Tag Archives: parenthood

What Kind Of Legacy Are You Leaving Your Children?{We interrupt our regularly scheduled Proverbs 31 programming to bring you this completely random post}

I was listening to NPR this morning and a story came on about wills. Something like half of Americans don’t have wills, and it can leave a mess for loved ones when people die without them. 

They mentioned a type of will I’d never heard of before, called an “emotional will.” According to one website I found, an emotional will “is designed as a way for you to share your thoughts, values, lessons in life, passions, hopes and dreams with your children and future generations in the years to come. This is your chance to ensure that you don’t leave this life with things left unsaid.” 

This struck me as odd, and a little bit sad that this is actually a thing. I mean, I understand the concept behind it, but should this type of thing be necessary? 

I want to leave an emotional will for my family. But I don’t want it to be a piece of paper they read while they are mourning my death and working through what life is going to look like without me.

Just like I don’t want my family to have to figure out what to do with my physical assets when I’m gone, I don’t want them to have to figure out what my thoughts, values, passions hopes and dreams were after I die. I don’t want to relegate those lessons to a letter they open in my absence.

This interview made me realize that every day, I am leaving an emotional will for my children. Everything I say, everything I do, is showing my children what I value, and therefore what they should value. 

I can do this accidentally, or I can do this intentionally. When I get to the end of my life, whenever that is, I want my children to be able to say to themselves and to others, “We know what our mother’s emotional will for us is.” I want them to be able to point to my life and say, “this is what our mother loved, this is what she valued, and this is how she wanted us to live our lives.”

Recently I listened to a sermon series by Matt Chandler about discipling children and families. He made the point that we are all making our children into disciples, the question is: of what.

If we are constantly talking about financial security, worried about money, striving for material comforts and being envious of people who have more than we do, our children will see that those things are important to us. And those things will become important to them. 

If we stress the importance of education, worry constantly about the state of our children’s schools and place great emphasis on grades and getting into college, our children will see that we value those things. And they will value those things as well. Certainly these are good things, important things even, but its easy to let these and other worldly concerns to take precedent over what should matter most. 

We can tell our children what we want them to value, but the lasting legacy we will leave on them comes from the way we live our lives. Our children learn by listening, but more than that they learn by observing. If they hear me say that Jesus is the most important thing in my life, but see me cling to worldly things, they will see right through my words and into my heart.

I can write an emotional will out on a piece of paper, telling my children about the life I wish I had lived and the values I wish I had shown them, and hope they listen to my posthumous words of wisdom. Or I can write my emotional will on my life, through the way I live, the way I love, the person I am because of my love for Jesus. That’s the legacy I want to leave for my children, and for everyone who knows me.

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Babies Don't KeepI have a lot of days when all I can do is wait for them to end. Especially recently, with my son being every bit a two and a half year old boy, from tantrums and all the “no”s and pushing his sister to roaring at the top of his lungs (YOARRRR!!!! Usually directly at the baby or the dog, neither of whom are ever amused) and using his maraca to drum violently on his guitar while he yell-sings the ABCs. My emotions pretty much remain somewhere on the spectrum between on edge and at my limit, from the moment I wake up until the moment my kids go to sleep.

I know this is a temporary phase, that someday in the future my monster child will be enjoyable again, that I won’t spend the rest of my days saying “Leave her alone!” and asking “What did you do to her?” and taxiing him to and from timeout. And while it’s comforting to know that this phase won’t last long, I have this little voice in my head telling me, “Enjoy this phase, because it won’t last long.”

Last night I was feeding Mabel before bed while Shook was out on the front porch watching Marshall mow the lawn. He had taken a pair of those Velcro gloves you use with a tennis ball (remember those? They’re like ping-pong paddles with Velcro on them and you “catch” the tennis ball with the Velcro) and put them on his feet like skates. He was “skating” on the front porch yelling “Mine okay! Mine okay Daddy! Mine okay Dad!” because he kept slipping. And I thought to myself, “I want to remember this.”

