Prayers for our Children

Every night, I try to pray over my babies as I put them to sleep. When I do so, I find myself going through a list of wish-fulfillment. I mean, who doesn’t want good things for their children? Sometimes, I find that my prayers seem to be a way to try and manipulate and control God. Other times, it is out of genuine belief.

Here is what I try to pray for my kids (obviously not all-inclusive) and the thoughts that go through my head while praying:

1) That they would be healthy and live long, meaningful lives. Not really sure what that means or looks like, but I’ll know it when I see it.

2) That they would be spared suffering. But then I think that a life without suffering tends not to produce people of character, hope, or perseverance. So then, I think, perhaps just enough suffering. Not too much that it breaks my children, but not too little that it breaks them a different way.

3) Crap. Perhaps I should just pray for resilience. That they can bounce back from things. But then, I don’t want them to be too self-reliant and not ever learn to trust in God. Or be too glib.

4) I want my kids to be smart and work hard. To know that just because you’re smart and things come easily doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have to work hard and settle for just getting by. (That would be my entire academic career. Oh, let’s call a spade a spade. My entire CAREER, too.)

5) I pray for my kids to have their heart take after God’s own heart. That they love the poor, are humble, and have compassion. That they see beyond the physical.

6) I pray for my children to value the insides of a person. To want to be a person of character as well as seek people who have character.

7) I pray for my kids to be incredibly good looking.

8) I pray for them to be funny – both to me and to people in general.

9) I pray for them to choose to believe in God and Jesus not because they were force-fed it as children, but because they have vibrant, full faiths of their own.

10) I beg God to protect my children from evil. I ask God to protect their hearts and their spirits and their physical bodies.

11) I pray that DD knows her value as a person and as a woman and doesn’t throw herself away at “inessential penises” (to quote Daughter of Smoke and Bone). Of course, I realize that I presume she is going to be heterosexual – which is somewhat of a prayer only because anything else will be hard for her. (See item 2. However, if she is something other than heterosexual, I will always love her and support her and who she is meant to be.)

12) I pray that DS also knows his value as a person – and becomes a man who values women and isn’t threatened by or use them. (Same thing goes for heterosexuality assumptions, here.)

13) Inevitably, I pray God helps me be a good parent.

I can’t remember any more off the top of my head, but like I said before. Not all-inclusive. What do you pray/hope for your children?

 

To Live the Life of DS

Tonight, DS gave DH a roll call of all the things he loves. Basically, he loves EVERYTHING. Lol. He loves everyone in his life and the characters of Avatar: The Last Airbender, all his trains and cars and toys, etc. What a wonderful life he has – to love all that is in it. Makes me all misty. 😀

 

Spiritual Formation

Short of regular “church” attendance, how do you go about teaching spiritual matters to your children? (eg: existence/non-existence of God(s), prayer, meditation, why is there evil?, you know, easy questions) At what age did you start? I am less interested in the outward manifestations of “religion” than the inner processes. Thanks! (Oh, and of course, keep it civil please. Now, go!)

 

Breaking the Cycle

I know. It’s another “Daddy” post. Some really close family friends came over this afternoon to drop off some yummy treats they picked up in Taiwan just for us (ok, for DS) and we got to talking about our families. I am so honored that my friend’s wife (and now, my good friend) was willing to confide in me some of her family’s drama (very similar to mine). I am struck anew – and I don’t know why it always surprises me and yet fails to surprise me – at how many families have fathers who just suck shit. (Seriously, there just isn’t any better way to put it.)

The cynical part of me is like, “Yup. Go figure. Another asshole, cheating, adulterous dad.” The hopeful part of me is like, “Damn. Another family torn apart by a cheating, adulterous, asshole dad.”

Hmm… both parts sound kinda similar.

Anyhow, I am just so grateful that DH is a man of good character. Though it is early on in our marriage and life together (10 years is nothing in terms of a lifetime), I am confident that my children will not have to suffer in the same ways that I did. I will invent NEW ways for them to suffer! BWAHAHAHA! (Wait – no.) I am determined to break this cycle THIS generation. That DH and I will carve out a new and whole family out of both of our family dysfunctions.

Of course, my children will realize eventually that DH and I are human and will fail and disappoint them constantly and surprisingly. But I beg of God all the time to shield my children from violence, adultery, and whatever else my father inflicted upon my brother, mother, and I.

I often have to remind myself that not only does that mean being grateful for DH’s character, but for ME to also be a person of great character. That’s a little harder to come by. But for my children, I will do no less.

 

Feeling Wistful

Just finished I Love You And I’m Leaving You Anyway by Tracy McMillan and I feel all sorts of sad. I just want to grab my babies and hug them and kiss them and protect them from any possible hardship, suffering, or sadness for as long as possible. I know it’s impossible. However, I will do everything in my power to limit the deep, soul-crushing, life-altering type of pain my own father inflicted upon my brother, my mother, and I.

