Parenting pride, frustrations, and just (?) causes for temper flares

I'm so proud that my children are likeable.  Unless people are routinely lying to my face, the general consensus seems to be that all three Carlton nuggets are smart, cute, kind, well-mannered, attentive, and fun.  They seem to make friends easily, charm adults, and take super amazing pictures (evidence <--).

So why is it that I so often find myself infuriated by these tiny, amazing, human beings?

Why do I get so quickly irritated with them?  How many "last nerves" have they proverbially trampled to render me so easily frustrated?

Total transparency: bedtime is my least favorite time of the day, followed closely by time to leave for school and mealtimes that involve anything other than cereal, mac n cheese, hotdogs, or spaghetti.  My oldest moves only at "Carlton" speed (Tara's little inside joke, maybe a subtle dig at yours truly's laid-back nature, not sure if I should be offended, probably irrelevant if you're still reading this parenthetical).  My middle child moves only at lightning speed, with thunderous volume and passionate intensity, but also with a squirrel-like attention span.  My 5-month-old is super pleasant and smiley and chatty... until it's time to sleep, and then she only wants to complain and be held, NOT be put down.

Why is it that, with any one of these three cherubs, my warm adoration can shrivel into cold irritability?  Is it that my expectations haven't been met?  Is it that my authority has been challenged, or simply ignored?  Is it that I myself am constantly struggling not to be late and am frustrated with my own inability to be more effective with my time?  Is it that I crave uninterrupted time with Tara and have a hard time surrendering my wants to disruptions?

Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

My point in sharing this is not to rant or complain.  I'm not typing in a furious type of catharsis.  I actually don't want to write on this topic because it reveals far more about my heart than I'm honestly comfortable sharing.

The resounding theme: I want.  James wisely pointed out that our desires are at the heart of all our conflicts (Jas 4.1).  I want.  I want to be respected.  I want my kids to say, "Yes, Papa!"  I want them to stop what they're doing and answer when they hear my voice calling their names.  I want them to respect my wishes and instructions -- even when I'm not watching.  I want them to behave a certain way.  I want their reputations to shine (which really means I want to be known as a great parent who has clearly done everything right).  When I sit down to do some reading, to watch a movie with Tara, or try for the 36th time to finish a blog post and the interruptions begin... suddenly the children I love and adore become obstacles to what I really want.

These wants are all just symptoms of one singular, unhealthy craving in my heart for rule and dominion.  It's the sinful core of my problem.  My pride and self-interest tell me that I deserve to be treated in a certain way, and that if I am not receiving recognition or my expectations are not being met, then I have every right to be grouchy.  Tim Keller used to call pride "cosmic plagiarism."  Being proud invariably means I am taking credit for something that rightly belongs only to the Maker, the Ruler, the King and Lord over all.  All of my self-promotion and authority grabbing is just usurpation, insurrection, and failed coup de tat -- ultimately foolish, given the supremacy and of the one who is truly worthy of acclaim and adoration.

Me demanding my kids' respect is a little bit like a mote of dust drifting across the sun and being surprised it didn't generate a solar eclipse.

Me expecting uninterrupted time all to myself is a fatally flawed assumption that I deserve anything at all.

Maybe it's not wrong in itself to want respect or intentionally set aside time for your own purposes.  But when those good things become ultimate things, the ugliness of our hearts is exposed.  As parents, we must beware our tendencies or run the risk of seeing them rudely mirrored in little faces and voices.  I don't think of myself as being a particularly demanding person, but -- just like everyone else -- when what I really want is denied or delayed, all of sudden my heart begins clamoring for fulfillment.  Unchecked, that inevitably comes out in my attitude and language.  If I find myself sensitive to the demanding natures of my kids, chances are it's because I recognize the sound of entitlement all too well.

Seeing these things in myself, I am trying to practice three things with my children.  I am terrible at all of them.

