College

Speaking of being braver than I was before, we dropped our firstborn child off at college.

 

Lizzy and Caleb helped him move into the dorm with us (Ada had to work).

There was an unexpectedly large amount of tears on all sides.  Jason and I reminded each other in the following days that he hadn’t died, but there was still very real and valid grief.  Our household, which felt so blessedly complete when Caleb came along, has entered its shrinking phase.  We knew we had 18 short years of childhood in which to raise each one of them as best we could, and now, completed or not, that particular window has closed with Jeddy.

And speaking of large amounts of tears, I gathered my courage to face this two days later:

I forgot to take an after picture.

(Note to self: take pictures of more things that aren’t causes of hypertension.)

At least the first day of school picture is peaceful and charming, though sadly lacking in my complete set of offspring.

Buck practically bounced off the walls when we started school, he was so excited to be let out again in his old hopping grounds.

He also carefully reported on ancient Egypt.

How glad I am that we live in the days of texting rather than landline phone calls. Jeddy even indulged me when I begged for a first day of school picture.  He’s getting along with his roommate, he’s satisfied with his classes, he’s figured out how to obtain food.  And we were thrilled when he offhandedly mentioned that he’s already joined the worship team for RUF [Reformed University Fellowship]…which means he’s found a good group of friends and committed to fellowship with God’s people. And what more could we want for him?

Driver’s ed and other terrors

We have completed the Summer Fun Series. 

Children’s museum, two playground hops, a scenic train ride, and a day at the waterpark, and I am exhausted from fun.

Now I’m pouring my energy into behind-the-wheel training sessions with Ada.

Teaching your teenager to drive: the archetypal parental nightmare.

But I’ve realized something.  Getting through hard things is a real confidence boost.  

Yes!—yes, I can teach my kids to drive.  I had her drive on the interstate and we both felt triumphant.  I dreaded the parallel parking lesson for weeks; I had to prepare by Googling “how to parallel park,” which is how I came across the most helpful gif of all time.  And when she nailed it, I went around the house bragging.

I had my doubts before, but now I know that I can teach driver’s ed.  I can teach someone to drive on the interstate; I can teach someone to parallel park.

It’s like when I had Lyme disease and learned to cope with IVs.  It wasn’t easy, but now I know I’m a person who can tolerate needles.

Lizzy’s dog sitting client.

I’ve given birth.  I’ve jumped off the high dive.  I’ve spoken in front of a crowd of 100+ people.  I’ve cantered on a horse.  Once I was a person who was scared of those things.  Well, ok, I’m still a person who’s afraid of most of those things—but now I’m a person who has done those things.  

I’m braver than I was before.

Hop #2

Lizzy was sick with a mean bug by the time we got a chance for Playground Hop #2, so I took just Caleb.  At the first three stops, the playgrounds were the main attraction.  But at the final stop, Caleb was most interested in the wildlife.

“It must be boring to be a frog.” ~Caleb

 

Words matter

Last night several of us on the children’s ministry team had a watch party for the annual children’s ministry training conference.  

In between girly chit-chat and protecting our French fries from the dog’s wildly wagging tail, we heard enough of the speaker to spend the rest of the evening debating whether there’s a difference between the words “familiarity” and “intimacy,” and whether it’s acceptable to say God has a nickname.

{Consensus: maybe, and no.}

This debate is related to my aversion to cutesy/punny church marquees.  There are several I pass regularly and I always read them cringing, like how you can’t help but rubberneck at an accident scene.  Today I passed one that read, “Don’t make me come down there —God.”

So many thoughts.

First of all, it’s supposed to be funny because it’s channeling what every frustrated dad is reputed to say when his kids are being annoying; which conjures up either a fearsome abuser whose anger is about to overtake him and who’ll be wielding a belt when he “comes in there,” or—more likely—a blustering man whose children are probably laughing at him.  Either way, the dad in this cliche definitely does not want to come down there.

As a descriptor of God, neither image is accurate.

Second of all, God did “come down there”…which is so obvious and so central to Christianity that maybe that’s the point?  But when God came down here, it was the most blessed and most miraculous, joyful event in human history, so if that’s what it’s referring to, I don’t understand why it’s phrased as a threat…?

Thirdly, though God Incarnate did “come down there,” we didn’t “make” Him.  God chose, in His most mysterious and gracious and utter free will, to be born a human and suffer outrageous torture and injustice.  He didn’t get fed up with our sin such that He lost His self-control.  

Fourth, “Don’t make me come down there” implies that God, like the road-trip dad with obnoxious giggling kids in the backseat, is warning us to pull it together enough to stop annoying Him; whereas the true God is deeply invested in His human creatures and wants more than just quiet neutrality so He can read the road signs up ahead—He actually demands active holiness.  And the Bible, just as clearly as it demands holiness, informs us that we aren’t holy, that we can’t be holy, and our only hope lies in receiving the holiness of Another—that very One who already came down.

Fifth, and maybe this is what the sign is referring to, God has promised that He will come back down here.  But it’s not a threat: If you don’t behave I’ll come.  It’s a promise: I will come, whether My coming is welcome to you or not.

And the Bible assures us that Christ’s second coming is no flippant matter.  He will come to collect His own for glory, and to render judgement on an unrepentant world.  His judgement is not that of an out-of-control megalomaniac, an impotent weakling, or an indecisive leader subject to human whims.  His judgement will be just, final, and utterly under His control.

If that sounds frightening, then you understand why I’m dismayed by signs, put out by those who are supposed to be entrusted with this message, which seem to aim only for a chuckle at the expense of reverence.