Posted by Editormum on 20 December 2010 in Uncategorized |
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I’ve been enjoying most of the Christmas music being played on the local radio stations. I found a “new” one this year that plays some of the less-known, older, and more niche music, and most of it’s pretty good stuff. A darn sight better than the station that plays “Last Christmas” by Wham! at least once an hour. (I have come to loathe that song.)
Like my friend John, I am always saddened to hear the horrible enunciations, like “May-ree di Jew know.” But I can usually get over it enough to enjoy the music and sing along.
But there is this one song that makes me scream. It’s sung by a woman with a low, husky voice and a “bluesy” style. She’s singing “What Child Is This?” and she really has a lovely voice. But her phrasing is appalling. My college choir director (Marcy) would have a stroke, and I’m pretty sure our church choir director (Jay) would too, if they heard this recording.
The first problem is that the woman almost never finishes a word. It sounds like “Wha chile ih dih who lay to res’ ohn May-ree lap ih sleepeen. Who angel gree wi’ anthem swee why shepher’ wah cha keepee.”
I am not kidding. The first three times I heard it, I thought it was in a foreign language. I used to think Jay and Marcy were SO PICKY about putting the final consonants on our words … but I now officially and publicly apologize for my snarky thoughts. They are SO RIGHT.
And then there’s the breathing. Now, Marcy always said we should train until we could sing about eight measures without a breath. I never managed that, but I got to where I could manage four measures, and sometimes six. But that was okay. Because Marcy also said that it was okay if we just HAD to sneak a breath in the middle of a phrase, but for heaven’s sake DON’T do it in the middle of a word.
Somehow, this singer missed that bit of instruction. She breathes smack in the middle of shepherds, salvation, and virgin. And there are a couple of melismatic phrases (I love the word “melisma.” Got that one from Marcy, too!) that would be really lovely — if the singer didn’t take a huge gasping breath in the middle of them.
I try not to be overly critical of amateur singers, being one myself and being aware of my own faults and ignorance in the art. I try not to be critical of people who are praising God, because God never said “make a beautiful noise.” He only said “make a joyful noise.” And He wants our praise. Who am I to judge someone who is whole-heartedly singing in praise of God?
But I simply cannot bear to listen to this particular rendition of “What Child Is This.” It gives me chill bumps for all the wrong reasons.
Tags: Christmas music, Entertainment, rant, singing
Posted by Editormum on 15 December 2010 in Uncategorized |
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Every year at Christmas-time, the employees of our corporate office go together to make a donation in honour of our corporate owners. Each of us puts in whatever we can manage, and the donation is usually between $150 and $300.
At the same time, our company sends its corporate holiday cards with a note that a donation has been made in honor of our investors and clients. That donation also varies, from $500 to $1000.
The employee gift has been to the same charity for the past eight years: The Church Health Center. The corporate gift recipient has varied; past recipients include the Phoenix Club (which benefits the Boys and Girls Clubs of Greater Memphis) to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, and The Church Health Center.
I get mail from all of these organizations, and it’s something I want to address because a fellow-employee who wrote a check for her gift last year complained that she had been getting mail — lots and lots of mail — from the charity asking for more money, and that she didn’t think it was wise use of her donation. She felt that they should notice that the person gives only once a year, and not waste postage, paper supplies, etc., on a holiday donor.
Her comment struck me, because one of the charities that we have supported has successfully struck itself from my charitable giving list for the same reason. Here’s why.
Our total donation last year was approximately $150 to this particular charity. Since making that donation, I have gotten a solicitation mailing from the charity at least twice a month. Every single one is a multi-piece mailing, with a letter, a brochure, a SASE, and various other items. The SASEs alone account for about $15 of last year’s donation. The postage to send the mailer is at least another $30, and then there are the printing costs for the full-colour letters, brochures, and other pieces. Not to mention the special “gifts” of picture-frame ornaments and writsbands and what-not. At a conservative estimate, only about $75 of our donation probably actually was used for charitable purposes. The rest was used to solicit more money from me. That’s not how I want my charitable monies used. When I give to a charity, I want the money to be used to help the people directly. If I give to a medical establishment, use the money to pay for patient-care supplies, or a new MRI machine … not to buy postage to ask me for more money.
I don’t really mind the charities who send me the quarterly newsletter, or even a modest monthly newsletter. I do like to keep up with what’s going on at the places I support. But packets filled with nothing but appeals turn me off completely, especially when I see SASEs that are basically a chance to throw money in the trash.