(1) I am trying to create intentional time with them.  Psalm 90.12 reminds us to seek the Lord's eternal perspective, learning to "number our days" by His kind instruction, so that we may gain a "heart of wisdom."  Time in general is fleeting, and time with young children is even more so.  I distinctly remember thinking, when Zeke was approaching his first birthday, that we still had four more long years of him at home until we had to start figuring out the school thing.  Well, it's 2024, and he's halfway through his kindergarten year.

Intentionally choosing time with my kids doesn't guarantee they won't still demand more of it or automatically honor my schedule, but it does check some important boxes for my heart.

• It forces me to remember that "my" time is not really mine anyway.  I am merely a steward of the minutes and hours God has kindly chosen to allot for me.  If I can surrender the audacious concept of "me time," I can be much more free in giving time away.
  
• It softens my heart toward my children.  In fact, the more time I choose to give them (before they even ask for it) makes me less inclined to be irritated with them when they demand more.
  
• It provides me with some of the most important life-on-life, teachable moments.  I can lecture my kids in passing, on my way to do whatever seemingly more important thing I need to do... or I can choose to be fully present with them, modeling behaviors and language that I want them to emulate, and just enjoying the little people that God has given me to love.
  
• It helps me learn about my kids and understand them as unique image-bearers.  Lingering is a learned skill in western culture.  How can I appreciate the God-given personalities each of my children possess if I don't linger long enough to appreciate them?
  
• It causes me to be cognizant of what being "fully present" with them actually means.  If I say I'm going to play with them and then spend half of that time on my phone, they will quickly let me know that they're "waiting for me."  Intentional time is different than halfhearted time.
  

(2) I am trying to be clear and firm in my instructions.  As intelligent as my children are, I can't really be upset with them if I've done a bad job communicating.  I can't assume they should just know intuitively what I expect of them, or go nonverbal when I'm frustrated (which I have a tendency to do).  If I'm hoping they will read my mind or pick up on my body language, I'm setting all of us up for failure.  "Clear and firm" doesn't imply domineering, condescending tones, nor does it excuse threatening language.  I simply want to do better at patiently and directly communicating to my children God's priorities, Mama and Papa's rules, age-appropriate responsibilities, and the privileges we want to enjoy as a family.

Some might argue we're just setting the bar too high and bringing frustration upon ourselves.  To the contrary, we've learned that giving small humans lanes in which to run helps them to learn and flourish.  It would not be loving them well to tell them the world is their oyster and boundaries don't matter.  By contrast, clear and firm instruction -- given humbly and compassionately -- creates a safe environment with no hidden expectations and standards that keep children AND parents accountable to one another.

(3) I am trying to be gracious and humble in both granting and asking forgiveness.  I can't hold grudges against my children and still believe the best of them.  Even where there are patterns of sin and disobedience, I can't just expect them to fail, and then let them know that I knew they were going to fail when they do.  Granting forgiveness even to repeat-offender children truly means giving them a blank slate, partnered with the proactive and instructive wisdom of gently helping them learn where their potential pitfalls will be in the future.  On the flip-side, if I'm not willing to ask forgiveness of my kids (or my wife) when I myself screw up, I have no right to counsel them to do the same with one another, or to demonstrate remorse when I am correcting them.  Can I demand repentance of them when they break the rules if I don't show them how to do it by my own example?  And, frankly, if I can't choose to overlook some wrongdoings on my children's part and give second and third chances to get it right, have I myself really understood the unfathomable grace of Jesus Christ?  Showing and seeking grace are practices that help keep me soft in the face of disobedience and defiance.

To be completely honest, I don't know if these three things are making much difference in me at present.  But they are long-term areas of focus that, Lord willing, will bear mature fruit in me and in my children as we continue to grow and change.

