As a culture, we are fascinated by youth and terrified of age. Visiting a nursing home for the abandoned elderly gives both justification to this fear and the observation that it is ours. Two pieces I read this week offer some common sense information for two foundational institutions that are idealized for American youth both inside and outside the church. In each case the idealization itself undermines the institution and leads to its own destruction. I suspect that in each case we would save ourselves much grief if we could less afford the age segregation we consider desirable today.

In the first, Carolyn Hax gives advice to “Las Vegas Lovers” who imagine that avoiding the institution of marriage will help them avoid the kind of unhappy relationships they’ve seen in the marriages of others. Before marching out the standard relational bromides, she breaks through with the frank and obvious observation that “life can suck the life out of someone.” To me, it is a breath of fresh air in the triumphal procession of airbrushed propaganda in modern social idolatry. Time kills almost everything, except Edward Cullen of course.

The second article is a fascinating piece in New York Magazine on why parents hate parenting. It contains this insightful quote:

Not only did they find that couples’ overall marital satisfaction went down if they had kids; they found that every successive generation was more put out by having them than the last—our current one most of all. Even more surprisingly, they found that parents’ dissatisfaction only grew the more money they had, even though they had the purchasing power to buy more child care. ‘And my hypothesis about why this is, in both cases, is the same,’ says [psychologist Jean] Twenge. ‘They become parents later in life. There’s a loss of freedom, a loss of autonomy. It’s totally different from going from your parents’ house to immediately having a baby. Now you know what you’re giving up.’

Our really good idols offer us both the promise of rapturous exaltation and a reliable path to its acquisition. I would imagine the devil knows what an idol looks like better than we do not just because he’s the devil, but because he’s so old. Not all who are old are wise, not all who are young are foolish, but experience mixed with honesty can teach you a lot. The better the gift, the greater it’s capacity for idolatry and more susceptible we are to its lures.

Right from its inception the community of Christ was intended to be multi-generational. Those who have walked similar paths to our own, both the living and the dead through their writings, are available to be heard. In honest listening there is much salvation from grief.

Do we seek a body of Christ segregated by age? When we enter a church service and see it dominated by the aged (and there are many) do we imagine we may have discovered a wealth of unhurried, untapped wisdom? Do we imagine only new books have something to offer? In most cases learning from previous generations requires some effort of cultural translation. Do we see the value in breaking out of the prison of age segregation?

The phrase usually flies out of my kids’ mouths when I’m asking them to do things like eat their vegetables, take a bath, or brush their teeth. I don’t ask them to do these things because I take great pleasure is seeing them uncomfortable, but rather because I love them and want them to be healthy.

The last time my four year old whined how much he didn’t want to eat his green beans, he added that mommies never have to do anything they don’t want to do. I tried not to laugh and reminded him about all the loads of laundry I wash, the dishes I scrub, and the toilets I clean. But I also couldn’t help but wonder how many times I’ve told God I didn’t want to do something because it took me too far out of my comfort zone.

I’ll be the first to admit it: I like to be comfortable. I don’t really like unexpected changes or challenges. When we traveled to China to adopt our daughter in August of 2009, I knew I was taking the biggest leap of faith in my life. While I was prepared for Evie to have cleft lip and palate and a repaired congenital heart disease, I was not ready for my new two year old daughter to be so delayed that she was more like a three month old baby.

While I loved Evie from the minute I saw her picture, and the love grew even more when I held her for the first time, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely devastated to learn that she didn’t know how to walk, how to play with toys, or even how to turn the page of a book. As I watched other parents receive their children, I couldn’t help but notice that their kids could all walk, would smile, and laugh. I found myself asking God why me? Why was my beautiful daughter completely shutdown? Why didn’t she look at us? Why couldn’t she walk? Why did she only weigh 15 pounds?

As I wallowed in my own self-pity, my husband told me something that I already knew: God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. Let him work. Give him control. Then he gently reminded me that we prayed for God to lead us to our daughter. It was no mistake that we were Evie’s parents. So we took our daughter home and settled into our new, sometimes uncomfortable, normal as a family of five.

