Buying Groceries and Natural Consequences

During our first year of marriage, Chris and I loved to go to the store together.  We would find new recipes to try and then go buy the ingredients.  We walked down the aisles together with hardly a care in the world (my memory might be making these trips more magical than they were).  We made our own pretzels and mozzarella sticks, we baked meatloaf and ranch chicken, we figured out which foods we both liked.  Then we started having babies.  I remember the first trip to the store after James and I came home from the hospital.  It took two days to get ready, I kid you not.  Because I was recovering from a C-section, Chris had to do the driving, and we spent the whole morning trying to get ready, nursing the baby, taking showers, nursing the baby, packing the diaper bag, nursing the baby, changing his diaper, nursing the baby, and boom, it was time for Chris to leave for work.  We managed to get there the next day, but I found walking around the store was like torture on my post-surgical body.  The baby and I were both ready to cry by the time we got everything we needed.  And that pretty much sums up our experience shopping as a family ever since.

So done

Sometimes we discover tricks to keep the kids happy while we shop, like the purchase of a $1 balloon at the entrance or a cookie when we pass the bakery.  But in general, the boys don't want to be there, and I get grouchy before we make it to the dairy aisle.  Promising a treat at the end of the trip, whether candy doled out in the car, an ice cream cone on the way home, or a trip to the park after, has been working for a while.  Yesterday, we headed out, all five of us, to load up on food for the coming week.  Despite our promise of Chipotle for dinner for the kids who were good listeners and well-behaved in the store, once we were inside, the younger two started bickering.  The whining and fussing was driving me crazy, as were the other adults walking past us and "hiding" their laughter as we asked the boys to stop fighting, to use big boy voices, to just be quiet.  When we reached the checkout, I swear steam was coming out of Chris' ears.

Then we got the question from the boys: "Are we going to Chipotle now?"  NO YOU ARE NOT.  Winston started to cry, Michael looked confused.  WE ARE MISERABLE FROM HAVING SPENT THE LAST 30 MINUTES WITH YOU.  "Why did I fight with my brother?" they cried.  "We don't get a treat!"  GOOD, we said.  REMEMBER THIS FEELING THE NEXT TIME WE GO TO THE STORE.  I was doing a little dance because that is what the experts call "natural consequences" and they are always saying that children learn best that way.  But part of me was also sad.  My tummy was growling and I was looking forward to a Chipotle dinner.  My kids were crying and a little voice whispered that I was being mean and depriving them.  I was glad for Chris, for my partner in raising these little people who helps me stay committed to the right thing even when it isn't the fun thing.

I think we can agree here: it's hard to watch your kids suffer.  Even when it is completely their fault.  Even when they know better.  Even when you gave them warnings and guidelines and were as clear as you possibly could be.  Even when they turned away from you and made bad choices.

Before I went to bed last night, I pulled out my Bible to continue reading the book of Isaiah in the Old Testament.  It was my plan this summer to read through all of Isaiah, but I've only read the first few chapters. (No spoilers!) Anyway, Isaiah begins with a prophecy of destruction for God's people.  This is the Old Testament, wrathful God that makes me uncomfortable.  The description of what is coming is not good, lots of gross, over the top violence and evil unleashed.  In the past, I have found it hard to reconcile this God with the loving Father God of the New Testament, the God who offers grace and mercy freely, the God who heals lepers and feeds the hungry and welcomes men, women, and children into his embrace.  This summer, I'm beginning to see the piece that I was missing, the part that connects OT God to NT God.  God created us in his image and he gave us the law to show us how to live, to control the spread of disease, to cherish life, to worship the one who made us.  Isaiah is very clear.  God's people have rejected his law, they have ignored his commands.  Like any concerned parent, God must give consequences.  It seems extreme to read, but my sons felt like missing out on Chipotle was pretty extreme.  It's human nature to think, Why can't I just keep doing what I want to do without having to suffer for it?

Everyone deserves a treat

But it doesn't end there, not for God, and not for me.  Because it hurts to see our kids hurt.  So there is this, in Isaiah 9: "Nevertheless, that time of darkness and despair will not go on forever...The people who live in darkness will see a great light.  For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine."  No dark night, no punishment, no necessary destruction lasts forever.  With God, there is always sun in the morning, freedom for captives, a time to rebuild.  God's mercy is new every morning, or so Lamentations tells us.  There's another trip to the store next weekend, another chance to get Chipotle, a light in the darkness.  But my stubborn children (and my stubborn self) need those consequences, we need that pain to point us back to the light.  It's a lesson worth remembering that a charmed life served on a silver platter is not the way to bring peace or develop wisdom.  But leaning in to difficult moments and painful consequences can teach us to do better.