A first-class stamp costs 44 cents … almost half a dollar … right now. If I got 22 of these mailings, that’s $10 wasted just on the stamps. I would feel better about it if they used a business reply envelope, since they want to pay my return postage. Then at least it’s just a piece of paper I’m tossing in the bin.
Maybe I’m just snarky, but if I am, I’m not the only one. I understand the challenges of fund-raising, but I find unremitting appeals for more money to a small-time, once-a-year donor to be off-putting.
Tags: charity, Philosophy
Posted by Editormum on 4 December 2010 in Uncategorized |
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I’m not gonna lie. I will be glad to see the end of 2010. It’s been a tough year for me and the boys, and we’re hoping and praying that 2011 will be better.
Fewer visits to the doctor’s office would be especially nice. If it wasn’t the kids coming down with something weird, it was me. I’ve had more than $10K worth of stuff done to me this year, including two surgeries. And if this last surgery doesn’t work, I’ll be having one more before the year rolls over, since I’ve paid this year’s deductible and it will roll over on January 1.
And then my grandma, who is the healthiest woman I know, was diagnosed with cancer. That’s not been a lot of fun to deal with, for any of us. Least of all for grandma. And then there was my sister-in-law’s pregnancy. If I were her, I think I would swear off having babies. Seriously. She had so many issues with that pregnancy, and it culminated in a more-or-less emergency C-section a week before Thanksgiving — three weeks before the due date. And then she was back in the hospital with pre-eclampsia, which scared us all to death. But she and the baby seem to be doing fine, now. (knock wood)
The other misfortunes of the year included a small fender-bender, a broken pipe in my kitchen, continuing conflict with the X, and various other inconvenient and unpleasant little episodes.
I’d like 2011 to have a few more such blessings, and a lot fewer setbacks. Money to pay off the bills would also be nice. But I can be content in having home, car, job, kids, friends, and food. Not necessarily in that order.
Still, as I remind myself and the children, we have a roof over our heads, a car in our driveway, and food on the table. And I still have a job. Those are big blessings. BIG. And I’m grateful for them.
Tags: blessings, challenges, Family Life, medical issues, Philosophy, stress
Posted by Editormum on 9 November 2010 in Uncategorized |
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On October 29, I was in a teeny-tiny fender-bender. I was backing out of a parking spot, and there was an enormous SUV parked next to me. So I was backing very slowly, watching my mirrors and trying to see past this behemoth next to me, when I hear a crunch. I look in my rearview mirror, and two shocked faces are staring back at me.
I get out of my car and so does the driver I’ve crunched. My bumper is askew and the lens on one of my taillights is broken. His car (a Mercedes, of all things) has a scuff on the bumper. He’s very nice. We exchange information, and I drive home, file my claim online, and wait to hear from an agent.
Monday, 1 November, I get the call from the agent and tell her which body shop I want to use (Brewer’s, if you’re in Memphis, is the best body shop ever), and she says she will set everything up. She asks if I want a rental car and I tell her I do. I mean, I have a job and scout meetings and karate classes to go to, and since the shop is going to have to do some paint work, I’m going to be without a car for several days. So yeah, I want a rental. She says to let her know when I’m taking the car in and she will set everything up.
So I talk to the body shop, take the car in for an estimate, and we agree that I’ll bring the car in on Monday, 8 November, and leave it for repair. (They have to get the right parts. Quarter-panel, bumper, shocks and struts, and heaven knows what else.)
So I call the adjuster and leave a voice mail telling her that I’m taking the car in on the eighth and will need a rental for a week to ten days. Never hear back from her. Didn’t worry too much about it until I tried again on the eighth and got transferred to some other adjuster. Who also wasn’t in. And who called me back while I was away from my desk for five minutes, left a message that my adjuster was on vacation, but she’d be glad to help me, and could I clarify the claim number for her. And who wasn’t in when I called her back … every thirty minutes for the next three hours. Still, I’d left my adjuster a message a week ago, so it should all be set. Right?
HA!
(quick backtrack) Five years ago, shortly after I bought my car, a guy backed into me and I had to go through this same procedure. It was very smooth. I took the car to the shop, the rental peeps had a car waiting for me, we filled out all the paperwork and I still had time to pick up some lunch and get to the office before my lunch hour ends. So I’m expecting this to go equally smoothly. Stupid of me, really. (end of backtrack)
Monday lunch hour rolls around, and I pick up Mom and the kids so we can still have lunch together. We go down to the body shop and drop off the car. The rental people say they will pick me up in five or ten minutes. Okay. No problem.
