The Better Question

Mothering did NOT come naturally to me. (Does it come naturally to anyone? It seemed like my friends had better instincts about the process than I did. I could have been wrong. But I digress . . . )

When my eldest was a baby, I, of course, consumed all sorts of books and magazines to try to figure this parenting stuff out. Problem was, those experts wouldn't necessarily address the specific situation I was struggling with. And when they did, they didn't necessarily agree with each other. And when they did, they certainly didn't know me and my kid.

About when my daughter hit the age of two (I believe), we found ourselves in the trenches of the Night Wars. Like many parents, we had unwittingly trained her to only be able to fall asleep with our help -- we rocked her until she was drowsy enough to go directly to Slumberland when we lay her in her crib. This made for sweet, cuddly moments with a precious darling at 8pm . . . and nightmarish hours with a screaming demon child at 1am and 2am and 3am . . . 

I read all the pertinent articles (and there were many). I sifted through the contradictory advice and listened to my gut. I found a technique that felt right to me. When she woke up crying, I went into her room and -- quietly, lovingly, but firmly, with as little stimulation as possible -- laid her back down and told her she needed to go back to sleep. And then immediately left the room. She reacted as predicted: she immediately stood right back up crying and begging for me to get her out of bed. I sat on the floor outside of the room for five minutes, and then went in and did the exact same thing -- I laid her back down lovingly and firmly, with a gentle word, and left. And then waited another ten minutes before doing it again. Sometimes that did the trick. But often I had to go another fifteen minutes. And then another twenty.

And that's usually as far as I got. Twenty minutes is a lifetime when you're desperately tired and hearing the fruit of your loins plead hysterically for your attention. It didn't matter how confident and certain I was of this technique with my sweet baby at eight o'clock; in the throes of it all at 2:37, I felt angry, incompetent, and heartless. 

I would sit on the floor, often with tears on my cheeks, praying, Lord, you have to show me what to do. I don't know what to do. I can't do this mommy thing. I CAN'T. I need sleep -- she needs sleep -- what do I do?!?? I never got a lightening bolt response -- a voice from the sky would have been wonderful in that moment. But a firm conviction did eventually conquer my confusion.

If I'm going err, I'm going to err on the side of love. So, I took my daughter out of her crib and rocked her to sleep. Again.

I devoured a book on the plane yesterday -- Irresistible: Reclaiming the New that Jesus Unleashed for the World. SO much Andy Stanley says here I could write about (and probably will at some point). But here's the gem that was on my heart when I woke up this morning. We need to stop asking, "Is __________ a sin?" The question we need to be asking ourselves is, "What does love require of me?" Because the Bible is kind of like my old parenting books in that it doesn't often address the specific situation I'm struggling with. 

For instance, say that there's a young person in my life who now wants to be referred to as "they", despite the fact that "they" are clearly only one person, a person whom I perceive to be of a single gender that they are now rejecting or at least questioning. That's uncomfortable for me. That's troubling to me. I would have all sorts of opinions about what might be going on in the mind and heart of this young person in my life.

But my opinions and troubled emotions and comfort level don't really matter -- I'm called to love this young person. And yes, there is such a thing as tough love and there is a time and place for that. But tough love is a tough call, and most importantly, it needs to be preceded by real relationship. Loving this young person means looking them in their eyes, calling them by the name they request, and ensuring that they understand that they are seen and heard and valued and cared for before they ever get the gender thing right . . . and even if they never get the gender thing "right". Jesus didn't say we'd be known by our correctness. He said we'd be known by our love.

What does love require of me? Because if I'm going to err, I'm going to err on the side of love. And Lord help me do that, because loving does not come naturally to me. (Does it come naturally to anyone?)