Seven months, and many, many developmental therapy and speech seasons later, Evie is catching up to her peers. She is smart, spunky, and full of energy. It hasn’t always been easy, but stepping out of my comfort zone has allowed me to experience a new joy. I’m no longer going through the motions of my faith, but I get to experience and see God in a deep and profound way.

I don’t want to think about what I would have missed if I had simply said, “ I don’t want to do this. Adoption is too hard.”

Are you listening to God? Is he asking you to do something? What would happen if you simply trusted him and stepped out in faith?

Gordon lives in Chorley Park behind the neighborhood where I live, not far from where he grew up. He stays here winters and migrates up to Oregon for the summer. He survives by trimming trees and working odd jobs.

Gordon is schizophrenic. He’s affable most of the time, trying hard to stay on good terms with those of us who live by the park. Sometimes people complain and the police try to kick him out but he usually manages find a way to stay. Some evenings you can hear him screaming and yelling at the voices in his head.

Two of my neighbors tried to talk him into going to the emergency room but he refused. He insisted he wanted to at least spend the night (in the park) and he’d see how he felt the next day. When the next day came he finally relented. He had broken his hip on both sides.

When my neighbors brought him to ER they could tell that he didn’t get the kind of treatment that either of them would have. ER staff can size people up pretty quickly and just about anyone looking at Gordon can see he’s a handful. They eventually took him in and he had a hospital bed for a few days. I can’t blame the hospital for not wanting to take him. They know that he’ll require expensive treatment and there will be no hope getting paid.

I watched this happen, watching my neighbors and knowing a bit of how this will turn out. I’ve gone on this trip before trying to get a schizophrenic needed medical treatment.

At first the hospital visit was OK. The hospital staff was great to him and he loved it. Eventually someone would have to come and tell Gordon what the bill would be and Gordon knew he couldn’t pay it. Gordon takes pride in paying his own way and by not being able to pay forced him to admit something painful about himself. He could easily qualify for disability but he isn’t disabled in his opinion. He works for his own food and pays his own way. He doesn’t ask for handouts.

Saturday my neighbors were a distressed. The hospital wasn’t going to keep him anymore and no skilled nursing facility would take him for rehab and recuperation. They wanted to send him to a shelter but Gordon won’t hear of it.

Sunday AM as I drove to church I saw Gordon hobbling to the Gas Station/Convenience Store where he uses the bathroom after his night in the park. He was there with his new walker. Memories welled up in me of Larry. Larry was an alcoholic who I used to let sleep on the church property. I could not longer let Larry do it when we started a child care center. The last time I saw Larry he had been hit by a car and was sleeping behind the bushes at the church across the street, with his walker.

I invited Gordon to sit in our sanctuary with the other mentally disabled folks from the community who come to get warm and enjoy the coffee before the Sunday events begin. He’d be more comfortable here than on the curb. He graciously declined. He was working on getting a train ticket to Oregon.

I’m glad something passed Congress. I hope it does some good.  At the same time I don’t know if this bill will help Gordon or would have helped Larry. I don’t really know what legislation would help. Treatment was available for Larry but he didn’t want it. Gordon could probably find more sanity through medication, but he doesn’t want it. We want solutions mediated at arms length by professionals and programs but in many cases the most helpful application of available treatment for these men and others like them come through men and women who get involved individually and just try to treat them like a person of value.

The people I know that live and work with the Larrys and Gordons of the world are politically diverse. Most of us have ideas of what we’d like to see the government do or not do and we can’t always agree. What we do agree on is that helping is hard because brokenness is stubborn. I pray for the age of decay and the coming of shalom.

My real family is loud, opinionated, and chaotic.

Evie, the three year old, is in a tantrum, my way or the highway, phase. She is stubborn, strong-willed, and at times, downright defiant.  Caleb, my four year old, never sits still. He is either running on turbo or passed out asleep, there’s no in-between.  And Joshua, my seven year old, is set in his ways, and likes to argue.

