Tag: parenting

Sounds in the Stairwell

Chris De ManLeave a comment

I really like our house. It has truly been a home for the eight years we’ve been here. Granted, we did quite a bit of work reclaiming it from the realm of neglect so that it could serve our active family of seven. Now with everyone away at school or setting-up their own household, a quietness covers a trove of memories.

Not long ago, our children enlightened us to an interesting feature of our home. It’s a two-story house with a stairway in the middle that connects our main and upper floor. Over the years, it was not uncommon for my wife and I to have ‘parental’ conversations on the main floor in a corner of the kitchen. If you’re a parent you know these types of talks: mildly intense with moments of disagreement and bits of frustration. Thus, when the need arose for such conversations, a corner of the kitchen seemed a safe place for dialogue presuming the kids were out of ear shot, nestled in their bedrooms upstairs. We were wrong. Now adults, our children have reported that anything said in the kitchen, whispered or not, travelled nearly unabated up the stairway and into their eager ears. Oh, boy.

Overall, I’m not too disturbed that my kids got some inside scoop on our parenting. It’s probably healthy in the long run to glean some of the political and relational machinations involved in raising children. But the acoustical dynamics of our own home made me reflect a bit more on my present situation.

For some time I’ve been longing to hear clearly from God. I’ve desired clarity with my ideas, involvements, and life in general. Lately, it’s been a rather tough go as I’ve found it difficult to settle my spirit and be still. To patiently wait for a word.

In the past, I’ve felt more attuned to God, having a better sense of purpose and how I specifically lived that out in the day-to-day. Life still had bumps and detours but I was moving at a steady pace in a good direction. But now the pace is different and the land seems foreign. As bedrooms have become offices and our time more discretionary, this moment is both exciting and unsettling. So as I wait on God in this newness, I’m a bit disoriented by His silence.

But is God really being silent with me? This past week I had the thought come to mind (maybe from God?) that perhaps my disorientation is, in part, because I’m ensconced in the noise of my own fretting. As I’ve wondered and worried and over-thought my circumstance, is it possible that I’ve internally squelched God’s still, small voice? Have my anxieties and uncertainties effectively noise-cancelled His overtures of care? If so, what’s to be done?

Referencing the sabbath, Dallas Willard said, “The command is “Do no work.” Just make space. Attend to what is around you. Learn that you don’t have to do to be. Accept the grace of doing nothing. Stay with it until you stop jerking and squirming.” I think Willard’s thoughts apply beyond just sabbath keeping. I’m working way too hard to figure my life out. I’m jerking and squirming and fretting and worrying. I’m not hearing because I’m not ready to listen. While I might like God’s voice to flow to me as easily as it does up our stairwell, I need the Spirit to settle my spirit and open my heart to rest. To listen. To receive comfort and clarity at the time and the way that God desires.

As I invite the Spirit to help me settle, I’m remembering that Jesus promised to never leave nor forget about me. I am never out of His thoughts. This is true in every moment—even when we’re quiet together.

Response Required

Chris De Man1 Comment
1833-1834 oil painting by American artist Thomas Cole

This past summer I added a new title: Father-in-law.

While 2020 lacked the typical amusement of social gatherings, we created our own excitement through the planning, re-planning, and re-planning of re-planned plans for two outdoor weddings. In short, the brides were beautiful, the grooms handsome, the food terrific, the company lovely, and the tears joy-filled. 

Significant events like a graduation or marriage typically cause parents to reflect on the lives of their children. All the laughable, notable, adorable, and memorable moments. For me, the two weddings of summer brought to mind not just the lives of my boys but the evolution of my parenting. I don’t parent now like I did 20 years ago. While I still tip toward being more rules than grace, I believe I’ve relaxed quite a bit. I’m not as quick to launch a “dad speech” or get miffed about minor misbehavior or inconvenience. Perhaps holes in drywall, wrecked cars, trips to the emergency room, and missed curfews have appropriately tempered my responses.

Beyond parenting, our days have many moments that require our response. It might start with the alarm clock. Then a dog that needs letting out. A diaper that needs changing and children that need feeding. A project summary for the boss, a bill that needs paying, and even a tired body that needs a nap. All these—and more—require our attention. So I wonder: how attentive to God am I? What activates my engagement with Him throughout the day, and why?