Everything my father has done reverberates through me. I beg God that it ends here with me. That my children will know only safety, security, and unremitting, ever-faithful, ever-pursuing love from DH and I. They are precious and deserve to be loved simply because they are.

 

Tearjerker

This evening, my mom went upstairs to pick up DD after she woke up from her nap. Over the monitor, I could hear DD crying angrily and I noticed she didn’t stop even after my mom picked her up. She cried the entire way downstairs until I held her in my arms. She stopped crying almost immediately.

My mom is positive that DD knows that I am her mommy – and that is why she was so angry when my mom picked her up. DD was expecting me and instead, she got her Ah-Ma. That made me hug DD tighter and then all I could think of was all the babies in the world whose cries for their mamas go unanswered (for some reason or another) and then I started to cry.

I pray for all the orphaned, abandoned, abused, and forgotten babies in the world. May God have mercy upon them and shower them with love in some capacity. May my children NEVER have to go through the same. Just the thought of it makes me want to weep all over again. The fear that courses through my veins and the desperate clinging to the hope that God will not put my children through this particular suffering. That I will grow old and watch my children grow old and have children of their own.

God, I believe, help my unbelief. Have mercy on my family.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Go hug your babies if you have them. Go hold your loved ones tightly.

 

Fear and Gratefulness

As some of you know, I am an avid reader and one of my favorite genres is speculative fiction. As a result, I end up reading quite a few books based in a dystopia – and lately, they have been really wearing on my soul. I’m pretty sure that the main reason they have been grinding down my soul is because I now have children. The possibility of a future such as The Road (which, I keep meaning to read, but seriously, the idea is just too fucking depressing) just fills me with such deep, profound sadness.

Of course, I am also hypnotically drawn to articles wherein the headlines blare something to the likes of, “Baby/Toddler/Child is  Raped/Killed/Murdered/Missing” and I have to read it and then sob uncontrollably. DH always asks with such disgust, “Why do you read this crap? You know from the headline that it will be sad and depressing.” To which, I have no good response except that I must.

Which is all to lead into what I mean to blog about tonight. Ever since I became a parent, I am constantly aware of both my intense gratefulness for my children and paralyzing fear (if I let myself dwell upon all the possibilities). They are twinned and I wish they would not be. (Although, one could argue that I am so grateful because I am also acutely aware of all the horrible, gruesome possibilities.)

I find myself sobbing as I hold tightly to DD or thinking of DS (because if I sobbed while holding him, he would be very concerned). Any book or article that I read will immediately feed my fears. When I read about dystopias (shoot, let’s try our current third world countries or the less fortunate in our first world) where children are starving or beaten/abused/sick/dying, etc.

I grab my children and pray fervently for their safety, health, and happiness. I pray, as if by my desperate praying, I cast a spell of protection over my children. I pray to God, begging him to keep my children from harm and suffering. As if my pathetic pleading would protect them. That the sheer act of praying is a talisman, a way of controlling the future and manipulating God to do my bidding. That God is small, petty, and would only do good for my children if I whimper and grovel. Or, alternatively, that God is easily controlled and as long as I say XYZ and do my ritual obeisance, God will provide.

But sometimes, I think that it doesn’t matter if I pray or not (even if it makes me feel better). Because the odds are, my kids will be fine and grow old and be happy. That they will make of their lives as best as they can. That by virtue of being born in the US to two college educated, high-income earning parents, they will go on to have similar trajectories and be set. Of course, it is not guaranteed, but it is highly likely. Because if you truly think about it, good and bad things happen alike to the devout and the apostate. After all, “He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” (Matt. 3:45, NIV)

But then, I recoil in fear at this thought (that maybe just by voicing it, I am condemning my children to unhappiness and suffering). And then, (if you aren’t already whirling in confusion by my crazy thinking), I try to reassure myself. After all, who do I think God is? A complete asshole? If, God is really a good parent, surely, I have nothing to fear – that even if the worst of my fears should come to pass, that He will be faithful and good? I mean, if all our parental love is modeled after His perfect love, then I should know that His love for my kids (and me) far surpasses mine. “You parents–if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not!” (Matt. 7:9-10, NLT)

My brain whirs and I think to myself, I don’t know that I could continue to believe and trust that God is good if anything were to happen to one of my children. I find myself begging God to not test my faith in this manner – for surely I will fail and I would never forgive Him.

It is truly humbling to know that all my professions of faith quell and quiver before the immense uncertainty of life – which can all be neatly laid at the feet of my God. My only comfort is that God knows all these nasty parts of my soul (and indeed, knew them before I ever did), and that He still will be good to me and mine.

