This morning as my 14-year-old scarfed down chicken-maple sausage links before school, I pulled Tim Keller’s devo (for adults) on Proverbs off the kitchen’s half-wall, where it sits by the fruit bowl. These pages have become to me a quietly cherished part of our routine.
There’s something about Proverbs’ concrete wisdom and word pictures for developing young brains that makes this book wonderfully tactile. (And bless the person who divided it neatly into 31 chapters, one per day of the month.)
My friend’s alienation crackled through the phone line. “I don’t know. I keep doing all the right things. But a lot of times I don’t feel close to God, you know?”
My friend described time in Scripture and prayer, their attempts to live in ways that pleased God. Yeah, I definitely believe there are things we can do to move closer to God. I also know what it’s like to feel like God is endlessly, silently away from you.
So there’s this chance raising teenagers could kill me.
I’m (again) in one of these parenting seasons where hope feels like a mind game. There is indeed a battlefield in my brain, in my soul.
My daughter’s headed to winter camp soon, which she adores. This morning, over an increasingly plain-looking Greek yogurt parfait, she gushed about camp’s breakfast buffet. She loves the free time, the reconnecting with old friends.
But in light of her anxiety issues, and apparently a night last year when she laid awake till 2, she’s already nervous about getting to sleep.
(All those suggestions in the Help! My Kid Can’t Sleep post? Those are hard-won, peeps.)
Several weeks ago, I sat in a back room of the church amidst some storage shelves, music stands, and VBS material. Though the walls are cinder block, the seating leaves something to be desired, and the carpet perches on concrete, it’s been a good place for me.
It’s a good place to have a think.
Someone asked me recently how I talk to my daughter about modesty. It was a conversation morphing into how to help our daughters see their bodies as important, but not too important. (See this post, Naked Truth about Body Image.)
Incessantly telling her she’s beautiful—though I honestly believe she is–doesn’t seem to be the answer: “Don’t worry about looking beautiful. You’ve got that one down!”
Switching out what’s on my fridge is a lazy easy way to continue to help my kids meditate on Scripture without even knowing it. And let’s face it; I feel really dumb when I refer to the “4:29 Rule” when my kids’ mouths need some work, and they look at me like they have no idea what I’m talking about (see poster #1). Here’s to Friday for all of us who could use a low-ball.
I’ve written a lot lately about spiritual disciplines for real families (check out the series here for lots of practical ideas). This summer, I’m creating some incentives for my kids to squirrel away a few more verses in their minds–and hopefully even deeper than that.
Because summer’s here and it’s a great time to try something fresh, I’ve made some more Scripture memory cards (they’re great for wallets and pockets, but great scotch-taped inside the medicine cabinet and the cupboard, too, or even dropped in a lunchbox).
Think of these social skills as little golden keys to the future for your kids: They can get your kids into a lot of places! Bummer is, they can shut some doors, too, when our kids don’t master them. (Disclaimer: Writing this post does not declare my children in mastery of said skills.)
Social skills are key because manners are a form of loving others well. They lubricate the potential friction of social interactions.
(Some of them I’ve broken down because of my own experience with my son’s ADHD, such as giving him “scripts” for social situations; see #1. I won’t speak directly to special needs in this post. But some of these ideas might work to put tangible steps onto often intangible skills.)
![Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language](https://www.janelbreitenstein.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/love-languages-text-1.jpg "Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language")
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