Finding Joy in Letting Go

I’ve been thinking about expectations a lot lately. Maybe it’s because I turned 40 this summer, or maybe it’s because of where we’re at in our parenting journey, but I’ve been reflecting on how my life looks very different than I expected it to look. Then a few weeks ago I heard a message in church about Mary, the mother of Jesus. I’ve been pondering ever since, as much of what I heard resonated deeply with me.

Mary was all set to begin a very ‘normal’ life with Joseph when she got a visit from an angel. The angel announced that she was beautiful and favored and blessed with the Lord’s presence. Her response intrigues me: different translations record that she was greatly troubled, disturbed, confused, thoroughly shaken, and her mind was spinning, trying to figure out what the angel’s greeting could mean. (Luke 1:28,29) Despite his positive pronouncement, Mary seemed to respond to his greeting with a deep sense of foreboding as she tried to figure out what it all meant. I imagine she realized very quickly that her life would never be the same. Any expectations she had of a normal life were being shattered. The angel’s next words confirmed her suspicion – she would become pregnant before her marriage with Joseph was consummated. Embarking on marriage and adulthood in a cloud of accusations and condemnation would not be part of a young woman’s hopes, dreams and expectations for her life. And yet, the angel’s words stirred something in Mary. Despite the dashed hopes, the far-from-normal life and the suffering that would come her way, she gets a glimpse of the bigger story. She is being invited to be a part of bringing the Messiah, the Rescuer, to earth! By the time the angel is done speaking, she indicates her willingness to be part of the plan. “Mary responded, ‘I am the Lord’s servant. May everything you have said about me come true.’” (Luke 1:38 NLT) It’s as if she recognized that although her life wouldn’t look much like she thought it would, it would all be worth it.

I can identify with letting go of expectations in the face of a new reality. When faced with the reality of infertility, I had to let go of my dreams of being pregnant and giving birth to babies. Those dreams were quickly replaced by others as we embarked on an adoption journey. Expectations quickly formed – I expected that adopting babies would be much like giving birth, minus the pain and discomfort of pregnancy, labor and delivery! I expected parenting to come naturally and easily. Once we realized we’d need to make some drastic changes to our parenting style, I expected others to see the beauty in what we were doing and support us. As our children grow, I continue to wrestle with how reality is not matching my expectations. Like Mary, I feel troubled and confused at times as I imagine how our future might look. My expectations of a happy, successful, ‘normal’ family life are not being met in the way I thought they would be. Adoption can leave deep wounds, even when adopting babies. Parenting is way harder, and often more isolating, than I anticipated. And yet, we have found deep joy, comfort and healing in the midst of great difficulty.

This brings me to another part of Mary’s experience that is starting to resonate with me. Later in the first chapter of Luke, Mary visits her cousin and sings a song of praise to God. She sings, with wonder and gratitude, of His goodness, mercy and love. Despite an uncertain future, she believes that He has a good plan, and that her current circumstances will all be worth it when viewed in the light of His redemptive plan. I am realizing that God has much more in mind for us than anything we could have dreamed. We are part of a much bigger story of hope, redemption and healing; not only in the lives of our children, but in our own lives as well. Our journey continually leads us to places of greater dependence on God, and a deepening awareness of His unfailing love for us.

Like Mary, I want to hold my own dreams, hopes and expectations for the future very, very loosely. I want to be ready to follow God’s plan with joy, gratitude and an expectant heart, trusting His heart and resting in the knowledge that He is at work – healing, restoring and loving us all. 

"Don't embarrass me..."

My four-year-old and I were visiting my dad at his office the other day. As we were leaving, he walked down the hall with us and started heading towards the bathroom. In a loud, clear voice, my daughter asked, “You going pee, Grandpa?” There were a few other people standing around and they chuckled. My first instinct was to tell her that we shouldn’t point out other people’s bathroom needs in public, but knowing how sensitive she is to being told she’s made a mistake, I stayed quiet and waited to see how Grandpa would handle it. He smiled at her and remained non-committal, neither confirming nor denying his need! Her question didn’t really get answered, but as we walked away she had a bounce in her step and I knew that her heart was okay. I’m confident that she will soon learn not to publicly announce people’s bathroom needs!

I wonder, though, whether I am as confident that I will be able to un-learn those instincts that would shush her and point out her errors in front of other people. It’s something I struggle with, these feelings of embarrassment that drive me to respond in less than desirable ways. Whether it’s a meltdown in the grocery store, a display of defiance at church, or a poorly timed observation, I too often find myself thinking about what other people are thinking instead of what my children need.

If I’m embarrassed, I’m unlikely to recognize their behaviour for what it is: an unmet need. Honestly, I’m more comfortable thinking of meltdowns and defiance as misbehaviour that needs to be disciplined rather than as needs that need to be met with equal parts nurture and structure. The more we learn about our children, though, the more we are realizing that what we used to think of as misbehaviour is actually an opportunity for us to meet a need and connect with them. The correction will come, but often it needs to wait until the need has been met and my child and I are re-connected. Sometimes their needs are physical – hunger, thirst, exhaustion, sensory overload – and other times their needs are emotional – unexpressed sadness, fear, and frustration. Whatever the case, I will not be able to see past the behaviour to the need if I am blinded by my own embarrassment.

So what is at the root of being embarrassed by our children? What is driving this blinding flood of emotions? Embarrassment is all too often a manifestation of shame, and if we can learn to see it for what it is, then we can take steps to own it and deal with it.

When my children are not behaving as I would like them to and I feel embarrassed, I am actually experiencing shame because I am afraid that other people are judging my worth based on my kids’ behaviour. Since I don’t enjoy feeling worthless, I am tempted to transfer my shame to my children by communicating my embarrassment to them and using shame to motivate them to behave more appropriately. Of course, this is a short-term solution at best. I may achieve better behaviour in the moment (or I may not), but am I really okay knowing that I have contributed to my child’s own feelings of shame?

As an adult, I recognize that I have carried a lot of shame around in the form of insecurity and fear; this is not a burden I want to place on my children. Part of my journey in the last while has been learning to rest securely in the fact that my identity is rooted in God’s great love for me. My abilities as a parent do not determine my worth, nor does the behaviour of my children. As I practice resting in this truth, I find that I am better able to focus on my child in those difficult moments and have become less distracted by my own fear and embarrassment.

One of my desires as a parent is that my children will know deep, deep down in their souls that they are precious and loved. It will be difficult for them to believe this if they think they’re an embarrassment to me. So I must continue to work to identify the ways in which I am motivated by shame, and fight against those tendencies with the truth of my identity as a deeply loved child of God. Then I will be free to teach my children about their true identity, their great worth and preciousness, especially in those moments when it would be easy to teach the very opposite.

(This post originally appeared at Empowered to Connect.)

Battleground

Taunts and accusations

Launched like missiles across a crowded hallway

Seeking the heat of my shame

Finding their mark, then and now

Fear flickers, icy hot

Anger rises to smother the shame

Replacing it with something cold and hard, brittle

Eyes averted, I forge ahead

Desperate for an ally, weapons, a more suitable arena in which to engage my enemy

My fists close tight around the stones I've found

Fuelled by fury I'm poised to attack 

But then...

A face emerges from the crowd

Irresistible

Eyes locked on His, I'm seen

Known

Embraced

Rescued

Captivated by light and love, the arena fades

His the only face I see

Suddenly, inexplicably soft my fingers unclench

Stones fall to the ground

All I know is love