Fifteen minutes later, they show up. We cram into the car and they take us to the rental place. Where we find that my adjuster has NOT set up the rental. I don’t have a credit card (well, I do, but not with me because I am trying to pay them off and stop being in debt), I don’t have a debit card (bad experience with that one), and my day-planner with claim numbers, adjusters’ numbers, and everything else is not in my purse.
The car agent can’t get anyone on the phone at my insurance company. I can’t get anyone on the phone at my insurance company. I call my coworker and ask her to look at my desk to see if my planner is there. She finds it in my briefcase … I must have put it there instead of my purse as I was running out the door. She reads me off all the numbers. (Bless her!)
I call the adjuster. She’s still not in. I call my boss, because my lunch hour’s over. She’s not in either, so I leave her a voice-mail explaining what’s going on. I try the adjuster again. Not in. I call the local office. They give me a number to call. I call that number. They can’t help me, but they give me another number where someone can. I call that number. They can’t help me either, but they give me yet ANOTHER number to call. I call that number and demand to speak to an adjuster. Any adjuster. I’m put on hold. For six minutes. Finally, my adjuster comes on the line.
And has the unmitigated effrontery to tell me that I obviously haven’t been calling her number, because she’s been at her desk. Now, the ONLY number I had was this woman’s number, and I’d even called the 800-number and asked for her by name. It was her voice mail that picked up every time I called. But whatever. I had her now.
She sets up the rental. I give the reservation number to the rental car people. All is well. Except that this rental place has nothing on the lot for me. They’ll have something shortly, don’t worry. Probably a Cobalt. (What the dickens is a Cobalt?!)
I go outside to walk in the cool air and calm down, because it’s hot as blue blazes in the rental car office, and me being beside myself with frustration isn’t making me any cooler. And besides, mom and the kids are out there, because the kids were getting restless. While I wait, I try to call my boss again, since I’ve now been “at lunch” for two hours. She’s still not in.
I go back inside for a minute and overhear the manager telling one of the clerks to “take these keys and drive that van to West Memphis and pick up a Cobalt. I’ll tell them to have it running for you, because this lady’s been waiting for it.” Oh, no, you didn’t just say that. Yeah. He did.
Then this couple drives up in a little bitty car. And the manager comes out and says, “I’m just going to clean this up and let you take it.” Holy cow … I’m not sure I will FIT in that thing. It’s minuscule! But as he drives past, I see “Cobalt” on the back of it. Well, I guess that’s my rental. Wow.
So half an hour later, we’re on our way. I try to call my boss again. She’s not in. I leave her a message saying that since I am all the way down on Third Street and it’s 3:45, there’s not much point in my coming back to the office, which is in far East Memphis not far from Germantown, so I will just come in early and work late the next couple days to make up my unexpected three-hour absence. I then call another co-worker to cover the reception desk during my late-afternoon shift. And I go get some lunch. (At 4:30. Yeah. Can we say “what blood sugar?”)
So I filled up the car and I’ve driven the little bitty car a bit. It’s okay, but it’s a tin can on wheels. I bump my head and twist my ankles getting out, because I’m used to a Honda CRV, which has head room and sits pretty high off the ground. But it’s a car. So I grumble at its idiosyncrasies and drive it with a smile. Almost. It’s also got Massachusetts tags, so everyone thinks I’m a Yankee, and therefore, fair game. Sigh. I’m a born and bred Southern belle, and I will never live down the shame of those tags. But anyway.
So this afternoon, I get a call from the rental agency. They need me to bring the car in and swap it out, because it’s actually been sold and wasn’t supposed to leave the lot. Are. You. Kidding. Me?! Fortunately, we’re working it out. I’ll take it to a closer branch tomorrow and swap it. Only I insist on getting a car with a full tank, because it was just under half-full when I got it, and I’m having to turn it in with a nearly full tank. Yeah. I want a full tank of gas in that car.
But good grief, what a complete mess. Why does this crazy stuff always happen to me?
Tags: challenges, True Stories
Posted by Editormum on 14 October 2010 in Uncategorized |
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At the risk of being too depressing, I want to talk about life after divorce when kids are involved. I don’t know how it is for those who are divorced with no kids, but I fantasize that in some ways it must be easier. (And don’t set me straight if I’m wrong, because I need my fantasies. They keep me sane.)
I imagine that if you divorce and there are no kids, you never have to deal with your ex again. Or at least, not intentionally or on any regular schedule. Sure, you might run into him — Okay, I’m a girl, so for me, exes are male. If you’re a guy reading this, just mentally swap the pronoun, okay? Thanks. — Sure, you might run into him at the store or at church or at a community event, but it’s rare.
