31
August
2006
Note From Meredith: It’s always so much fun to welcome a new Voice to Violet Voices. Today, it’s my pleasure to introduce Kathleen to you. Please leave lots of comments and make her feel welcome!
It is the small things in life that are so important. This simple statement has a lot of truth in it. I tend to be more appreciative of the small things; maybe because I have faced death but it really irritates those who don’t understand. They feel you are being lazy, just don’t care and it is hard to explain to them that your priorities about what is truly important are a little different.
I like to enjoy things, the small things that seem insignificant to others. I like sunrises and sunsets, the sound of the ocean, the wind through the trees. I like to sit and listen to my children play and laugh… I like to listen to music.
I enjoy crocheting an afghan, creating a simple craft or baking cookies and seeing the pleasure on the face of the recipient of my simple gift.
I don’t care if the house is not perfect…maybe that is not right.
I have seen spotless houses and miserable people living in them.
It is more important for me to spend the day watching the geese fly over the house, listening to my children laugh, dancing to music, writing a letter, etc.
I remember the doctor telling me how sick I was and that I needed to fight. I remember telling him to not tell my family, but if I did die to tell them I love them and to enjoy the small things in life, like watching a calf being born, listening to the wind or enjoying a fishing trip. He had tears in his eyes and promised to do his best for me. I knew during a dream I had on the operating table that I wouldn’t die.
I knew that I had a life to experience and cherish. Sometimes I need to be reminded. Have you ever wanted to nuzzle your nose in a wolf’s coat? Or lay on the beach and be buried up to your neck in sand… and watch the seagulls fly over head. Have you ever lay on a beach and watched the little crabs crawl side-ways all over the place? Or driven through the mountains and found your self awe-struck by the smells and the scenic beauty? These are things that I want my children and grandchildren to cherish and enjoy.
Have you ever been to a ghetto and saw the faces of a child as you sang them a song… Or went to a simple church service and treasured the experience of seeing someone deep in prayer? Or traveled through the villages of Mexico and dreamed of having your whole family with you…? Or had the opportunity to work in an orphanage and play with the children, share some love… These are things I have done or would like to do. These are things I hope my children experience with love shining through them.
The dishes in my house wait to be cleaned more than they should.
I am not the best of housewives. I use to have a spotless house. I use to scrub the floor at least three times a week, make the beds every morning and have
meals at the same time every day. Maybe I didn’t do these things in the right spirit, as I felt bound by the ritual. I don’t know when I stopped or if I stopped for the right or wrong reasons. I hardly know how to start again. It is hard for me to stop and clean when my children say, “Mom will you watch me do this?†or “Mom, we need to talk.†That is a favorite saying of my youngest Joey.
Sometimes I might hear an owl or woodpecker and feel the urge to find out where it is. Or see a doe playing with her fawn. I love to walk through forest and listening to the sounds, smell the evergreens and watch the squirrels gather food for the winter. I’d rather have my husband by my side during these times but I also enjoy the walk alone.
I knew when I had my children I wanted to enjoy them… read, sing, teach, play, learn, explore, travel… I wanted a partner in life who wanted to spend a lot of time with our children and me, enjoy the small things in life.
I think I might use the china tonight for spaghetti- and do the dishes afterward.
Written By: Kathleen Marie
Posted under: On Being a Parent, Women's Voices . 
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30
August
2006
First, a Note: I’m in need of more posts for this blog from our current Violet Voices. And I would love, love, LOVE to have some new Voices, too. So please check out the “Tell Your Story” link on the right and register and start posting!
Now, the rest of my story from yesterday’s Birthday post:
Okay, so I talked to my pastor. Told him pretty much what I said in my post yesterday, and managed to get through it without totally breaking down sobbing.
And his response was basically, “Of course. This is something we HAVE TO DO. No question about it.”
That “have to do” probably wasn’t a significant choice of words for him. But for me, it was like hearing the voice of God. See, that particular phrase, “We have to do this” or “We MUST do this” is the phrase that has been pounding in my brain for the last several weeks as I’ve prayed about what we can do to reach out to and help the prostitutes in our neighborhood. When I heard him say pretty much the exact same phrase, I just felt like it was God confirming that I’m on the right path.