To be clear on my title for this post, I don't have any just cause for being quick to anger.  The Scripture clearly counsels me against that (Jas 1.19), even when it feels natural and proportionate.  My wrath does not bring about God's justice on my behalf, make my children behave any better, or impute to them any righteousness before God.  Pride and frustration do make for effective but dangerous kindling, however.  The faster I root them out and expose them for what they are, the more effective the cleansing waters of the Spirit's sanctification in dousing sin's potential conflagrations.

Besides, time's too short to stay angry with those nuggets.  I know... they ARE pretty darn cute.

State of the Union... (Or a series of overdue updates)

Hi, there!  In case we haven't been previously acquainted, my name is Justin and I am a sometimes writer whose creative juices ebb and flow, sometimes to the point where a certain blog languishes for more than two years without any updates.  Major life events worth writing about sail by... and no posts.  Suffice it to say that, for the last 24 months, life has been very full, and while I've had time now and again to sit down and do some intentional reflecting, my energy expenditures and resting rhythms are just different now than they were when I began Häxprocess back in 2011.  Hopefully that's more reason than excuse, but either way I've lapsed and I'd like to get back to sharing more regular updates and ponderings.

If you're still here reading this, then you must be interested!  I'll start with the most recent talking points and work backward.

The insight of skinned knees

At the time I started writing this post, my seven-month-old son was crying on the floor.  He is so very, very close to being able to roll over by himself.  If he's on his back, he can -- with some coaxing -- successfully get to his belly.  Going the other way is another matter.  He just can't yet manage that final push.  To be fair, we live in an old house with lots of uneven flooring, so some of his attempts at rolling over are literally uphill.  Which is completely unfair.  As is, I suppose, using your son's disadvantages as the impetus for a blog post.  But he's the son of a pastor/writer, so that's just part of the contract.

Through this new lens of fatherhood, I am gaining unique insights into God's love for me that I naively thought I understood all along.  For instance, in the midst of my undergrad, I wrote the following lyric for one of my band's songs:

Failures are the lasting lessons
I’ve got so much left to learn
I’ll crawl so I can walk, skin my knees and my pride
But never forget to smile
Chewing on the trials

The imagery I was after (nearly 10 years ago now) was exactly the phase of life my son is currently entering: the emerging independence of a human personality that is at once so confident and so determined, and yet so very incapable.  Zeke, like all human beings, must learn by bumping his head, by taking those intrepid first steps and falling down.  We learn by struggling.  The progression from a diet of milk to one of solid food is necessarily gradual.

Watching it literally happen in front of me, I now have a much better context for understanding the care and perseverance of our Heavenly Father.  God labors to teach us the way I labor to teach my son: He could very well step in and fix everything for us, yet He lovingly allows us the opportunity to struggle, to learn, and to worship Him all the more for it.  Sometimes, Zeke needs me to step in and give him a push.  Other times, it's better for me to wait, so he can push himself just a little harder.  He doesn't always appreciate it when I opt for the latter.

But then again, neither do I when God does the same thing to me.

In the midst of each spiritual battle and God-ordained challenge, Christians face a choice: either embrace the opportunity the adversity represents in order to trust God more and grow in our faith, or instead adopt a shortsighted, embittered preoccupation with trying to eliminate as much difficulty in our lives as possible, complaining all the while.  The sad thing is that, when we take the latter course of action, we miss the opportunity for true joy.

In our Wikipedia/YouTube culture -- where answers and solutions should never be more than one click away -- endurance is a concept that needs revisiting.  Even for Christians, it's easy to become discouraged when facing the same sin struggle day after day, or having to forgive someone for the 489th time.  We might be tempted to want the same type of immediate gratification our world craves.  It is an immaturity -- not unlike my son whining with one arm tucked helplessly under his side -- that demands immediate solutions.  On the other hand, it is absolutely NOT immaturity for us to cry out to the Father for help, provided we begin learning to ask the right things from the right heart attitude.