If it was a bad breakup or if you left an abusive situation, you can change the locks or move to a new home, change your phone numbers, change your e-mail or block his e-mails, and otherwise take steps to completely remove your ex from your life. You can toss the pictures or put them in storage. Box up all the wedding memorabilia and store it away … or burn it. Give all the gifts and keepsakes to charity. Empty your life of remembrances.
Sometimes, I dream of being able to do that. But I am divorced with kids.
Now I want to say right off that I adore my children. They are delightful and amazing and wonderful, and I will gladly sacrifice anything on their behalf. And have done. And continue to do so. So none of what I have to say should be construed in any way as reflecting on them.
Being divorced with kids means that you cannot obliterate the relationship with your former spouse. You have to maintain open lines of communication, because there are kids’ schedules and events and visitation to discuss and coordinate. If you move, the ex has to know where you live so he can pick the kids up for visitation. You can’t block e-mails or phone calls. You are forced to continue interacting with your ex.
If you have a decent, non-adversarial relationship with your ex, if you can work with the ex on matters concerning the kids without it degenerating into a fight, you are luckier than you will ever know.
If it was a bad breakup, or an abusive situation, or if your ex turns every scheduling conflict into a war that he must win at all costs, you’re not so lucky. You’re condemned to have to keep trying, for the sake of the kids, to reason with the unreasonable and to negotiate with a brick wall. You usually end up feeling like you’ve been banging your head against that wall. The ongoing conflict can make you suicidal. Or homicidal. Or both.
You end up in the “never-ending funeral.” Continually dealing with the rage, impotence, and frustrations that caused your marriage to break up. Continually mourning the loss of your dreams and hopes for the future. Continually trying to show a brave front for the kids’ sake, while continuing to die inside. If you are a person who struggles to set boundaries, or if you are dealing with a person who refuses to respect boundaries, the struggle is even worse.
If you know someone who is a difficult ex, express your disapproval when they treat their ex abusively or unreasonably around you. Don’t let embarrassment silence you. Stand up for those who are being hurt. If it is done in your presence, it becomes your business.
If you know a single parent who has a difficult ex, offer moral support and a shoulder to cry on when things get overwhelming. Or a safe place to vent and to escape to when “enough is too much,” but the single mom doesn’t want to let the kids see her break down. Sometimes, a single kind word can make a world of difference to a single parent who is miserably trying to make life work for herself and her kids. And sometime, you may just save someone’s sanity. Or their life.
Tags: abuse, challenges, child-rearing, children, divorce, Family Life, parenting
Posted by Editormum on 8 October 2010 in Uncategorized |
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My sons are delightful people. Especially now, as they begin to grow out of childhood and into manhood. It is a joy and a privilege to watch them on their journey to adulthood. It is a terrifying responsibility to guide them on that road.
My older son is in the wavering phase, teetering between childhood pursuits and adult interests. It’s sometimes hard to keep up with the rapid changes between needy child and independent adolescent. Especially since those changes can happen faster than an eye-blink.
My younger son is in the “almost” phase. He is almost, but not quite a teen. So he frequently exasperates his older brother, who expects him to act more maturely. And he is still more of a child than anything else.
My older son is beginning to have real manners. Not “mom just reminded me so I’d better do this” manners, but spontaneous politeness. Please and thank you without prompting. Opening doors for me. Carrying heavy stuff for me. Cutting his food into decent-sized bites instead is dislocating his jaw to engulf his food. Eating things besides chicken nuggets and hot dogs. And complimenting the cook.
And with his newfound maturity is coming another puzzling contradiction. Communication. Some days, he talks to me and confides in me and shares with me … and some days he hermetically seals himself and won’t talk for love or money.
When he converses, it’s delightful. (Unless we are dealing with issues of him being bullied or his anger toward his father. Then it’s good to talk, but I wouldn’t call it fun.) He’s got a wide range of interests … mostly in the local fauna and in outdoor pursuits, but also in people and places.
My younger son talks a lot more than his brother, but his conversation generally tends to be about Pokemon, Digimon, and Bakugan. But when you can get the kid to talk about movies, books, or something besides video games, he’s also profoundly interesting.
Kids have a unique insight—sometimes a profound and penetrating insight—into the world around them. You want someone to home in on the central issue and ignore any peripheral issues, mitigating circumstances, or distractions? Ask a kid. You want someone who isn’t afraid to ask the embarrassing or scary questions that most of us keep buried because WE don’t want to be the one to ask? Get a kid. Seriously.