“I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24, ESV)

 

The Evolving Nature of Love

Before I had children, I never thought it was possible to love anyone more than I loved DH. I mean, granted, ours was never an epic, love-conquers-all type of sweeping love. But it was good, sweet and comfortable. The kind of love that lasts and survives the indignities of ten thousands of days and nights. I didn’t want drama or romance. I wanted steady and good. And that is what I have in DH.

So, with that in mind, that you know, we weren’t epically enthralled with one another… I took one look at each of my children after they were born and they immediately surpassed anyone else in the entire universe in terms of my love. It’s not that I love DH less, (although it kind of works out that way), it’s just that I love my children more. I never knew my love could expand into such a fierce, unconditional force that wills itself into being.

Now, when I think of babies in orphanages or broken homes (did you know that babies will stop crying because eventually they learn that no one will respond to them so they just sink into an alarming silence and stare blankly), I just want to weep. When I look at my babies and hold them and snuggle with them, I just cannot imagine anyone willfully harming or not loving any child. Grown ups, yes. They are prickly and horrible and not all that lovable. But it’s so crazy to me that even the most horrible person started off as an infant – so perfect and sweet.

The other day, I was talking to a friend of mine and he mentioned that loving and taking care of children is in line with what Jesus commands as loving the poor and the “least of these.” After all, babies have nothing, cannot feed, clothe or care for themselves, and are completely dependent upon the mercy of their parents or caregivers. It is a heavy and heady responsibility that I am only too glad to do. But it is still crazy.

And to think, that as much as I love my children, that God’s love is deeper, wider, higher than even that. (Is that even possible? Yes, I suppose it is. How humbling! And how comforting!)

I remember distinctly a few years ago, one of my friend’s just had her first child. She was a successful optometrist but she took one look at her baby and knew, just knew, that she was meant to be a mother and that she no longer wanted to work. This was a woman who loved her career and made damn good money doing it, yet she put that all on hold because she wanted to be a SAHM for her son. I thought she was crazy. I just assumed that I would follow in my mother’s footsteps and work.

Well, I had DS and took one look at his beautiful face and knew, just knew, that I was meant to be a mommy and I wouldn’t want to do or be anything else. Two years and another beautiful baby later and that is still the case. In fact, I’m already plotting the third and fourth babies.

I know my mother had to work (you know, those pesky mortgages and needing to put food on the table and clothes on the kids) and would also have gone crazy if she had to stay at home. I also know that my brother and I had a great time being latch-key kids. We basically watched TV for hours every afternoon/evening and became very self-sufficient and independent. But I will admit that I envied my friends who came home to mommies that had snacks and hugs and were involved with the PTA (God forbid!) and were present.

I want my kids to know that type of security (and perhaps even chafe at it sometimes). I want our home to be the place that their friends come over and eat all our food and watch our TV and play our toys and whatnot. I want our home to be hospitable and generous and safe. I wanted so much to have a safe haven when I was growing up – I want that for our kids (and for their friends).

The thought of making a warm home to all folks makes me so happy and glowy. It is a dream come true.

 

Quick Update

About my dad’s visit, that is. Nothing happened related to me. He didn’t try to come over and see us and didn’t call or attempt any contact at all. The only thing that happened was that I had a dream that he called and I answered the phone. That’s about it.

Now, onto the good news. Apparently, my dad has signed over the house to my mom!! The house (as is recorded at the County TODAY) is now only in the name of my mother and titled as SEPARATE property – meaning that even when they divorce, he does not get half. 🙂

I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t decide to be spiteful and cancel his cel phone this weekend. My brother was joking that I should cancel it when he’s in Houston visiting his mother. But, my mom asked me to keep it going until their divorce is finalized so that it won’t cause problems. I guess I can do that.

Incidentally, my mom is convinced that I am the reason (or at least a catalyst) that my dad signed over the house. That, and the public shunning by her friends. *shrugs* If so, then I am very happy. It’s about damn time!

 

I Stand Corrected

I never understood, until recently, why my uncle, (my father’s younger brother), refused to speak to my father. This started after my dad was “caught” with his first affair some two decades ago. My uncle felt that my dad never truly repented (in truth, my dad has never said he was sorry) and that my dad would continue doing as he had, given the chance. He and his wife were very harsh in their “truth-telling” to my mother. So much so that they often insulted her and as a result, I hated them.

My uncle wanted my dad to know the “wrath of God” so he withdrew his presence in my dad’s life. The funny thing about it, though, is had my uncle been a more likable person, my dad might have missed out on the relationship. As it is, my uncle can be a self-righteous ass so his removal from my dad’s life was almost like a boon. *shrug*

However, now that I think on it, my uncle really was the only person to call it like it was. And now, I agree. My mother was extremely stupid and naive and just dumb. And I, I have removed my father from my life and told him so.

It’s extremely humbling to know that such an asinine person was also really right. *sigh* Ah well. I doubt that my uncle is the type of person to take any satisfaction in being right in this case.