I Would Give My Soul If . . .

As parents we should have learned . . . children (no matter what age) have a tendency to break our hearts. 

I was reminded of this fact this past week after having had several discussions with people in my life.  The first one I was not actually involved in, but the wife shared her discussion with the daughter with me . . . so, by the fact that the wife and I are a team, I was privy to the discussion.  The daughter shared the frustration and confusion that she and our son-in-law were having over the now two-year old granddaughter.  It seems that she has practically converted—over night—from the sweet innocent toddler to a two-year old hellion who likes to throw temper tantrums and complete melt downs when she does not get her way.  Hmmmm, sounds a lot like her grandfather on her mother’s side!  The two think that they must be doing something wrong when it comes to parenting . . . that they are not good parents.  They wonder what they have done wrong.  It breaks their hearts.  Both the wife and I agree—and told them, the kid is normal . . . she is being a two-year old . . . she is testing the waters . . . learning and growing.  Besides, we reminded them, pay back is hell.  As grandparents all the wife and I could do was to reassure them that this too would pass . . . that it was a phase . . . and, try not to snicker too much as we said it.

The last conversation was with a couple about one of their adult sons.  The son has gotten himself into quite a mess once again . . . something that has happened before in his life; but, this time it is a nasty mess.  It involves the law.  It involves messy and broken relationships.  It involves lawyers, law enforcement, and judges.  As I talked with the mother of this child, she cried and said how much it was making her heart hurt . . . how she had lost twenty pound because she could not eat . . . how she and her husband had used what little money they had to help . . . and, how angry it was making her as the story and situation kept getting bigger and bigger with each new revelation.  Their hearts were breaking.

Broken hearts are a part of parenting.  I speak from experience as one who has broken the hearts of his parents, and as one who has had his heart broken as a parent.  Children, no matter what age they might be, always have the potential to break their parents’ hearts.  Again, since no manual is ever given out to new parents when it comes time to take their new born child home from the hospital, you won’t find that in any parenting book I know of . . . or on any label stuck on the foot of the child.  It is just something that parents have to learn . . . and learn it the hard way.

On the Facebook page, Humans of New York, a photographer by the name of Brandon goes around New York City taking portrait shots of people he encounters.  With each portrait he writes a brief blurb of his encounter with the individual.  Often these photographs and blurbs are quite powerful and meaningful . . . they make people stop and think.  Right now he is on a tour with the United Nations visiting countries and people.  You can check out his Facebook page at this link: https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork/info.  You can learn more at his website at this link: http://www.humansofnewyork.com/.  In his most recent post on Facebook he picture a man and his daughter.  The father has his arm around his daughter who apparently has a disability of some sort . . . from his statement it seems to be a mental disability . . . but the father insisted that the photographer take her picture.  He explained that her name mean “flower”.  It was the father’s statement that said it all to me—and probably every other person who is a parent, “I would give my soul if I could fix her brain.”

Out of a broken heart this father spoke the words that any parent would speak for his or her child . . . I would give my soul if . . . If I could fix her brain.  If I could stop the temper tantrums.  If I could stop the stupid choices.  If I could stop the pain of a broken relationship . . . a lost job . . . of drug or alcohol abuse . . . of a disability . . . of the meanness of life.  What parent would not give anything and everything to help his or her child when life is beating them down with a vengeance?  What parent does not know the pain of a broken heart caused by the very child or children that he or she loves beyond words?  We all would . . . and, we all have.

It was a rough week hearing the stories of family and friends.  A rough week of being there to see the broken pieces of heart and trying to help put all the pieces back together again.  Rough week because way too often these moments of confession often rip the scabs off of my own broken heart as a parent.  No words can be said to ease the pain of a broken heart.  The fact is . . . children are going to break our hearts as parents . . . sometimes over and over again.

So, what is a parent to do?

I am not really sure. 

I guess if I could wish anything upon parents to combat the broken hearts that children inflict throughout a life time, I would wish for them: patience, laughter, presence, and love.  Patience . . . patience to wait to see how things pan out, to see if the worse scenario happens (because it is human nature to think the worse) . . . to listen with an open mind and heart . . . and, to allow the child to return back home (as much spiritually as physically). 

Laughter . . . laughter is good for the soul and heart . . . if we are willing to give our souls away for the sake of our children, we might as well give one that is strong and filled with laughter. 

Presence . . . to be there . . . to be a reminder . . . to be a place of safety . . . to be home.  Presence . . . of the holy, whatever holy might be . . . to know the comfort of not being a lone . . . to feel the acceptance and grace whether it is warranted or deserved.  Presence to be in the moment.  Presence to be.