We’re walking out of Wal*Mart one day and are nearly run down by two men who are not exactly running, but who are definitely moving quickly. We step aside and stand still for a minute, watching as the men stop a woman who was leaving just ahead of us, and show her two empty hangers. She opens her enormous handbag, and then the men escort her through a door I’d never noticed before, and the kids and I look at each other in disbelief. And my youngest says, “What was THAT all about?” My oldest retorts, “Duh, she was stealing stuff in that giant bag of hers!” And the youngest says, “Oh, so that’s why they nearly ran over us. You’d think they could arrest someone without hurting innocent bystanders.” I nearly broke a rib stifling my laughter. The brutal honesty of kids can be overwhelming.
Tags: boys, child-rearing, children, Family Life, parenting, True Stories
Posted by Editormum on 28 September 2010 in
Frugal Living,
Uncategorized |
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Financially, this has been the year from Hell in the Editormum household. I still have my full-time administrative assistant job, thank God, but the freelancing work fell off dramatically this year. (Note to my current clients: Thank you! I value each and every one of you in ways you cannot begin to guess.)
I have two sons, ages 12 and 13. I don’t have to tell you about the costs associated with teenaged boys. And all three of us have had expensive health problems … though mine, requiring barium x-rays, upper GIs, and other expensive tests, have been the biggest drain on the budget. And problems between the X and the kids have put me a couple of thousand in the hole to my lawyer and my sons’ therapist. On top of all of that, I was already struggling to pay off a lot of credit card debt. (Yes, I’ve stopped using them. No, not all of it is stupid stuff, though there is a hefty stupid tax in there.)
So when I looked at the Editormum balance sheet a few weeks ago, I panicked. We’ve used up every penny of my savings (including cashing out an IRA, which is going to make for a lot of fun in April), and we’re still struggling. And I decided that the time had come to get a second job. However, I needed it to be flexible and I needed it to fit around the kids’ visitation schedule and my full-time job. Not an easy task.
So I thought, editing and proofreading and writing can be done any time and anywhere I have access to a computer and the internet. I’ve got to increase my freelance income. But how? Word-of-mouth isn’t fast enough, and Craigslist was a disappointment, so I googled “freelance writing jobs.” I was, admittedly, apprehensive. I am well aware of the many scams and unethical services out there. And I actually got into a couple of them …
One of them was a company that, as I found out once I’d been accepted and started looking for projects to bid on, allows students to post coursework and dissertations and hire other people to do them. I will not accept such assignments. I signed up with this company because they also offer proofreading and editing services … and those are the only assignments that I am going to do for them. If you are in school and are told to do coursework or write a paper, do it. If you’re going to hire someone else to write your doctoral dissertation, then the writer should get the doctorate … not you. There’s a big difference between handing an editor a rough draft and saying, “Help me make this more polished and coherent, and make sure it follows the style manual” and handing someone a topic and saying, “Put together a 50-page dissertation with outline, notes, and bibliography.”
The other one was a company that offered all kinds of writing and creative work, so it sounded like a great resource and I signed up. The first job I bid on, I won. There was a 12-hour deadline, but it was only 8000 words and should have taken me only two or three hours at most. Except.
When I got the files from the buyer, they explained that they had been translated from Swedish into English, and my task was to standardize the English. OMG. I managed the first three files, totaling 1000 words, in about 90 minutes. The last file, which had a little over 7000 words, took me eight and a half hours to complete. The further into it I got, the more Swedish words remained in the “translated” text. Google translate and I became very good friends that day. And, honestly, it’s a good thing that I have a good grasp of the concepts surrounding childbirth, or I would never have been able to pull that job off. Certainly not in 12 hours.
Note to ALL non-English speaking writers: Google translate is a great tool, but it is NOT sufficient for translating technical or academic treatises. And if you’ve put your text through Google translate, don’t expect your editor to be super fast at cleaning up the grammar. It’s going to take time, and you should be willing to PAY, handsomely, for that work. Because it’s grueling.
Now, to add insult to injury, the person who bought my services for that project has not paid me (it’s been ten days since I completed the work) and will no longer respond to my e-mails. So it will be a long time before I bid on another job at that site, and I’m going to grill the prospect like Perry Mason with a hostile witness before I accept any proposals there. Oh, and any accepted bidders WILL be paying me at least 30 percent up-front. Yes. I made that mistake, too. Live, screw up, and learn.