My pastor’s suggestion was to continue researching and studying how to approach the girls, what works, what doesn’t, the mindset, etc. But then also to get a few women from church and just start making connections with some of the prostitutes. Even something small, like giving them a can of Coke or something, will hopefully help get the ball rolling on building relationships with them. And then I guess we take it from there.
So my job right now is to continue praying about how this should look and who to ask to be involved. But I’m really excited that I have my church community’s support on this. The Vineyard Church community is SO willing to reach out to those that others view as trash…or at least as too big of a mess to get involved with. At the Vineyard, the mindset is that we want the ones that nobody else wants. We’ll take them!
This should be a good fit, then. As my pastor put it, “This area (of working with prostitutes) is not a popular area you’ve chosen.” And my response–with which he agreed–was this:
“All the more reason for us to do it.”
Written By: Meredith Efken
Posted under: Women's Voices . Email This Post
29
August
2006
…To ME! 
I am 32 years old today, and determined to never feel like I need to hide my age. I’m glad to be another year older. I’ve got some hard-earned life experience that I value, and lots more to be had. And I’m in better shape than I was last year, and I have my own career and business. My children are doing well, and I’m crazy-in-love with my husband (and we’ll be celebrating our 10th anniversary in December, so that’s saying something). Life is GOOD!
I am meeting with my pastor this afternoon to discuss my determination to do something to help the prostitutes in our city get out of “the business.” It’s a tragedy that in a smallish city like ours, there’s a solid sex-trade industry. Even more tragic is that there is currently only ONE program in town that focuses on reaching out to the prostitutes to help them.
It’s not enough. Not when I see them around my neighborhood, looking pale and tired. Not when one comes to my door, just to ask if she can stand in our sprinkler and cool off. Her name was Jeanette. She’s a drug addict and has three small children. She wants to get her life back together and work with her hands, in carpentry maybe. She loves my roses in our front yard.
I can’t get her out of my mind. Who is going to help Jeanette and my other sisters who are working the street? This is what I have to tell our pastor today. WE have to do something! I’ve lived in this neighborhood for four years now, and these women tug at my heart constantly. It makes me angry that most people in our city have the attitude of “as long as they aren’t in MY neighborhood, I don’t care.”
Jeanette and the other women out there are real women. They have children and they have life hopes and dreams. They’re broken, suffering people who need help to get out of this trap that they or other people have gotten them into.
Did you know that the average age for entry into prostitution is FOURTEEN?
They usually run away from an abusive home life and end up on the streets. Most of them are drug addicts, either because someone deliberately got them hooked or because it’s the only thing that helps make their existence endurable. Now they’re trapped–the street work supports their habit, but offers them no way out of either one.
Anyway, I’m going to tell my pastor that what I want for my birthday today is for our church to start researching and looking into how to help these women (and some men as well).
I’ll let you know what he says.
Written By: Meredith Efken
Posted under: Women's Voices . Email This Post
27
August
2006
Note from Meredith: Welcome to Vasthi Acosta, our newest Violet Voices contributor! Hope to hear more from you soon, Vasthi. Welcome her by leaving lots of good comments about this great driving story. And if you aren’t a contributor yet, what are you waiting for? Click on Tell Your Story on the right for more info.
My 17 year old daughter is learning to drive.
Yes! It’s terrifying!
What is this tiny princess doing behind a wheel of destruction?!
Except, she’s not tiny, but five foot eight inches, with dark huge eyes and straight brown hair that caresses her bottom. She’s a Latina Pocahontas–but that’s her mother talking.
As I dealt with the multiple, swirling feelings inside me, regarding my daughter’s rite of passage, I remembered learning to drive at her age. In my time, you couldn’t show up at school, on your birthday, without your driver’s license in hand. Proof that you had indeed turned seventeen. Even school officals expected you to be late to school on that day.
I remember the first time I sat behind a steering wheel and felt the power of the engine–realized all the damage I could wreak with just a flip of my wrist. A sobering moment. As I drove down the street, I noticed for the first time all the possible dangers. To the right, a mother holding a child’s hand, waiting at the curb. To the left, an immense oak tree that could swallow me and the car whole. I had to steer straight.