Love . . . yeah, whether we like it or not, love is always there.  It is always there in the deepest hurt inflicted . . . always there in the hottest anger . . . always there in the greatest disappointment . . . always there in the shards of a broken heart.  Love that is accepting, caring, and most of all challenging . . . challenging to do what needs to be done whether it feels right or wrong for all who are involved.

I would wish for all parents . . . patience, laughter, presence, and love.  None of these will stop a heart from breaking, but they will go a long ways in easing the pain and starting the healing process.

My mother used to have a favorite statement she liked to tell me whenever I seemed to be going through a round phase in my life: “This, too, shall pass.”  For the most part I think that my mother was right.  Most of the crap I have endured and experienced in my life has come and gone . . . but, she was wrong when it came to having one’s heart broken by a child.  True, the situation or circumstance might pass on, but the scars are always there to remind us parents of the heart being broken.  Yet, it is a part of being a parent . . . a part of life.  From it we learn and grow.  From it we discover a deeper level and commitment of love.  From it we grow closer. 

But, boy does it hurt.  I would give my soul if I could save anyone from ever having his or her heart broken by children . . . and, then again, maybe not.  My soul has been pretty beat up over the years . . . but, I would try.

Footprints

“I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet.”

(Mahatma Gandhi)

A couple of years ago, sitting around the dinner table, I heard my father’s voice . . . as plain as day.  I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I knew the second that I said it that it was my father’s voice.  It was a voice that I had promised myself I would never use with my own children . . . but there it was . . . loud and clear . . . my father’s voice.  In that split second of hearing that tone . . . that inflection . . . those words, slip from my lips, I was thrown back into my own childhood . . . my own memories.  It was like my father was sitting right there.  It was scary . . .

. . . but, not uncommon.  I have heard many people and friends tell me that the older that they get the more they have become like their parents.  They tell me that they use the words and phrases that their parents used.  They use the tone of voice . . . the mannerisms . . . and, it amazed them.  It amazed them because—like me—they swore they would never be like their parents, and then—many years later—they are slowly becoming their parents.  I think that it happens to everyone to varying degrees.  I think that there are always echoes of our parents in all of our lives . . . some good, some bad, and some indifferent. 

And, why shouldn’t there be . . . after all, who we spent the majority of our developing years with as we grew into what we thought was independence . . . our parents.  By word and example our parents molded us and shaped us—at least a good portion—into the people we are today.  Their good points, bad points, and all the points in between.  They stuff our minds, or as in my case—the rock garden, with their thoughts, opinions, words, and actions.  As impressionable, malleable, simpletons that we were as we grew up . . . they had a lot to do with who we grew up to be.  That is a proven psychological fact . . . they mold us and shape us until we begin to exert our desire for independence . . . to be our own person.  This happens psychologically and spiritually . . . around the time we hit the age of 18 years old.  That is the age we begin to “distance” ourselves from our parents and other adults . . . the age we begin to explore the world on our own . . . that we begin to test the lessons we were taught.  And, not surprisingly, the age that we declare that we will never be like our parents.

The funny thing—or should I say, the peculiar thing—is that few us ever really fall far from the tree no matter how hard we work at not being our parents . . . no matter how much effort we put into differentiating ourselves.  Our parents still show up.  Their voices echo through our voices . . . and, it can be shocking.

Shocking when the words we say . . . or the actions we take . . . are the very words and actions we swore we would never take part in because they were so painful the first time we experienced them.  Usually it is those words and actions that shock us . . . flinging back to those moments we worked so hard to bury and forget.  It is rarely the happy words or actions we catch ourselves echoing, but the more negative one that make us shake. 

But, it is not only our parents who fill our minds as we grow through life.  There are the words and actions of others . . . the words and actions we read in the newspaper, hear on the radio, or view on the television.  They are sneak into our minds as we are growing.  They are stuffed in there too . . . good, bad, or indifferent.  These players also do their part to make us the people we are today. 

Now, I imagine that there are a lot of folks out there that would tell me that I am full of hooey . . . full of proverbial b.s. . . . liberal babbling.  Yet, I don’t think that I am.  I think that they say that because . . . well, because they are scared to face the truth.  The truth being that they are not as independent as they think they are . . . they are not that far removed from their parents . . . that they did not accomplish the goal of distancing and differentiating themselves from the very parents they swore they would never be like.  The truth is . . . very few of us know how to think for ourselves.