The good news is that I have found one online site that lived up to its hype. I have already been paid nearly $100, with another $20 already in my next pay-packet, and $150 more in my project queue. And that’s in 8 days of writing for them. The projects are interesting and fun. (Well, they are for me. I like to research and write.) And payment is prompt and hassle-free. If I can keep up this rate of production, I can fill in a lot of that financial hole in just a few short months.
So Editormum is not panicked anymore. Concerned, yes. Focused, yes. Working 12 to 14 hour days, yes. But no panic. And that is a good thing.
Tags: budget, challenges, credit cards, credit issues, divorce, economic downturn, editing, Family Life, fear, finances, freelancing writing, medical issues, proofreading, Work Life
Posted by Editormum on 2 September 2010 in Uncategorized |
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Okay, this is going to be short, because I am using the last eight minutes of my lunch break to write and post this. But I am SO in love I totally cannot wait to share this information.
I have been reading for a couple of years now about Vibram Five-Fingers “shoes.” My virtual sensei has posted glowing reviews of them on his blog, but I really didn’t see much use for me until two days ago.
Two days ago, I decided to go walking. Not strolling. Brisk, heart-rate-increasing, serious-exercise-pace walking. So I laced on my whatever-they-are cross-trainers and went out. Did nearly two miles in just under half an hour, and enjoyed myself immensely. Got on the scale the next day and was down four pounds — even though I’d treated myself to a Fruitista Freeze at lunch AND a Cappuccino Blast at dinner. So I was like, yeah, this walking thing needs to be part of my life.
Only problem was that I developed an enormous blister on the BOTTOM of my fourth toe. Walking around the office yesterday was excruciating, and today isn’t much better. And I walked a full two miles again last night, with that toe encased in serious layers of gauze and tape, and it still hurt and slowed me down (34 minutes, this time).
So I got to thinking about the Vibram Five-Fingers “un-shoes.” You see, I frequently get those bottom-of-the-toe blisters, because my last two toes bend in and under rather oddly. And I got to thinking, “Gee, I’ll bet VFFs could solve that problem.”
So I went online to see what was out there …. and found that there is a store down the street from my office that carries VFFs. So I stopped in on my lunch hour to try them on and see what I thought.
And what I thought was I HAVE TO HAVE A PAIR OF THESE!
They were the most comfortable things I have ever put on … once I got them on. That part was a bit tricky, especially with my foldy toes. But once they were on. Well, they make my Isotoner slippers feel like lead boots. Really. And the blister? No pain. None. Walked around a little bit, and it was like having on almost nothing. Like the way silk pajamas feel against your skin. Silky, light, outrageously comfortable.
Only problem? They cost $85. I don’t have $85. So, I will have to put them on my wish list and tell everyone I know that they are the only thing I want for Christmas. The. Only. Thing.
Tags: exercise, Family Life, shoes, VFF, walking, wish list
Posted by Editormum on 29 August 2010 in Uncategorized |
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A continuation of yesterday’s thoughts on having strong-willed children.
Those traits can also lead her into situations that will give her a chance to develop a deep-rooted humility and dependence on God.
When you are “strong-willed” and “independent,” it can take some doing for God to teach you the lesson that “there’s a God, and you aren’t Him.” But, of course, that is the first and most important lesson that anyone has to learn. I’m reminded of the story of Job.
Job had it all together. Great family. Great wealth. Great life. Great faith. He was one of those totally, amazingly put-together guys. One of those guys that the rest of go around going, “Wow, I wish was him!” He was so totally, amazingly together that God bragged on how great Job was. And Satan said, “Well, DUH. He has everything and he’s totally protected. You won’t let me so much as make his hair fall out. I’ll lay You any odds that if You would just let me have at him, he’d turn his back on You so fast Your head would spin.” And God said, “You’re on. Just don’t kill him.”
So Satan attacked Job with everything he had. Killed his kids. Destroyed his wealth. Gave him physical pain and illness. Satan hit Job with a couple of atom bombs. A lesser man would have lost his faith. Job’s own wife told him to curse God and die. But what did Job say? “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.” That is to say, “Even if God kills me brutally, I will continue to trust Him.” What a strong will!
I’ve hit a few such things in my life. That wreck I mentioned yesterday, for example. I don’t like what it did to me. The aftermath of the injuries, while not readily apparent, is devastating. It would be easy to say, “God didn’t protect me. He let me down. I won’t believe any more.” But my faith is not rooted in circumstances. My faith is rooted in Truth. So I believe. I believe even as I lie, weeping, at my Father’s feet, begging Him to help me understand why this had to be. Begging for strength to carry on just one more day. Strength to live out His love to others, even when I don’t feel very loved myself.