The Apostle Paul penned some pretty famous words in his epistle to the Philippians, words that are often stripped of their rich meaning.  Speaking of his own challenges with regard to sharing the gospel, he wrote, "I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound.  In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.  I can do all things through him who strengthens me." (Phil 4.12-13)  And that, Paul says, is connected to the ability to know true joy -- to endure hardship and be closer to God for the struggle.  The ability to "do all things" is not some promise of superpowers.  The power that Paul speaks of is the power that God abundantly supplies in the gospel of Jesus Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit.  It is a power that, ironically, requires us to be dependent upon God.  It is a power that is only accessible via weakness.

The "secret" of facing plenty, hunger, abundance, and need is through HIM.

That's why our skinned knees are so valuable.  They shouldn't just teach us practical lessons about how to do it better next time.  They should teach us to lean into a source of power that is beyond our limited abilities -- one that is best expressed in our weakness.  If we are willing to focus on the One who never fails, who never changes, and who never requires us to do anything He won't lead us through, suddenly our spiritual growth is not an insurmountable mountain or a life of isolation and drudgery.  It is a walk with God.

I love to walk with Zeke -- for the time being, with him in my arms, or in the stroller, or strapped to my chest.  Sometimes with him upside-down over my shoulder.  The type of delight I feel when he smiles or learns something new is a taste of the type of delight our Heavenly Father takes in my daily dependence on Him.  And the reality is that, once Zeke masters this whole rolling over thing, there will be another challenge for him to face.  And another one.  Likewise, our spiritual growth isn't about one day or even one year.  It is a lifelong process.  My hope for Zeke is that, as he matures, he learns not to whine or complain, but to ask for help, and to trust in the wisdom and care his Mama and I can provide.  An even greater thing is true of each Christian's walk with God, because God is not only worthy of our trust, He is worthy of our worship.  The adoration we must give Him is not because He craves it or is incomplete without us: we give it because no other is worthy of receiving it.

We would therefore do well to stop relying on ourselves, cease our complaining spirits, and instead cry out to God daily for help with every challenge we face.   Spiritual maturity is not (contrary to popular opinion) independence and theological intellect, but rather learning to more fully depend on the transforming grace that God abundantly supplies.

The Ministry of Parenthood

Ever since Tara and I started down the journey of parenthood, I've been especially moved by passages such as Psalm 78 that emphasize externalizing our faith by passing it on to the next generation.  As I study the Scriptures, I am convinced that a faith that is real is a self-replicating faith.  As a youth pastor, seeking to instill faith in others is something I've been seeking to do for a number of years with teenage students who aren't really my children.  However, with the advent of parenthood and the arrival of my son, Zeke, this purpose has gained an entirely new dimension.

Asaph writes the following purpose statement into his epic history of the Israelite nation in the wilderness in Psalm 78.5-8:

[Yawhweh] established a testimony in Jacob
    and appointed a law in Israel,
which he commanded our fathers
    to teach to their children,
that the next generation might know them,
    the children yet unborn,
and arise and tell them to their children,
    so that they should set their hope in God
and not forget the works of God,
    but keep his commandments;
and that they should not be like their fathers,
    a stubborn and rebellious generation,
a generation whose heart was not steadfast,
    whose spirit was not faithful to God.

There are three goals here for the next generation -- that they should "set their hope in God," that they would "keep his commandments," and, by contrast to their forefathers, that they would have a "steadfast heart" with spirits "faithful to God."

It's not exactly formulaic to teach someone to "set their hope in God."  No simple three-step solution.  Each of us can probably think of individuals for whom we've been praying for years to receive the gospel, but no matter how often or how patiently we labor to make Jesus' love known to them, the adage about leading horses to water remains true.  The best way to inspire hope, therefore, is to be hopeful yourself.  Ultimately, change of heart is the work of the Holy Spirit, and so my goal as a parent can't be to change my children, but to lead my children by setting the example of clinging to Jesus with all my might.  Paul repeatedly said to the Corinthians, "Be imitators of me, as I imitate Christ" (1 Cor 4.16; 11.1).  That's how we inspire our children to "set their hope in God."