In the past, I’ve been frustrated and, yes, I’ll admit, even embarrassed by their unruly behavior.  But then one day, when I picked up Caleb from school his teacher told me he was a joy to have in class.  A joy? My Caleb? I doubted her honesty and asked if he actually sat still and listened.  She smiled, and didn’t answer my question directly, but instead told me he had real passion and loved life.  Now those are exceptional qualities.

Maybe I’ve been looking at my children all wrong.  Yes, Evie is stubborn and has tantrums. But if I really look at where she’s been, it starts to make sense. She spent two and a half years in an orphanage, fighting for food, fighting for attention, and ultimately fighting for her life. She was born with Tetralogy of Fallot, a serious congenital heart disease and cleft lip and palate, most children would have died. Evie fought. She didn’t give up. I do not want to squash the fighter in her.

And when I look at Caleb through my new lens of motherhood, I see a boy who bounds through life with pure joy. Yes joy. It’s an emotion a lot of adults wish they could feel. Joy comes naturally to him. Joy is not something I want to stifle.

And then there’s Joshua, the oldest of the bunch. Arguing is never pretty on a child and we’re working on lessening that. But even at seven years old, he has deeply rooted beliefs in God and he’s not afraid to defend them. He understands and can explain the plan of salvation and what it means to be baptized. As he grows older, I pray that he continues to stand firm in his beliefs ready to defend them against anyone who challenges him.

Over the past few months, I’ve set new boundaries, one that can nurture my kids’ God-given traits. Evie likes control. So I give it to her with things like picking out her own clothes and shoes. She’s had less tantrums and is proud of her new independence. I’ve given Caleb more opportunities to burn off his energy. He used to run and jump around the house, which would drive me crazy. Now I turn up the music and we dance together. Not only is he happy, but he’s worn out and sits through dinner. And Joshua, my budding lawyer, is arguing less. But I’ve engaged him in conversations that he’s allowed to have an opinion in and am teaching him how to respectfully speak to adults.

My new boundaries are a lot harder to enforce, because honestly it’s a lot more work for me. If the kids misbehaved or were too wild, I used to send them to their room, which would give me a break from them, too. It was a one-size-fits all punishment, which doesn’t work for all my kids. Now, instead of punishing them, I want to discipline them and guide them to use their gifts in appropriate situations.

I’m no expert in parenting and I’m still learning. But my house is a little more peaceful, the kids are happier, and I’m less frustrated. I pray every day that they will grow into exceptional adults who further the Kingdom.

How about you? How are you raising exceptional kids?

Anyway…I came across this video featuring Chad Hedrick. He’s a USA speed skater who won the bronze in the 1000m race in Vancouver (to add to his gold, silver and bronze from Torino in 2006).

In the video, he talks about his faith as an athlete and how it can be perceived by others.  He says:

I have guys from the media talking to me all the time and I tell them I want to have a great time, make special memories with my family, and if I go there and give 100 percent and it’s not enough, I know God has a path for me, and that‘s the path that I’m going to follow. They interpret that as: I’m soft, I’ve lost my competitive edge, I’m not very confident. But they really don’t understand; and I’m hoping throughout the Olympics and Vancouver that they see that I am still very competitive, and that you can be a Christian and still be a competitive person.

How about you?  Can it be tough to balance being a Christian and being competitive?  Does knowing if an athlete is Christian change to way you root for them in an event?

(This video came from the website Beyond the Ultimate which has a list of Christian Olympians and features their stories.)

Below are two news stories about the Salwen’s, who have now written a book called “The Power of Half.”

From what I’ve read about the family, I can’t really tell you about their faith commitment.  Regardless, it begs the question: Could you majorly downsize your life, like this family did, to help the poor?

Before I could answer, she spun around, and demanded that the clerk apologize—again—for accidentally bumping her cart with her newborn inside.

“I said I was really sorry,” the cashier replied meekly. “It was an accident.”

The angry mom turned her rage back towards me. She wagged her finger at Evie, my three year old, and Caleb, my four year old. “You’re the one with the crazy kids,” she yelled.

What had been a small supermarket mishap, one I hadn’t really been involved in, had suddenly turned ugly.