There were other things that were my fault, that led me into deep, dark places where it seemed there was no way out. Where I had to admit, both privately and publicly, that I had royally screwed up, that there was no hiding it, and that I needed help. Deeply humbling experiences. Some of them deeply embarrassing or humiliating. Like the death of my marriage, which ended in divorce. Like the incredible amount of debt I accrued, got mostly paid off, and then re-accrued. Deeply humiliating.
Because a strong will, when not tempered by wisdom, reliance on God, and humility, will lead a person into self-indulgence and foolishness. And when the person is found out, when their failures and foolishness are revealed publicly, when things that they thought were secret were made very, very public, it’s dreadfully humiliating.
That is why I encourage parents of strong-willed, independent children to stick to their guns. To consistently enforce the rules and reinforce the lesson that our choices have consequences. Even the choices that seem trivial. Teach these children to use their strong will to rule themselves with a rod of iron, so that God and life won’t have to.
Guide her and train her in controlling and disciplining her strong will, and you will have a woman of amazing character and strength who will be a credit to your love and encouragement all the days of her life.
That is what my blessed parents did for me. It wasn’t easy. For me or for them. But we made it through. I am grateful that my parents understood their role as parents. That they were not there to be my friends, but that they were there to guide me — to drag me kicking and screaming in protest when necessary — to hold me accountable to the law of sowing and reaping. To teach me that my words, actions, and attitudes have consequences. And I firmly believe that our current friendship is due to the fact that they were willing to forego friendship in my formative years in order to train and guide me.
I trust my parents. Among my peers, that is a pretty radical statement. I don’t know a lot of my friends who can say that about their parents. And I trust them because they were consistently strong with me. They didn’t tolerate back-talk, nasty attitude, or disobedience. But they never made me feel as if I, in and of myself, was a horrible person. I wouldn’t blame them if they had. The number of times I would scream that they were ruining my life. That they were mean. That I hated them.
It would have been so easy, in the face of my rage and my resistance, for them to back down, to throw up their hands in despair and give up on me. Thank God they didn’t. They kept pushing. Kept confronting. Kept teaching. Kept talking. Kept holding me accountable.
Being the parent of a strong-willed child is exhausting. But when you reach the end of the training period and the definition of “parent” changes from “person who is responsible for me” to “person who tried to give me the tools to cope with life” … then, I think, you find the battle worth it. My parents and I did, at least.
And while I am still strong-willed and independent, I don’t think of that as a bad thing. Because my independence is rooted in a desire to please, love, and serve God, and to be a credit to the two who gave their all to help me mature.
It is hard to describe without seeming judgmental, but I don’t think God intended Woman to be a weak, fragile, parasitic thing that cannot fend for itself. Certainly the “Ideal Woman” of Proverbs 31 is no shrinking violet. And if a man is wise enough to find himself such a woman of strong will and admirable character, he is lucky. Such a woman will brave the pits of Hell itself to defend and protect him, so long as he values her and does not try to crush her spirit. In the battle that is life, one wants a warrior by one’s side, not a pet monkey in one’s saddlebags. The one will help you fight; the other has to be carried, protected, and looked after. The one adds to your strength; the other draws from your strength, weakens you.
So rejoice in your “incredibly stubborn, willful and highly intelligent daughter”; train her as God leads and as wisdom directs, and then release her to live a joyful, triumphant, successful life.
Tags: challenges, character, child-rearing, children, Christianity, Family Life, parenting, True Stories
Posted by Editormum on 28 August 2010 in Uncategorized |
∞
My friend Stephanie recently posted on her Facebook page that she “…somehow managed to get an incredibly stubborn, willful and highly intelligent daughter. She makes other kids that I had previously chalked up as ‘stubborn’ look wishy-washy in comparison. Someone please tell me this is a trait that will serve her well later in life! At least one thing is semi-comforting, when she’s decided on a course of action, nothing and nobody will be able to sway her.”
I responded with encouragement (I hope), in the brief format that Facebook allows. But as I mulled over the statement in the days following that exchange, I grew more and more certain that this topic needs to be addressed. Especially in the context of the organization through which Stephanie and I met. So I decided to take my brief response and expand it here — I’m looking at some pretty extensive thoughts, so I’m going to break this into three posts. My original thoughts will appear as quotes.
One thing I’ve noticed is that the parents of these strong-willed children are frequently concerned about the strength of their child’s will. It causes them great anxiety that their child may struggle in life because of the consequences of their stubborn nature. And this is a legitimate fear. So my first desire in responding to Stephanie was to reassure her that her daughter will not ultimately be a failure in life because of her strength of will.