While parenting is so much more than just teaching your kids to keep rules, it certainly is not less than that.  Asaph's second purpose in Psalm 78 is that the upcoming generation might "not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments."  Even if we fancy ourselves progressive parents who lead more by positive than negative reinforcement, at some point we need to emphasize and enforce the importance of obeying God's Word.  I'd argue that requires a strongly corrective element, because the Bible repeatedly states that the use of physical discipline in a young man's life brings correction and life, and is intrinsically connected to spiritual upbringing (Prov 13.24; 19.18; 22.15; 23.13-14; 29.15; Eph 6.4).  I notice also that the "rod and staff" of the Lord -- the painful instruments of shepherd's instruments of herding, correcting, and steering away from death -- should be regarded as a comfort to the Christian's soul (Psa 23.4).  While it is certainly the prerogative of parents to make their own rules, the rules we primarily seek to enforce should be biblically based -- God's rules, not just ours.  I always tell my teens that the arbitrary rules parents set may often seem unfair, but are not always unreasonable, and must still be honored.  More important, however, are the truly biblical rules that Scripture commands, such as loving one another well, speaking kindly, practicing forgiveness, and being obedient from the heart to parents and authorities.  Those are biblical "rules," and parents do well to enforce those kinds of standards in their children's lives.  We are after training our kids to learn to "keep his commandments" from the heart, not just because we say so.

Lastly, there is a great call for parents to raise children who possess steadfast and faithful hearts.  The contrast for Asaph in Psalm 78 is the first generation of Israelites coming out of Egypt, who moaned and complained in the desert, despite God's incredible faithfulness and generous provision.  Kids are expert complainers, but they often learn from the best: mom and dad, who have expectations of one another, of the neighbors, of the government, of the township, etc that are not always met.  Our goal as parents must be to inspire in our children gratitude and reliance upon God, the type of dependant faithfulness that always regards God as our gracious provider, despite what we might see in our present circumstances.

If you like me are still keeping track of your child's age in months rather than years, you know that you aren't really at the point yet that you can begin to have these types of conversations with your child.  It's such a beautiful time for parents to simply show unconditional love to a young life, where the only thing he or she can express is dependence.  But just because we're not necessarily able to teach verbally, we do have the ability to begin creating an atmosphere in our home that will facilitate later on the things that we intend to teach our children.  Often, parents struggle to instill biblical values in their children because those kids grew up in an environment where the message didn't match the atmosphere.  Even infants can sense tone, emotion, safety, and discomfort.

Imagine you have the good goal of teaching your kid these three purposes from Psalm 78, but he or she grows up in a house where the most common sounds are the TV and the nitpicking, the sometimes harsh tones of parents directed at one another (or at the dog).  The atmosphere the child begins to grow up in is one of disconnectedness, frustration, and obligatory caregiving.  What kinds of examples are being laid?  Mom and Dad communicate by trying to one-up the other in how difficult their day was?  Mom is the anxious type who worries about everything and irritates Dad, who is far too laid-back to be concerned about anything?  

Maybe I didn't cover your area of weakness in those hypotheticals, but the point is this: in order for us to be good parents and achieve the objectives of Psalm 78, then we must be disciples of Jesus ourselves.  Each of us must love, serve, and respect his or her spouse, be stewards of what God has given, demonstrate grace and compassion in the way we speak to and of others inside our home, and be personally disciplined in the ways we pray, study the Word, and put Scripture into practice in our everyday lives.

It's a tall order.  But it's what is implied in Psalm 78 and Moses' plea in Deuteronomy to the new generation of Israelites on the plains of Moab.  Instructing the next generation in the ways of the Lord cannot be done without firsthand belief and experience.  We must be willing to do the hard work ourselves if we have any realistic expectations of our children doing the same.

