Man, it was a tweeny sort of day. And I remembered: This isn’t just about control. It’s about relationship.
Loving people unlike ourselves--when we can patiently wait for the dissonance like a junior-high band to pass--produces the swelling, overwhelming harmonies of a full orchestra.
At first, I thought she cheated my son.
But when, yielding to my call, she trudged back up the steep grade of our hill, my frustration softened. Her wide black eyes slid up to mine, her forehead glimmering in sweat. Her faded, two-sizes-too-large men’s T-shirt was pocked with holes. She must have been walking nearly the entirety of the morning in those foam shower slippers with the toes long gone and sizeable gaps in their soles. She was thirteen, though looked all of eleven.
It’s a startling post from The Atlantic; a dismaying one. The authors write on the increasing hypersensitivity of college students, or “The Coddling of the American Mind”: “In the name of emotional well-being, college students are increasingly demanding protection from words and ideas they don’t like.”
It was about a year and a half ago when circumstances colliding around my husband and I found us ducking for cover.
But thankfully, by the grace of God and with a lot of intentional effort, ducking together. Somehow, after it all blew over, we were more “married” than ever before.
Today, I’m posting again at Marriage Revolution, this time on 12 Ways to Stay Close When the Going Gets Rough.
My son was five. The six of us were headed to Uganda in about three months. And there were so many reasons I did not want to encounter the realities uncovered by the Vanderbilt Assessment, or my child’s pediatrician, or our family tree: ADHD, and eventually, accompanying (and profound) dysgraphia.
© 2024 THE AWKWARD MOM
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