Julie Scudder Dearyan - The Balancing Act

The Balancing Act
How to hold a hand without chaining a soul

Believe it or not, the balance beam routine used to be simpler than it is now. At least, it was for gymnasts. Content to pose, leap, and turn, the occasional cartwheel produced high scores every time. Then Olga Korbut catapulted the sport to new acrobatic levels at the Munich Olympics in 1972. Her back tuck somersault changed every other gymnasts routine overnight.

Do you ever feel like this when it comes to your children? You wipe snotty noses while balancing the love/discipline routine when suddenly their latest phase flings you off the beam and back to the mat for more lessons.

Doesn’t My Child Need Me?
That’s how I felt the day my first grade son Jamie received his first public speaking assignment. He was to talk for two minutes about the subject of his choice. We looked through books for ideas and he chose the history of the Tower of London. Since I had a big deadline at work, my husband volunteered to supervise our son’s progress. I accepted gratefully. However, I couldn’t help listening whenever the two of them talked about the report. I checked Jamie’s poster and nonchalantly mentioned that while he had done a great job, his poster needed a bit of zing. He agreed and this unleashed my creative energy. The next day, I embarked on a Scavenger Hunt. I collected odd bits of gold paper from the wrapping paper bin. I gathered some purple material with gold stars from an old craft project. I made a special trip through the Burger King Drive Thru to order a drink and a crown. Breezing into the kitchen where my two men sat at the table, I dumped a truckload of shiny, pizzazz-makers on the table.

My husband looked at me, “What is all this stuff?”

I smiled brightly. “For Jamie’s poster.”

Jamie shrugged. Obviously, my effort meant a lot to him.

I held up the Burger King Crown triumphantly. “And this will be for your costume.”

“ What costume?”

“ When you talk about the Tower of London, I thought it would be nice if you dressed up as a King,”

“ I don’t want to dress up as a king.”

My husband tried not to glare at me but I could tell he was anyway.
“ Jamie, Mommy thinks you would do better on your report if you dressed up as a King,”

“ Did my teacher say I had to dress up for my report?”

I stalled. I wanted to say, “Son, this is your wonderful mother’s idea which will push you over the top and earn you the best grade in the entire class. If you don’t dress up, you will probably fail first grade and never make it in college.”
I gathered my remnants. “Look, if you guys need to use this stuff, it’s on the counter.”

My shoulders drooped.

I wondered again why I felt so disheartened when my ideas don’t have preeminence in our home. Thrown off the balance beam, I lay face down on the mat,

I reflect on my own need to help my son and for him to appreciate that help. Could it be that I want to (gasp) control my son and how he does in school?

Shouldn’t this be up to him? Do I even have a clue about how to trust God when it comes to this difficult balancing act?

The Pet Store
This kind of thing also happens with my daughter, Amanda, but at four years old, she hasn’t had to report on anything yet. Instead we play together and when I offer an idea like playing house, she considers it for a moment (at least she’s polite!), and then says , “Let’s play pet store. I’ll be the dog.”

She crouches in the corner of the room, smiling and barking occasionally.

“ I want to buy a puppy,” I walk toward the corner.

“ I’m a turtle now.” Amanda puts her head under a blanket.

“ Okay. I would like to buy a turtle.”

“ Now, I’m a mouse.”

“ I don’t want to buy a mouse.”

“ I am a mouse,” she insists, “squeak, squeak!”

Why can’t my daughter and I play “normal” games like house? I played house my whole childhood. And I was always the Mom. My daughter never wants to be the Mom. She wants to be a mouse. I hate mice.

She darts past me. “Mommy, you’re supposed to say “Eeeeek! It’s a mouse!”

I sigh. I do what I’m asked to do. I then sit down with a mug of hot chocolate. I’m tired of changing my species at a moment’s notice. Nobody told me that my kids would want to be who they want to be. Oh, I suppose I thought understood that when I had children, I would encourage them in their pursuits, complement them for their dreams, and help them become great people.

It turns out they don’t want to be great people. They want to be a mouse. They want to be themselves.

Mother Bird Syndrome
How must a mother bird feel the first time she nudges her baby out of the nest? Will the little birdling plunge wildly to the ground, squawking in terror? Will it flap his feeble wings a few times before plunging wildly to the ground, squawking in terror? Will he fly for a minute or two before he plunges wildly to the ground, squawking in terror?

Notice all three outcomes —they all end in death. Is this what I think will happen when my children want to express their own creativity? If I encourage them in their own ideas, they will plunge to the ground, squawking (or squeaking) in terror?

And where does God fit into all of this? I thought I trusted Him and His plans for me but then He showed me I had no idea what this meant by giving me children.

Now, I find myself alternately giving my kids to the Lord, and yanking them back depending on the situation.

“ Lord, I trust you to take care of my kids,” I pray this but in the back of my mind I’m thinking, “Unless Jamie wants to use a hammer by himself.”

“ God, I know you are in control,” as I worry about Amanda’s fascination with tree climbing.

I know the verse about casting all my care upon the Lord but I have found living out this lifestyle in front of my children one of the hardest things I’ve ever tried to do.

How do I teach my children to trust God if I can’t trust Him to guide and protect them on a daily basis?

The truth is I can’t.

I have to live out my faith before them and part of that faith knows that God is the ultimate parent. If I can’t trust Him, then Whom can I trust?

Mother Not Smother
The most difficult thing about this balancing act is our kids don’t want us to throw up our collective, smothering hands and say, “Fine, you do it your way. I’m outta here.” They do want us to get involved in their lives. They desire us to share their dreams and encourage them in their pursuits, the operative word being their.

Author Sharon Jaynes says this, “No mom wants her child to fail. However, part of feeling capable is learning to make responsible decisions. And part of making responsible decisions is occasionally to make poor ones. Wouldn’t you prefer that those bad decisions be made while the child is still at home rather than when she is away from the love and support of those who value her for who she is?”

Maybe you’ve had a difficult month with your own children. Perhaps a son is taking Driver’s Ed (I don’t even want to think about my son at the wheel of our car!) and you aren’t quite sure how you’re going to deal with this new skill. It could be that your daughter wants to wear makeup or try out for a sport she’s never played before. I’ve found three wobble-stoppers that give me the strength to help my children to soar. Maybe these solutions will strengthen you as well. I know Olga Korbut will sit up and take notice.

My children are more intelligent than I sometimes want to give them credit for. I want them to need me. I want them to seek my help and guidance. There is nothing wrong with me wanting to give this. The problem comes when I try to stuff all my knowledge and guidance down their throat in one fell swoop. My job is to supply the worm; my kid’s job is to eat it.
When I offer support and encouragement to my kids rather than knowledge and guidance, I find that my children come to me for knowledge and guidance. It seems they want a cheerleader who believes in them, not in herself.
When I allow my children to have their own dreams, I have to permit them to make mistakes and sometimes fail. When I do this, I am preparing them for the world they will enter later. A world where other people won’t always encourage them. A world that doesn’t necessarily care whether they make it or not. A world where they too will have to learn to depend on the Lord.

As author Veronica Shoffstall said, “Sooner or later, you learn the difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul.”

As I pose on the balance beam ready to execute yet another complicated motherhood maneuver, letting go, I pray that I won’t fall off again. Or if I do, I’ll get back on before Jamie’s next report.