As a grown-up “incredibly stubborn, willful, and highly intelligent daughter,” I can tell you that these traits, if properly channeled, will give your daughter the ability to withstand the most horrific things that life can throw at her. And come out the other side even stronger and more confident than ever.
Stephanie knows a lot about my life. But for readers who are not as familiar, a quick background may be helpful here. My mother used to joke that I was the original strong-willed child. She told me a couple of years ago that I was one of the children whose parents were surveyed for the original edition of Dr. James Dobson’s book The Strong-Willed Child. Mom lived by that book and Dr. Dobson’s equally well-known Dare to Discipline. I would have liked to have a private book-burning, but I wasn’t allowed to play with matches. And mom was smart enough to hide them where I couldn’t find them.
My school years were rocky. I was a great student, unless the subject bored me or the teacher rubbed me the wrong way. Fortunately, the only subject I truly hated and resisted was math. And I got on well with most teachers. So I did okay academically. Socially, I was a misfit. Too prone to speaking my mind, and possessing a singular lack of tact and diplomacy, I hurt people’s feelings without intention. I also didn’t care about my appearance very much. I preferred comfort over style and could not be bothered with makeup or hairstyles that required more than a quick combing. I was a bookworm and preferred a stack of books to a mass of people — though I loved people and wanted them around. I was (and still am) a strange bundle of contradictions.
My young adult years were a little better, if only because mom used her 18 years of full-time motherhood to “sandpaper” some of my roughest edges. And it wasn’t easy for her, God bless her. I resisted and rebelled every step of the way. (But I am so profoundly grateful to her now.)
It was marriage and motherhood that gave me a better perspective on both my mom’s “harsh criticism” of me and of my own failings. That strong will led me into some less than pleasant paths.
Childbirth was the first thing I ever ran up against that I had absolutely no control over. It was humbling. My husband’s abusive behaviour was the second thing that I found uncontrollable — I actually encountered this one first, of course, but it wasn’t until after I gave birth to my first child that I realised that I was never going to be able to control my husband’s temper or his choice of outlook. As a friend of mine said after the divorce when I wailed that I had tried so hard to make him happy, “You cannot make someone happy. Each person has to choose happiness or misery.”
I am convinced that God used my strong will and the indomitable spirit that accompanies it that allowed me to survive nearly five years of intense verbal, emotional, and spiritual abuse. I know that it was that will that finally gave me the courage and strength to leave. To take my children out of a situation in which they were already suffering serious emotional and psychological harm. And to live through the drama of the ten years subsequent to the divorce. To live mostly joyfully and triumphantly. To find the beginnings of healing. To be able to help my children heal.
On 16 July 2005, I met the third completely uncontrollable thing in my life. I was in a car wreck. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I sustained a severe closed-head injury. But because all of my limbs were in working order and I was not bleeding, I did not go to the hospital. It was not until I’d had a horrible headache for six weeks straight that I sought medical assistance for the headache. My poor doctor was so angry with me for not going and having a scan done after the accident. Because without the scan, he had no way of knowing how bad the damage was, or where it was.
But he worked with me to control the headaches, though he warned me that wherever I was at about 18 months after the wreck was where I would stay for the rest of my life. At the 18-month point, I was still fighting frequent, debilitating migraines, severe agoraphobia, a stutter that I’d never had before, memory and cognitive function deficits, and several other issues stemming from that wreck. When I finally accepted that what Doc was telling me might be true and that I might be stuck with these things for the rest of my life, I slid into serious depression. Again, I am convinced that it was God’s grace acting through my strong will that pulled me out of that depression before I succumbed completely to despair.
I know that it is this strong will that has given me the courage to confront my problems head on, insurmountable though many of them seem to be. That is what I mean by coming out the other side stronger and more confident. I know that I can conquer whatever life throws at me — look at what I have already conquered.
But please don’t get the idea that I think I did this all on my own!
I had so many people surrounding me. My parents, my siblings, my friends … I owe them all so much. (The real friends, not the ones who said they were my friends and then dumped me when things got yucky. Those false friends, they made the hurt so very much more hard to bear.)
More than anyone else, God. I clung to God and His promises. I prayed to God. Cried to God. Screamed at God. God was my everything … and continues to be so. I KNOW that I would not have made it without Him, and He continues to sustain and protect me as I continue walking this difficult road that is my life.
My thoughts on strong-willed kids continue in tomorrow’s post.
Tags: challenges, character, child-rearing, children, faith, Family Life, fear, independence, parenting, Religion, strong will, True Stories