I remember a time when a friend and I got into a hot and heavy discussion, or should I say argument, about politics.  Over and over again I heard the rhetoric spewing from my friend’s mouth . . . in the end we agreed to disagree and move on.  Then he took me to visit his parents.  In a conversation with his father I thought I was in a time warp . . . a déjà vu situation . . . in which I was hearing my friend’s words again, but they were not my friend’s words at all . . . they were his father’s.  His father echoed through my friend’s words and so-called beliefs.  They were two supposedly individuals who were actually cut from the same cloth.  It did not matter which one I asked, they always said the same thing . . . which happened to be the rhetoric of others before them.  They could not think for themselves.

It is no different in the church.  Try this sometime . . . ask a person a question about what some important theological fact means to them.  If the person tells you that what they believe is what the pastor or Sunday school teacher taught them . . . odds are that someone has been walking across their minds.  Then ask them what they personally believe.  If they cannot answer the question without quoting someone else . . . odds are that they are just echoing the words of others.

It is sort of like the analogy of sleeping with another person.  I was told that when you hop into bed with another person that the two of you are not alone in the comfortable confines of the bed . . . there are all the other people that each person who has slept with prior to that moment in the bed too.  That could be a really crowded bed for some folks.  I think it is the same when it comes to our minds . . . who else is trampling around up there in our minds at any given moment.  The question becomes, why are we letting others walk through our minds with dirty feet?

Now, I do not mind my father walking through my mind.  For the most part, my father was a caring and loving man even though he had a difficult time saying it to others.  He was a man who could be funny and fun to be with . . . but, there were times when his father echoed through him and it made life for everyone else difficult and sad.  Yet, he was a good man doing the best that he could do with the cards that he was dealt.  He father—my grandfather—was a hard man who lived a hard life.  I imagine that his father—my great-grandfather—was just as hard of a man as he was.  It has been said that our children pay for the sins of their grandparents.  As much as I wanted to distance myself from my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather . . . they still came through despite my best efforts.  Their voices echoed at my table . . . with my children . . . and, it was scary.  They were trampling through my mind with their dirty feet.  It was scary to be confronted by the past and all that it did to impact the person I am today.

So, what did I do?

I didn’t invite them back to the table . . . at least not the negative ones.  I did not invite the hurtful words back . . . I did not invite the mean sarcasm back . . . the ridicule . . . the shame.  I did not invite back the tone and the feelings back.  I started to make a conscious choice to listen for the voices that were attempting to echo through me.  And, I also began to make a conscious choice to not allow other voices to echo through my voice no matter where I was.  I chose to speak and think for myself . . . to admit that maybe I did not know the answer, but that I was still searching . . . still looking.  Chose to consciously make it a point not to force someone else’s opinion as my opinion onto someone else.  I chose to recognize that there are those who walk through my mind with dirty feet, and that it was time to clean it all up.

Yeah, I know . . . easier said than done.

My father and a host of others still make their unexpected appearances in my life . . . still make their opinions known . . . still make me uncomfortable.  Now, though, I am quicker to realize that their presence is in my midst.  Quicker to know that it is not my voice speaking, but the voices of others.  And, I am quicker to step back and claim my own voice . . . my own mind . . . and, admit to others as I apologize that I was not speaking for myself but for those who came before me.  It is not easy . . . and, I fail quite often . . . but I am working hard at claiming my own voice.

Crosby, Stills, and Nash had a hit song a long, long time ago called Teach Your Children.  It was a song asking people to consider how important it is to be that example of what you want your children to be once they grow up . . . in words and action.  And, it is a reminder that no matter how hard any of us tries, we will still fail . . . that the journey is always before us to keep growing . . . and, that despite the worse, we still love those who came before us.  We know that those before us loved us.

Though I don’t think that my adult children have recognized it yet, their parents speak and echo through them.  From time to time I catch glimpses of the wife and I in our children . . . some good, some bad, and some that don’t make a bit of difference.  They haven’t fallen as far from the tree as they imagine themselves to be.  As Joni Mitchell wrote in Circles:

and the seasons, they go round and round

and the painted ponies go up and down

we're captive on the carousel of time

we can't return, we can only look

behind from where we came

and go round and round and round in the circle game

And, so it is with all of us as we travel through life.

The pattern can never be broken if we do not become conscious . . . conscious of the game . . .conscious of the circles we spin around in . . . conscious of the voices that echo through our voices . . . conscious of the people trampling through our minds.  It is a choice we have to make . . . not an easy choice, but a choice none the less. 

I loved my father.  My children love me.  Who will my grandchildren love in the end?  Either way . . . it is scary.  It is scary, but I am trying my darnedest to break the pattern . . . to silence the voices . . . and, to walk with clean feet through the minds of those I love.