A friend of mine recently had a babysitter say to her, “Just
so you know, I’m no longer a member of the faith.”
Perplexed as to a) why the heck the teen was sharing this
information, and b) what is the standard protocol for when someone confesses
their denial of Christ, she simply nodded and said, “Oh?”
The teen then added, “Yes.
I’ve discussed it with my therapist and we both agree that my mother is
controlling and so this is a simple way for me to reject her authority.”
Again, my friend was at a loss. On the one hand, she wanted to say “Well so
long as you aren’t performing Satanic rituals around my kid, I really don’t
care so long as she is safe when I get home,” and on the other hand, she was
deeply saddened. So she simply added, “Hmm,
well I will be praying for you.”
I think all parties involved are thankful that she wasn’t
sitting for me as I would’ve probably responded accordingly, “For the love of
Pete, why don’t you just smoke or get your nose pierced? Rejecting God seems a bit overkill in the
rebelling against your Mom department.
For reals.”
Of course, that’s rejecting God to get at my parents is what I did. And I didn’t even have to have a therapist help
me see that rejecting God would be the quickest and deepest way for me to hurt
my parents. And as a parent now, I
understand that of all the immature pranks I pulled as a teen and young adult—the
boys snuck into my room, the beer bought with my stellar fake ID (seriously, it
was REALLY good—until the girl met my parents at a neighborhood BBQ and told
them she gave me her ID so I could drink), the cigarettes smoked, the curfews
missed—nothing compared to the sting they must have felt when I flaunted my
mocking of Christ in their face.
So I have begun to pray for my children’s adolescent
years.
That they would dye their hair, get their noses/belly
buttons pierced, get a tattoo (but please dear God not one on their neck!),
wear black nail polish, listen to horrible music, cuss like sailors, miss curfew, fail tests, heck—even smoke, but please, oh
Lord, please let them always know You are for them. That try as they might, they cannot escape Your love. May Your name always be sweet to their ears.
I’m praying that my fervent desire for them
to see His grace in all things won’t send them to the deep end of
rebellion. For my part in this, I promise to never play cheesy Sandi Patti Jesus music while driving the 9th grade carpool including Mark Meeker and David Anderson (just as an example, not that that really happened or anything, or that I'm still scarred by it). I would like for my kids' rebellion
to be in things that can be grown out, removed, covered up, or laughed about
when they go to cocktail parties in their thirties.
As I type this, it makes me think it would be a good thing
for all mothers of toddlers to befriend mothers of teens. It would give us some perspective. I mean really, who cares if your daughter
still uses her passie and your son refuses to eat his veggies? They will grow out of that. In a decade, she could be the one trying to
dress like a whore and he could be calling you an effing bitch. I’m fairly certain that mothers (and
fathers) of teenagers need our prayers.
They need compassion and stamina.
And maybe a box of Lady Clairol.
Something from the burgundy collection…
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