Grace in Parenting - Even When it Isn't Easy

My oldest? He's almost 11. I think that makes him officially pre-pubescent, which I gotta tell you, scares me a little more than I expected it would. Last week was rough in more ways than one. I was feeling myself inch into a pretty bad place with Jordan. We weren't getting along, were spending a good deal of time bickering at one another, and I was spending a good deal of time venting over the things I simply couldn't believe my darling sweet boy had said.

Out loud! To my face!

Because that's the thing. He really is a darling sweet boy. This is a kid with a kind and generous heart, with a sensitive spirit and an honest, heartfelt desire to do good, to BE good. I know this about him. Which is why it has been so frustrating to stand and wonder what on earth actually happened to that kid - to the kid I thought I knew so well.

I called my mother this morning because if there is anyone in this world that knows a little something about the pre-pubescent/pubescent crowd, it's my Mom. She'll tell you she loved having teenagers - that raising her older children was a fabulous experience. As one of those older children, with a very clear memory of what I was like at times (I'll now accept my award for being the queen of sarcastic eye rolling) I know it wasn't because her children were always sunshine and roses.

So I vented and expressed frustration and finally sighed. "Is it just the age?" I asked wearily?

"Of course it is," she responded.

Through the course of our conversation, I realized there isn't a quick fix, because really, my kid isn't broken. He's a normal, growing boy that is dealing with hormones and impulse control and an entire raft of emotions that come when children start to grow up.

(And yes, I realize I'm standing at the beginning of a very long road, and that there are likely even more difficult times ahead. But you have to start somewhere, yes? Hopefully I'll be able to keep my perspective in check from the beginning.)

One of my parenting mantras when it comes to raising my little children is that it isn't personal. Kids don't make messes or crack laptop computer screens (happened this week, thank you so much my darling Ivy who thinks the power cord to my laptop is a jump rope) or whine when they are hungry because they like to make our lives difficult. They are simply little people with limited impulse control and a complete lack of perspective. It isn't a personal attack on our sanity or on our efforts to keep our houses clean or our lives in perfect order. It's simply a reflection of their limited understanding. Sometimes, they really don't know better. They really couldn't help it. They really don't understand. They are children. 


What my mother reminded me this morning is that just because Jordan is old enough that the attacks feel a little more personal, a little more targeted, and a little more capable of hurting my feelings, he is no less deserving of the grace I so readily offer my little ones.

"Your ability to take it," my mother said, "is far greater than his ability to control himself."

And there it was--the truth that I needed to hear. (Thanks Mom.)

I don't have to let Jordan railroad me into the ground. He must be taught and reminded (over and over again) to be respectful, to work on managing his anger, to treat others (especially his Mamma) with kindness and love. (Fortunately for me, this is a subject my husband takes very, very seriously.) But I do have to remember that he is still a kid, with the unbelievably large task of growing up laid out before him. He still has so much to learn, so much growing up to do.

And so I must be patient. I must remember to give him grace, to love him in spite of the idiocy that often accompanies his age, and to see the boy on the inside - the kind, good, gentle boy that he is.