Once on the highway, I had to learn how to pass the speeding 18 wheelers, without hyperventilating. I needed to focus, not on the truck to my right or the guardrail to my left, but straight ahead. Keep my eyes on the car before me and not waver.
These were important lessons.
Proverbs 4:25-27 says:
Let your eyes look staright ahead, fix your gaze directly before you. Make level paths for your feet and take only ways that are firm. Do not swerve to the right or the left; keep your foot from evil.
This is what I want for my daughter, and not just as she learns how to drive, but as she maneuvers through life. I want her to learn that looking to the left or right won’t get her safely home. Instaed, she needs to focus straight ahead; gaze directly at Jesus and her paths will be made level.
Don’t we all need to do this?
Wouldn’t it be a great driving lesson for life?
Let’s purpose to do it today. In the meantime, if you live anywhere near New York City, watch out– my daughter’s on the road.
From Meredith: Here are some links regarding teens and driving that looked pretty good!
Drive Home Safe
Teen Driving
I Promise Program
TeenDriving.Com
Written By: Vasthi Acosta
Posted under: On Being a Parent . Email This Post
26
August
2006
After reading Meredith’s experience with THE TALK, I thought I’d share my own story with my oldest who was nine at the time:
Reposted from May 2004
There’s two things I’ve dreaded as a parent so far. One is potty training (three down , one to go) and the other is THE TALK (one down, three to go).
A couple of weeks ago I summoned up the nerve to read the first book in the Before I was Born series. It says you should read it to your kids when they are three – five years old. Mine were six and nine.
Even though I had never actually had THE TALK with them before, I had been trying to prepare them for it in subtle ways by talking about babies and how you need a mommy and daddy to have a baby. They never really asked questions, and were satisfied that God made babies… except once while I was driving, Chris was three and he asked where the baby came out.
After running a red light and nearly missing a pedestrian, I tried to change the subject, and we ended up playing a silly game which sounded something like this, “Mommy, does the baby come out of your elbow… giggles, how about your nose…†more giggles and so on.
I was more than happy to play along. When he was a little older he was satisfied with the answer that God made a special opening for the baby to come out and it was near a mommy’s bottom. Of course the image of that brought chuckles.
Well, a couple of weeks ago we read the book and my children finally learned the proper names for male and female body parts. But that was about it. I dreaded the next step which would get a little more informative, but I ordered the book from the library anyway.
I was 44th on the waiting list. I took a deep breath of relief knowing I still had some time before the big talk. My main motivation for THE TALK was that my son was going to camp this summer and although he’s been sheltered so far, I was afraid he might hear something from someone else. But I also dreaded THIS TALK because I know how the sight of his brothers running around naked grosses him out.
Finally the book arrived two weeks ago and I read it over and stuck it in a drawer. Everything was explained pretty well, except I wasn’t ready to describe the physical act to him yet. I already decided that I would wait to tell Joey,his 6 year old brother, and I wanted Chris (9) to feel that this was something special that we wanted to share with him.
Finally the day came when I had to return the book, but we hadn’t had THE TALK yet. My husband didn’t even know I had the book, but I knew the talk had to happen soon. The book is now overdue, but we decided paying a small fine was better than chickening out and waiting another couple of months…or years.
I don’t know why this part of parenting is so hard… well actually I do know why. I grew up in a home without a father. I don’t remember my mom ever sitting me down and telling me. She said when I was really little I asked questions and she answered them. But the things I do remember learning about sex growing up was all nasty talk on the school bus or in movies I was definitely too young to see. I still can’t believe my mother let me see Saturday Night Fever in the theatre when I was 10 or 12.
Another part is how your child sees you. Having THE TALK (in my opinion) causes your child to see you in a different way. For me, it was a way in which I wasn’t ready for my child to see me.
Any way, getting back on track. Tonight we decided it was the night. About a week ago, Chris informed me he was looking through a children’s science book and read something about babies and the woman’s cell… I couldn’t exactly figure out what he already knew, but somehow I felt it might make our job easier. So tonight, Chris, my husband and I snuggled in our bed (we read a lot there and wanted to make it comfortable for everyone.)
