I’ve been writing this column for more than three decades.
Sometimes I wonder if there is anything new to say. And then I also remember that people who were children when I began are parents now. It’s been a long time.
Whether you’ve been reading for more than 30 years or you were born 30 years ago, I suspect we are a lot alike. We both have access to more parenting advice than we ever imagined.
If you scroll through Instagram for five minutes, you are likely to encounter three posts you never asked for between everyone you actually chose to follow. And everyone has advice. The most curious thing of all is that everyone is so sure that the thing they propose is the best thing, the thing that is key to every good outcome.
And I’m honestly astonished. Often, these are people many years younger than me, with far fewer children who are not nearly as old as my own. Sometimes, these are seasoned veterans whose kids are grown and gone. Maybe the veterans surprise me more.
How in the world can you guarantee anything when individual human beings and free will are involved? Even if you’ve raised a handful of children and they are all self-sufficient young adults in happy relationships, and they still love the Lord and love you, you cannot guarantee anything when it comes to someone else’s unique set of family circumstances.
The longer I am a mother, the less inclined I am to make guarantees.
Instagram is selling something. It wants you to buy into the idea of perfect children. But children are people, not products. They are unique, unrepeatable images of God. They come to us with temperaments and talents and weaknesses and wills of their own. They are born into families full of other imperfect human beings.
We can do the same things with two children and get wildly different results — even if those two children are identical twins. Sometimes, we do something that we are certain is beautiful, and we discover that it wasn’t what this particular child needed at all. Sometimes, we make a giant mess of it, and then we watch grace grow something lovely despite all our bumbling.
How we parent definitely matters. I’m still very much a proponent of intentional parenting. But I’m not a fan of scripts or labels or formulas. You cannot input A and B and guarantee C when it comes to raising children.
I think it is important to consider the climate you are creating for your family to grow in. I don’t mean how you decorate your home. Nor do I mean trying to manipulate the weather.
Every family experiences bad weather. There are slammed doors and short tempers, illnesses and disappointments, seasons where everyone feels depleted and one wonders if she can rally again for whatever is coming next. Even a stormy season doesn’t make a climate.
Climate is the pattern of the environment; it’s the atmosphere in which things grow. It is what we can influence even if we cannot control the outcome. We can generate warmth and make forgiveness ordinary. We can ensure that children understand that mistakes have consequences, but they don’t threaten belonging. Together, we can cultivate beauty, notice goodness and express gratitude. We can believe the best about one another.
The world will provide plenty of places where our children will be evaluated. They will be graded, ranked, chosen, rejected, hired, promoted and let go. Home should be the first place they learn that love is not a transaction, nor a prize to be won. At the Jordan, before Jesus preaches, before the miracles, before the disciples, before the cross, the Father declares, “This is my beloved Son.”
Belovedness precedes accomplishment. Belovedness remains in wreckage. But even if you wholeheartedly devote yourself to creating just such a climate, there are no guarantees.
Even this is not a formula. You can create a warm, forgiving home and a thriving family culture, and your children will still be free. They will make choices you wish they didn’t, and they will be wounded in ways you wish you could have prevented. Even for all your intentionality, they may remember their childhood differently than you do. Love faithfully, and you are still not promised a particular outcome.
This adventure of parenting is not a recipe to follow. It is a vocation. And the new thing I whisper urgently after all these years is not a guarantee. Not at all. It is not having more answers, or even better answers. It’s this: Pray incessantly. Do your best. God’s got the rest. It might not look like you thought it would, but there’s grace enough for that, too.
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