While we might be distracted by the steady stream of issues needing our attention, Scripture assures us that God is here. That before we ever loved Him, He loved us with an everlasting love. He’s promised to never abandon us as He brings all things toward a perfect conclusion. And before we even realized our deepest need, God made sure there would be a way for us to enjoy Him forever. Such wonderful news demands our attention, does it not?

Paul David Tripp in his book, Awe, said: “I am convinced that rest in this chaotic world, submission to authority, and a willingness to give and share power all arise from a certain knowledge that every single detail of our lives is under the careful administration of One of awesome glory. We will rest in the middle of unrest not because we have it figured out but because of who he is. When you are in awe of God’s glory, you just don’t have to be in control of everything and everyone in your life.” (p.142) As I reflect on my propensity to be an anxious parent or fret over planning weddings during a pandemic, knowing that the God of Heaven is with me should be my first point of engagement. He is always in control and completely trustworthy. These truths should affect my response not only to the everyday issues of life, but also to God himself. 

This is the fourth week of Advent. In this season of waiting and contemplation, I’ve been challenged to reorient, to notice, and to spend time alone with God. To attune myself to the love of our Savior. In this week of Christmas, how should you and I respond to God? How do we engage with the One who came to chase death’s dark shadow? Whose law is love and gospel peace? Who can bid all sad division cease and truly be our King of Peace?

We can shout “Glory to God in the Highest!” and “Joy to the world!” We can whisper in our souls, “Thank you, Jesus” and “Lord, you are good.” And perhaps our simplest, most profound response comes from Christina Rossetti: “Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.” 

God has done a great thing—Christ has come! In our celebrations this week, let’s respond to Him with grateful praise and reaffirm our whole-hearted commitment to love Him and love all people.

Merry Christmas!

A Prayer of Response to Jesus
Dayspring of Heaven and Bright Morning Star,
Laudable Babe and Ruler of Nations—
You ransomed us from the darkness of death,
broken our chains and freed us to love.
Enthroned on our hearts in wondering love,
we worship you with anthems praise! 

“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”
(Ephesians 3:17b-19, NIV)

We’re Old

Chris De ManLeave a comment

My memory is quite faint of that 40th birthday party. It was a party for one of my parents, or maybe a friend of theirs. Doesn’t matter. What I do recall with clarity is how old my parents and their friends seemed to me then. I was disturbed by their raucous, red-faced laughter. That couldn’t be good for their hearts. At their age they should be careful. I marveled at their stamina as they partied hearty. They must have taken a nap.

Yet, here I am, just a few days past celebrating the 40th birthday of a friend. We had a loud and wild time, strapped into four-wheeled metal projectiles riding Lake Michigan sand dunes like crazy men. My parents and their friends ain’t got nothin’ on us. We felt so young and virile – no nap required.

Yesterday, my wife and I transported our eldest child to his first rented room. On a college campus. He begins his freshman year in five days.

We’re old.

Relatively speaking, we’re just entering middle age. My wife looks terrific. Me? Seasoning right on schedule. I’m glad she’s fond of thin, gray hair.

The release of our child to adult living is a wonderful grief. This morning, the open door to my son’s bedroom left an unobstructed view of a bed in which no one slept last night. The room is clean, but lifeless. Empty but for a few visual tokens, which I mentally redeem for good memories strung along nineteen years of vivacious existence. I meander through trial, triumph, experimentation, and failure while gathering armfuls of laughter and wisps of wisdom. 

Transplanted into academia, our man-child is anxious to unfold his wings. He’s freshly immersed into quick-made community, seeking safe familiarity while curious with the untried and unknown.

My parental mind frets: “So young!” Yet, I’ve lived enough to lightly grasp the relative nature of age. Each transition in our time-stamped march grants a natural pause to reflect and remember. To grieve and be grateful. To recollect and rest peacefully in the story we each write upon eternity. To value and savor our lives.

So tonight, the second night of undesired separation, I celebrate the release of my son to the development of his person. To the expansion of his soul for his Creator’s pleasure. To the joyful stewardship of his image bearing.

And all the while I wait, with great expectation, for the gift of joy that will come to this middle-age man as I release myself – and my son – to the Greatest Good. In that relinquishment comes rich delight.

In time.