. My mother. A nut. My grandfather. Stories about him were legendary. The good news, however, is that this overreacting... tends to get proportionately less by generation. So, your kids could be normal.

George: [voice-over] As if that wasn't enough, I went on.

George: But on the upside, with this passion... comes great spirit and individuality... which is probably one of the reasons you love Annie.

Bryan: That's what I love most about her.

 

Matt would often ask me, “What are we going to do with him? Should we do something different?” I was the one with the degree in early childhood education and a master’s degree in curriculum and instruction. I took countless hours of human learning. I knew more than most humans would ever need to know about how the brain of a child “works,” yet somehow it wasn’t working. Until it did.

The only tidbit of knowledge I could share with my husband about raising a strong-willed child that wasn’t already in our arsenal was REPETITION. Repetition, repetition, repetition. Be consistent. Logical consequences again and again and again. My professors had drilled it into my head, but in the daily grind I was starting to doubt the wisdom of their advice. Our boy is hard-headed. Driven. Determined. Positive characteristics when steered in the right direction. He might have been frustrating and defiant, but guess what? He was listening. 

He is now seven, and has become more adept at handling anger when it does arise (which is MUCH less often). He is kind and caring, and impresses us daily in the ways he is growing and maturing. We still have days when I want to scream and stomp and pull my hair out (I only follow through with those actions about half of the time. I, too, am a work in progress.), but I am genuinely proud of the way our young man is growing in his ability to channel his emotions. We don't just want him to experience everything we want for him. More than anything, we want everything that God wants for and from him. .

Mission Accomplished!

In those early years and today, when we prayed with him at night, I thanked Jesus for the precious gift of my son.  Together, we thanked God for our nice, warm house, and food on our table.  We asked God to be with those who did not have food or a bed.  We prayed for God to show us ways we could help. We prayed for Rudy and Estephany, the children we sponsor through Compassion International. Per Grant's request, we prayed for all of the endangered animals. We prayed for those we knew were hurting, and counted our blessings. EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. It occurred to me today that we have prayed those prayers with our children THOUSANDS of times now in their short lives. Ten years of praying with Anna. Seven years of praying with Grant. Ironically, while we were using repetition to shape his behavior, we were unknowingly using it to shape his conscience. Repetition. It’s a beautiful thing.

We have also cried out to God in desperation in our private parenting prayers. He listened. He is always listening. He answers, though it is on His timetable, not ours. He never falls asleep on the job, and He is working for us 24/7. For any parents who are struggling today, please take comfort in knowing that your babies are also listening. You are not alone. Take joy in the small victories along the way. My children are seven and ten. Many of our greatest parenting challenges are yet to come. Today, however, I’m taking joy in this small triumph. This gift. Time to gather up some blankets…

"Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up." Deuteronomy 11:19