Love Dare (part 1?)

I've mentioned before how much I love Family Village.  How the last year of meeting bi-weekly has given Chris and I so many opportunities to talk and learn and introduce new ideas to our marriage and our family.  Mandy has set an amazing example for me about how to mother my children: she is so engaged and energetic with her kids, and somehow manages to cook dinners and can vegetables and write beautiful blog posts as well.  One of the first lessons (I guess that's what I should call them?) Village had was centered around teaching our kids to pray.  They gave us about 12 different ideas to engage the kids in a fun way to learn how to verbally express our thanks and petitions, our adoration and confession.  We were the only family whose kids were unable to answer the very simple question "How old are you?" despite the fact that there were children present who were younger who still responded, so I didn't know how much they would understand about prayer.  But we used the ideas provided, tweaked them a little to fit our family, and off we went (I also worked for a few weeks to teach the boys how old they were, and I'm happy to say they now know the answer to that question!).  And wonder of wonders, my boys can pray.  This past Easter Sunday they both asked to take a turn praying before our meal, and I loved hearing their little voices and the things they are thankful for (Mommy and Daddy, and playing outside, in case you were wondering!).

So when our leaders announced we were going to do The Love Dare (a 40 day challenge to be kinder to your spouse from the movie Fireproof), I was ready to go.  YES!  My marriage is about to get a little more awesome, and although I have wanted to do this since I saw the movie years ago, I've never actually gotten around to it.  Now I have a whole village of people to keep me motivated and hold me accountable to do it!  We got the book, flipped open to the first Dare, and I frowned.  Day 1...was it something simple and pleasant to get my feet wet?  NO.  Day 1: Love is patient.  Be patient with your spouse all day.  Only say kind things.  If you want to say something negative, say nothing.  As much as my husband tells me I'm a good wife, as much as I think of myself this way, the truth is that I can have a sharp tongue.  I don't nag or belittle him, but I am sarcastic (its my superpower, sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse) and sometimes I say things that are very hurtful without even realizing until its too late.  I just did it a few weeks ago, in a very memorable way.  So needless to say, this Love Dare has been a challenge from the beginning.  Even the day that dared to buy something for my spouse, and I decided I would get up with the kids and buy donuts for breakfast...my husband could sleep in and then wake up to one of his favorite treats...I got up, dressed the boys, and then stared at the door for a good 5 minutes just willing myself to get out.  I didn't want to do it!  Even though it meant a 3 minute car ride, a $4 purchase, and a donut for myself.

What I've realized in just the last 10 days is that I'm selfish.  Not in a noticeable, over-the-top way, but in an intimate, we-sleep-in-the-same-bed-and-you-stay-in-it-much-longer-than-I-do kind of way.  Its a selfishness that, when confronted, says "How dare you not like something about the way that I am!"  Its hard to let go.  But this Love Dare, and my awesome Village Sisters, make me want to peel it off and toss it in the trash (and then tie up the bag and carry it outside myself, because I'm being selfless!).

Another thing I've realized is that the Love Dare is not a sustainable template for marriage.  Its a 40 day kick in the pants to make me see myself clearly, and see my husband clearly, and give some intentional "for better" experiences.  Because we don't vow to stay married as long as everyone is healthy and doing nice things for each other.  We promise "in sickness and in health", "for richer or for poorer".  We have to promise both, because we don't get to choose which way our lives go.  I am (thank you Lord) healthy today, but a year and a half ago I took one wrong step and twisted my ankle.  I had to use crutches for weeks, went to physical therapy, missed trick-or-treat with my family.  I didn't plan on all that suckiness to happen, but it did, and Chris took care of me.  He took on double duty parenting, cleaning, cooking, and still made it to his job every day.  I don't know when some external factor like the death of a loved one or the divorce of parents is going to wreak havoc on our lives, and turn me into an emotional mess of a human being.  But I know that Chris will be there, holding me, comforting me, and we will cling to each other because some days that is the only thing that seems permanent and trust-worthy. 

So there are 30 days left.  Some daunting challenges (give in on a disagreement? we are not friends Day 12) and some that seem easy (read my Bible? don't mind if I do Day 21) lie ahead.  I can do this, because my marriage is worth it!