Caleb, who had been staring at the angry mom, turned his attention to me.

I paused, holding back my fury toward this mother for involving my children, and turned my back to her.

“Let’s zip up our coats,” I said to my kids. She stormed out of the store and I thought the situation was over.

But when we went out to the parking lot, she was circling around in her car, waiting for us. As I threw my kids into their car seats, she sped next to us, rolled down her passenger side window and started yelling at us again.

I climbed into the car and as she circled around again, I sped out of the parking lot. Thankfully she didn’t follow me.

As I drove, I couldn’t help but wonder how things had spiraled out of control so quickly. I wonder if I had responded in the right way. I didn’t stick up for my kids. In fact, I hadn’t said anything to her. The woman was right: my kids were acting crazy. Both of them were having major meltdowns. But would it had mattered if I had tried to explain that we were only at the store to get my sick son some juice and popsicles? Would it had helped if I had told her that Evie hadn’t napped and that I’d had a long day and my husband was going to be late?
Probably not.

I wondered what the rest of her story was. She was frantic, almost manic, and looked like she hadn’t showered in days, and probably hadn’t slept in a while. Did she have postpartum? Did she have help with the new baby?

I looked in my rearview mirror. My kids had calmed down and had fallen asleep. They will probably see a lot more ugly behavior in their lifetime. But it’s up to me to teach them how to respond. As Christians, when confronted with a hostile situation, how should we respond—especially when we have little eyes watching us?

The first is for all of those people who get a little caught up in the Hallmark side of Valentine’s Day.

And this second one are some killer marriage tips from the comedy duo Johnny and Chachi.

Any thoughts?

Leading up to this year’s Super Bowl, there was some controversy about a pro-life ad from Focus on the Family.  The commercial featured Heisman Trophy Winner Tim Tebow and his mom Pam, who  talked about her decision not to have an abortion (without actually saying the word abortion).   Pro-choice groups criticized CBS for accepting the ad, which was the first “political” ad the network ever approved for the big game.

So what did you think?  Was the ad effective?  Did it live up to the hype?

(Reminder: Quick Thought comments should be short.  Maybe a few sentences but no more than 100 words or so.)

“Really! Why?” was usually the standard answer. Then came, “You know there are lots of babies who need good homes right here in the United States.”

I knew. And I’d seen some of their faces on adoption websites. It was gut-wrenching to read about them. The more I investigated the adoption process in the United States, the more I discovered our foster care system is bursting at the seams. There are literally thousands and thousands of kids who need and desperately want a family.

So why would we travel halfway around the globe for a baby?

I’ll admit, it’s a fair question.

I also investigated adoption programs in the Ukraine, Russia, South Korea, and a host of other countries. All with the same faces and stories of the kids I saw on the foster care websites. How could we pick? It was an impossible decision. So my husband and I started to pray about it. And as we prayed, it was clear  to me that when Christ called us to care for the fatherless he did not mean just those in the United States. He meant all children.

So I would say why not China? Why not Ethiopia, Haiti, South Korea, or the United States? Why not Russia or the Ukraine? It doesn’t matter what their birth circumstances are, a kid is a kid, no matter where they are born. Christians should be less concerned about where families chose to adopt from and more concerned and committed to caring for orphans.

There are thousands, dare I say millions, of children around the globe who desperately need a loving family. Too many die while they wait for a family. In legitimate adoptions, the birth family makes the painful decision to place the child for adoption. At the same time, many adoptive families, like mine, prayerfully considered which program to pursue.

We didn’t accidentally stumble across our daughter. I firmly believe that God knew she would be part of our family from the beginning of time.

So why did we choose China? The answer is simple: Because when God called us to get our daughter, that’s where she was. And we went.

(Amy has written children’s books, a teen magazine column, interviews, and adoption applications. She is the proud mother to two boys who are 7 and 4.  Her latest adventure led her to Beijing, China, with her husband Jonathan where they met their newest addition to the family, a two year old little girl.  You can read about her life, faith, and the ups, downs, and joys of motherhood at www.1001tears.blogspot.com.  Read her pervious TC post about the cost of adoption here.)