Ezekiel Joseph Carlton

I go through so many ups and downs when it comes to keeping a regular writing schedule.  Deadlines were my friend in college -- not because they would motivate me to work harder and sooner, but because I was a good enough student that I couldn't miss one.  I called myself a "pressure writer," because although I would start a paper as soon as it was assigned, and maybe touch on it here and there as the semester went on, I would -- in true procrastinator form -- invest heavily in the final days before the deadline to get the thing written.

"Because," I'd say, "that's when I do my best writing."

Truth or justification, I ended up graduating Magna Cum Laude with my bachelor's degree in 2012, but I've never fully gotten past that whole procrastination thing.

That's why, when my son missed his due date, I simply said that he, like all good Carlton men, was just taking his good old time.

Tara carried to her 41st week, a full seven days beyond our June 8th due date, and was induced on the 14th due to some sudden high blood pressure.  Our son was born on Friday, June 15th at 11:07 in the morning.  Ezekiel Joseph ("Zeke") came into the world crying, with good color, weighing 8 lbs, 1 oz, and stretching to 20.5 inches in length.  After two recovery days in the hospital, we were able to take him home on Father's Day, Mama and baby boy both healthy and feeling great.  Zeke regained (and surpassed) his birth weight by his 10-day checkup, is rapidly becoming a pro at sleeping most of the night, and is what I can only describe as the most chill baby I've ever met.  He prefers to sleep in the powerlifting stance, remains unperturbed by Kaylee's incessant barking at the neighbors, and -- unlike his father -- is incredibly punctual about his eating schedule.  He'll be three weeks old tomorrow, is already showing signs of smiling and laughing, and I'm trying really, really hard not to be THAT first-time social media dad.  Never in my life have I been so quick to pull out my phone to take pictures (#whatishappeningtome?).

I've been asked about the name choice, which we somehow managed to keep a secret from everyone until Zeke was born (though many tried to bully or trick us into revealing ahead of time).  Ezekiel means "God will strengthen."  Our son's biblical namesake is also called the Watchman of Israel, and while many of his Spirit-inspired words contain harsh, ugly truth, his message of judgment is tempered by the tenderness of God's unfathomable love for his people.  We pray that Zeke too will be a truth-teller, a man who won't refuse the messages, instructions, and tasks God sovereignly places on His life.

Joseph means "God will increase."  In the Bible, Joseph is a man who experienced intense betrayal at the hands of his family, but also knew the steadfast love of the Lord, who intended good even in the evil Joseph experienced.  Tara and I desire for our Ezekiel Joseph to know firsthand God's steadfast love and kindness, and to respond to every circumstance of his life with the knowledge that God is faithful, and has his best interests at heart.

In other words, his names are lessons and reminders.

God will strengthen you, Zeke.  Remember that.  Contrary to popular belief, He WILL give you more than you can handle -- so that you can learn to trust His strength above your own.  The Scriptures resound with God's good, invigorating promises to His children.  His Word and power do not fail.

Remember: God will only increase His goodness to you, Zeke.  Again, contrary to popular belief, that won't mean you'll experience the rags-to-riches-American-dream kind of increase, or that you will live your "best life" now.  But it will mean that God will give you more of Himself, lavishing grace upon grace on your life, and will continually prove Himself to be faithful.

Tara and I waited on the Lord for our first child, and in His good timing, He granted our request.  We are so blessed to be parents that we can't stop thanking Him for the gift of little Zeke.  To all those who were praying along with us, THANK YOU as well -- your prayers have been effective, and we've undeniably felt them at work.

Suffice it to say that God has both strengthened us and increased His goodness in our lives.

While procrastinating to write for a blog or to sketch out the next chapter in a novel is one thing, procrastinating to begin teaching my son is something else entirely.  There truly is no time like the present.  Lord willing, I'll start kicking my deadline habit once and for all -- if only to invest in my boy today.  And tomorrow.  And every day thereafter.