On Arguing

I sat in a chair, facing a circle of attentive faces.  I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and looked up to the ceiling, hoping to be rescued by wind, fire, Jesus himself descending on a cloud.  No such luck, just a plain old ceiling.  I looked back at the group, found my fearless leader smiling encouragingly back at me, said, "I really don't want to do this," heaved a sigh, and began.  I had been asked to share my story with the group.  To go back and tell how I came to be the person I am today, and maybe mention the people who helped me along the way.  I had something to say, but I really didn't want to do it.  See, I like and respect all these people who were listening, and I want them to like and respect me, too.  But if I talk about me (then), they are sure to think otherwise.  Because this is who I used to be:  argumentative.  I fought with my sister, I argued with my mom, typical teenage stuff.  But then I went to church and argued with my Sunday school teachers, and I went to school and argued with my classmates, and around and around again until I got others to AGREE to my (correct) point of view.  When I was 18, I went off to college and lived with 3 girls from different backgrounds and 3 entirely distinct personalities, and I fought with them.  On cold, snowy winter days, the only escape was to the dorm's computer lab, but we easily found each other through IM and the arguing started all over again.  The fighting got so bad in December that one of them threatened to kill me in my sleep, and I took her seriously.  Luckily my parents were able to come pick me up and I spent the night in the safety of my bed at home, while my roommate and her boyfriend came in to our dorm in the middle of the night looking for me.  She moved out the next week.

The arguments continued.  One day, more out of irritation than anything else, I decided to tell Jenni that she was only pretending to be a Christian.  When she went out drinking with the frat boys, it nullified her relationship with God.  I expected her to get defensive so I could wear her down and get her to admit I was right.  Instead, she turned the tables on me, pointing out that I was no better than anyone else, just because I didn't drink or swear, I would lie or gossip, say anything I wanted because I thought I wasn't going to get caught.  That was the end of our fight, because I had nothing to say to defend myself.  She was right.  This person whom I had been condemning just a moment ago was doing the exact same thing to me, and I didn't want to admit that I was busted.  I don't really remember any big fights after that; I think I was thoroughly embarrassed at being called out and didn't want to risk any more light being shed on my inadequacies.  By that summer, however, Chris and I had been dating long enough for me to get past the mushy, "I'm so into you" phase, and start to contemplate the "This might really be something" phase.  If that was the case, if I was going to start investing myself in our relationship, we needed to straighten some things out.  Immediately.  So I began arguing with him.  Sometimes it was just the petty jealousies that arise from a long-distance relationship, but many times our fights centered around our opposing, deeply entrenched beliefs.  We argued about US foreign policy, smoking, immigration, our friends, our independence.  I used everything in my arsenal to get him to agree with me.  I would hang up mid-sentence and refuse to talk to him until he ceded my point.  I would rant for HOURS to make him see the folly of his beliefs.  I fought dirty.  I thought I wanted victory, but when I got it (at what cost?), it didn't make me happy.

I learned something very important.  I learned that its okay to disagree.  I learned to have confidence in myself, in my convictions, and to realize that someone else's refusal to acknowledge me didn't take those away.  I also learned patience.  Because sometimes we will agree, eventually.  And when the other person gets there on his own, when he makes the choice for himself, I don't win...but I get harmony.  I realized (eventually) that peace was the thing I wanted the most.  I didn't want to fight anymore.  Recently, I came across these words by CS Lewis, and I think they so eloquently sum up my change of heart:
  "A discussion of real interest may follow.  Of course, the right side may be defeated in it.  That matters very much less than I used to think.  The very man who has argued you down will sometimes be found, years later, to have been influenced by what you said."
This is where I find happiness in my marriage today, in the aftermath of influence, instead of coerced agreement.  Moreover, I have even (once or twice) found myself to be in the wrong.  Giving up the argument in favor of contemplation has shown me the errors in my own thinking.  And Jenni?  The girl I called a slut and a drunk and an all-around bad person?  I saw her on her birthday this year, and marveled at how similar our lives have become, though we've been apart for so long.  I apologized for the things that I said, the way that I treated her so many years ago.  I told her what I said to my Village, that she busted me for all the evil in my life I was trying to pretend wasn't there.  And then she thanked me in return.  She said I made her think about the person she was becoming, and how saying a prayer and then living however she wanted wasn't actually what God wanted for her life.  And once again, I felt peace.