I don’t want to let this time pass me by, without stopping to dwell on how sweet it is. Yes, my toddler drives me up the wall most days, but he also cracks me up, makes me smile, and lets me hug and kiss him. Yes, my eight month old is crawling now, which seals my fate in regards to being productive while they are both awake, but every day a new part of her little personality shines through, and it’s so fun watching her follow us around everywhere.

I want to remember this time with littles as an exhausting, stressful, amazing time in the life of our family. I want to be present every day, in every moment, even when many of them seem terrible. I don’t want to spend my days wishing my kids were older so my job would be easier. I want to take it all in, the good and the bad, because I know this time will be over way too soon.

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
Author: Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

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Wednesdays are tough mornings for me.

Marshall leaves early, so I wake up with the kids and have to get all three of us fed, clothed, and ready to get out of the house by 9.

If you’re not a parent, you may be thinking to yourself “9:00? That shouldn’t be tough! I get to work at 8 every morning! Don’t your kids wake up at like 6:30 anyway? Piece of cake!”

One would think.

I swear it doesn’t matter how much time I have to get out of the house, what time of day it is, how much prep I’ve done ahead of time, it’s ALWAYS a struggle.

But I digress.

Yesterday Shook was just a ball of emotions. He’s in a really loud phase (Is it a phase? Ask my family and they would say I never grew out of this one), so even when he’s happy he’s inevitably yelling or singing or banging on something he shouldn’t be banging on, which can be trying on a tired mother who hasn’t finished her coffee. When he’s not happy, he’s somewhere on the spectrum between whining and tantrum, and for some reason there were a lot of things making him unhappy yesterday.

Some days I’m good at handling his emotions, and some days they just push me to the limit. When it hit 8:45 and I hadn’t gotten his lunch together for school or either of the children dressed, I was at my limit. When Marshall walked back in to get his lunch I released an exasperated “thank goodness” and immediately put him to work.

I finally got Shook in the car at 9:05 (gotta love that 15 minute grace period). I rushed him into his classroom and snuck down the hallway without a goodbye so I could get back home to get the baby ready to go to Bible study.

Before I made it halfway down the hall, I heard the pitter-patter of little feet and a familiar “Mommy!” followed by a frantic teacher running after her little renegade.

I turned to see Shook, arms outstretched, begging me to hold him.

I knew right then that he needed me. That I had ignored him and pushed him aside and gotten frustrated with him too many times, and that he needed me to hug him, to remind him that I loved him, to give him some undivided attention before I left him to play with his friends.

So I went into his classroom and sat on the floor with him in my lap, hugging him, kissing him, telling him I was sorry for not paying attention to him.

He wasn’t mad at me for ignoring him, he wasn’t bitter that I had been less than loving to him, he wasn’t resentful that I had tried to rush away without saying goodbye. He just wanted a hug from his mommy, because he hadn’t gotten enough of my love yet. And in turn I received love from him that I didn’t know I needed until I got it.

What an act of mercy on God’s part, to send my little toddler out one last time before I left him for the day, to allow me the opportunity to make up for a bad morning and give my little boy the love he needed. And what a display of the grace that God gives us daily in various ways.

I always say that when I became a parent, God unveiled his love to me in a new way through the unconditional love I have for my children. But recently He’s been showing me His love in a completely different way through the unconditional love my children have for me.

It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since I’ve talked to God, how long it’s been since I opened my Bible, how long it’s been since I’ve come to Him with my thanksgiving, my supplications, my confessions, my worship. He’s not mad, He’s not bitter, He’s not resentful. He just wants me to turn to Him and give Him my love, and allow Him to give His love to me. It’s that simple. His love for me is truly unconditional, and no matter what I do to deflect it, He is always there chasing after me, waiting for me to turn around.

How many times have I been too distracted to see that God is trying to show His love to me? How often do I allow the worries of this world to cloud my vision, to let what seems urgent to obscure what’s truly important?

Sometimes I’m able to look at my children and dwell on the love I have for them, and how it is a reflection of the love God has for me. Most of the time, however, I need God to send my toddler running down the hallway after me asking for hugs, stopping me in my tracks to remind me of the love my children have for me, and what a beautiful reflection it is of the love God has for me.

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, ‘For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:35-39)

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