Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

discipline

Where I confess my sins and begin again

I went running this morning.

starting line

Not earth-shattering, headline-making news, but for me, it was significant.

Four months ago, my mom bought me a new pair of running shoes because I asked her to and because the desire was in me to pick up a habit I’d neglected for too long.

And for four months, I’ve made excuses.

Too cold. Too dark. Husband’s new schedule. I’m sick. Too tired. Too many other more important things.

Today, my husband had the day off. And my pants have been fitting too tight. And I ate some delicious food this weekend, and too much of it, so I had fewer excuses.

I’m not sorry I ate the food or that I prioritize other things.

But I am sorry that I have broken a promise.

A promise I made on this blog and then slowly let slip out of my “important” pile.

Less than three years ago, I took up running, training to run a 5K (my first ever) with my husband. And I found out I liked it. I didn’t lose a ton of weight by doing it, but I felt good. I had more energy, and my body was in better shape than it had been.

So when the 5K was over, I kept running occasionally, not as often as when we were training. And I had this idea. I would pay better attention to what I ate. I would exercise. And when the pounds dropped off, I would donate money to a worthy cause. I gave myself six months.

And I failed miserably.

Now, almost a year and a half later, I haven’t lost as much weight as I’d hoped and I haven’t given any money to that worthy cause.

And I could spend a lot of time beating myself up about that or I could do what I did today.

Lace up the shoes.

Stretch out the legs.

And start over. In the rain, no less.

But in a way, I was grateful for the rain as I completed day 1 of the Couch-to-5K plan.

Because starting something good won’t always wait for the right conditions.

Sometimes you have to splash in the puddles and be drenched in the downpour on the way to your goal.

I won’t lie: I didn’t feel great when I finished.

My body ached. I wanted to go back to bed. I was soaked. And all day I’ve felt reminders of what I did in my calves and hips.

But the pain will pass.

And discipline is always hard. Training your body–or your mind or your spirit, for that matter–to do something it doesn’t normally do is hard and takes work and perseverance.

But it is worth it.

I can’t make any promises this time. I won’t tell you that in six months I hope to give $100 to women and children in Liberia or that I’ll be running a half-marathon by the fall.

All I know is today, I ran.

And I will run again.

Calling it like it is (or could be)

Maybe you’re not like this, but when God’s trying to get my attention about something, He usually has to give me three or four different experiences or messages before I’ll think, “Okay, God, I’m listening.”

This time, I think it started on a trip to the indoor playground with the kids. Isabelle, our almost-4-year-old, took off for the slides while her brother made his way to the train set. A few minutes later, she came over to me, almost in tears, talking about some boys who were saying things to her. I think. The message was somewhat garbled by her hysteria. So, I followed her and watched as two boys about her age, made guns with their fingers and pointed them at her while chasing her and saying things I couldn’t really understand.

My first reaction, understandably, was Mama Lion. I gave them the you-better-not-mess-with-my-baby look and sort of stared them down. I’m sure they knew I meant business. (That’s a little sarcasm. I’m not really as fierce as a lion.) I told Isabelle to try to avoid them because quite frankly, that’s what I would do. I searched the place for a parental figure but couldn’t find anyone who seemed to be claiming these boys. My eyes locked on a dad parked in front of the TVs in the “lounge” area, and I assumed that disconnected dad was to blame for their behavior.

I wanted to discipline these boys or at least chew out their father for his lack of disciplining them. After all, their actions were causing harm to someone I love beyond measure. I think I might have even told Isabelle to ask the boys if they knew Jesus, but I’m not sure I meant it. Later, though, I realized that maybe I could have handled this situation better. Maybe the boys just needed a hug or someone to tell them they’re special and valuable and useful. Naive, right?

Later that same week, I noticed my choice of words toward my son, who at age 2 is showing signs of stereotypical terribleness. He takes things from his sister just because. He tells her things that aren’t true, which upsets her. And he hits and tries to bite. Sometimes I tell him he’s a stinker. Or that he’s being a bully. The word “jerk” passes through my mind. I’m ashamed to admit these things because this is a child and I love him. What I don’t love is his behavior.

Tell me this kid isn’t bound to give me trouble? (And by the way, maybe I should get some advertising dollars from the Quaker company for this …)

Then God reintroduced me to this verse in Romans. Paul says this about God: “who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were.” (Romans 4:17)

And I began to wonder what would happen if instead of calling it like it is with my son, I called it like it could be. What if instead of saying, “You’re a bully” I said, “You’re a child of God”? What if instead of “you’re being a stinker” I called him “my beloved son”?

Now, I’m no child psychologist or behavior specialist nor do I have any research to back this up. I only know that labels tend to stick and kids can become what people believe about them, for good or bad.

If this wasn’t enough, I read this post this week. (The guy uses some profanity, but it’s a powerful read.)

I’m terribly fearful of causing my kids emotional damage yet also fearful of protecting them too much. I want them to know how to take criticism, to evaluate its worth and to know who they are apart from what people say about them. Yes, they’re only 4 and 2, but doesn’t it start here?

Honestly, I don’t have these things worked out perfectly in my life. I can still make an effort to set them on a good path, though, right?

I know that God is the kind of parent who says of me what I don’t always believe is true, but maybe that’s a discussion for another day.

So, parents, child educators, behavior specialists, theologians, anyone … help me out here.

How do I build my kids up without lying to them? How do you handle kids with obvious behavior issues using love and not judgment? How do you acknowledge the truth of a behavior (taking your sister’s purse was not nice) without labeling (you’re not nice)?

These are my thoughts over a cup of tea today. Please, join the discussion.