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crazy

I could tell you my son has energy. But that would be kind of like me telling you Bill Gates is kind of good at computers.

 

We’re on a sports rotation at my house. It is not because we love to be busy (we try not to be?), or love getting up on Saturdays for games (nope), or think he’ll be a star someday (odds are pretty slim).

 

Sports, a.k.a. energy maintenance, are part of our Comprehensive Behavior Plan.

 

When school administrators take away recess for boys as a discipline measure, I kind of raise my mental eyebrows. Fascinating strategy. Yikes.

 

Psychologist and researcher Michael Gurian taught me a lot about how boys learn effectively, essentially involving a lot of hands-on strategies and movement. His is the book that told me 90% of school behavior problems are from boys. (Anyone else unsurprised?)

“I have birthed the Tasmanian Devil”

 

I remember vividly the day I slumped to the floor against the wallpaper when my son was 18 months old. (In fact, I realize I’ve written about it before.) My literal thought: I have birthed the Tasmanian Devil. 

 

I can’t remember if this was the day that, while I was in the restroom, he toddled to the barstool, tugged it over to the toaster oven, ripped open the drink mix packets on top, and sprinkled them around like sugary pixie dust.

 

That’ll teach me to go to the bathroom.

 

But I also felt the Holy Spirit tugging at me. He may have impressed on me something like this.

 

You have no idea why I had to make that boy like this.

 

He might need to teach in an inner-city school district. He might need to reach an unreached people group. He might need to stand up for the unborn.

 

Put brakes on this, Janel.

 

But don’t rip out the engine.

 

Sigh. (And time to grab the vacuum.)

 

“Eric Liddel! Outside! NOW!”

 

So recently, we enrolled our son in the running club at school. Monday, as I traveled, his grandma texted photos of him proudly holding a medal. Last week, he won first place in the school running fundraiser. Yesterday, he had a 7:33 mile.

I say this not to brag (I mean it! …Well. 98% of it). But to reinforce that God has plans for this kid and his energy.

What’s the flipside of our kids’ “weakness”?

 

I’ve thought, as we enrolled him and shuffled him off to practice, of Eric Liddel’s mom. Y’know—Eric Liddel, the Olympian, the missionary to China, the guy we think of with the Chariots of Fire theme song. Mr. “God has made me fast, and when I run, I feel his pleasure.”

 

I didn’t see the movie, would have to Google his mom. But was she ever like, “ERIC! Take this OUTSIDE! NOW!” Was he ever knocking over the knickknacks? Ever seeing what was the highest stair he could jump off without breaking his head open?

 

(Like anyone’s kid would do that.)

 

I think of Mother Teresa’s mom. Mother Teresa, I’ve learned, was an Enneagram 8 (you might be interested in What’s God Think of Strong Women?). That woman was tough as nails.

 

But was her mom ever like, This girl. One of us is going to win, and I sure hope it’s me?

 

God’s Long Game for that Crazy Kid (…and his mom)

It’s the same with my teenager, as we muscle through the lumps of his spreading independence. Do I trust God’s writing his story, in all its failures and hard-won victories?

 

Do I trust God’s long game?

 

My parenting–and how I handle all those squirrely or disappointing bits–are part of my kids’ stories, too.

Here’s hoping they look back, and amidst all the cringeworthy moments, see God’s patience, God’s promise, God’s hope.

 

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