We started out by sharing that what we were reading was something for his ears only and not for his brothers and we felt he was old enough to hear it. (We knew this would make his feel special and important.)
He kind of knew what was coming because he got all silly and embarrased and covered his face and said, “Oh I don’t think I want to hear it… Oh, I wish I had never read that science book.” and he stuck his head under the covers and giggled some more.
Surprisingly enough his giddy embarrassment started us laughing and made me feel more comfortable. We asked him what he was embarrassed about and what he already knew. Chris just hit his head several times and said, “Uh, I don’t know anything. My brain is not working right.” But he still had that look on his face that said, “I want to know, but I don’t want to know.”
I could tell he was in giddy distress, so I became serious and said, “If you don’t want to read the book we don’t have to.” Chris replied, “Uh, I think I do.” So I assured him that if he wanted to stop at any point, he could just say so. So we just started reading and every page we’d ask him, “Do you want to hear more?” He covered his eyes or pulled the covers over his face and said timidly, “I think so.” So we moved forward.
A couple of the pictures embarrassed him, like the picture of Adam and Eve (covered by fig leaves) shocked him into silliness. But slowly we conveyed God’s plan for our changing bodies and marriage. We avoided the word sex, instead we said God has a special gift for husbands and wives to share with each other. The reason we decided NOT to use the word sex is because you can’t turn on the televsion without that word being on every channel, even during previews and commercials. I didn’t want him to think about IT everytime he heard the word sex. In the past we explained the word to him as in gender… male and female. For now and for his age, we know it is the right decision.
We knew by his reactions throughout THE TALK that although the book got into a little more detail, we would not be graphic in our description. You should have seen his eyes pop out of his head when we told him husbands and wives can lay in bed naked together if they wanted to. And when we told him their ‘privates’ need to touch to make a baby, he didn’t believe us.
I think the biggest question he had was how pee and sperm came out of the same place. He laughed at the thought of pee entering the woman, and we tried to explain between the gigles and disbelief that it can’t happen at the same time. He got really silly about the “privates” touching and did a little dance and said, “What, do they Tango?” It was incredibly funny and we all started laughing.
Well, at least THE TALK was more fun than I thought it would be and Chris wasn’t grossed out by anything. At least he didn’t show that he was. And I beleive he was ready to hear as much as he heard, but I still am glad I didn’t dump it all on him at once. He’s still young and I want to preserve his moral innocence as long as I can.
When we finished, we reminded him not to share this information with anyone and before we could finish explaining why he said with big eyes, “Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone… not even Joey (his brother). He won’t be able to handle it. He’d go to church tomorrow and say ‘Penis, penis, penis, penis, vagina, vagina, vagina…” He said it in this sing song voice that made us crack up again.
Okay so I know THE TALK should probably have been a little more serious, but at least we had fun and now I know that even if we have to talk about serious stuff, we could still lighten the mood with a joke.
One down, Three to go…
Gina Conroy is a homeschooling writing mom of four. For more musings by this author, visit her blogs http://www.portraitofawriter.blogspot.com and http://writermominterrupted.blogspot.com
Written By: Gina
Posted under: On Being a Parent . Email This Post
25
August
2006
Note from Meredith: This is Pattie’s first Violet Voices post! Welcome, Pattie! Thank you for sharing with us.
I hate to iron. It’s hard work, particularly because I tend to iron in almost as many wrinkles as I iron out. My husband is a minister, so of course he must have his dress clothing ironed.
One particular day several years ago, I was ironing a white shirt for him to wear to a difficult funeral. This funeral was going to be difficult because it was for a well-loved deacon’s wife in our new church. We hadn’t been able to spend much time with her, but she’d lived years beyond what the doctors predicted for her with her chronic heart condition. One morning, she didn’t wake up in her home, but in heaven. Can you imagine one morning waking up in the presence of Jesus? What a morning.
Anyway, back to the shirt. It’s a difficult one to iron because it’s 100% cotton and very easily wrinkled, but very sharp-looking once it’s finished. I was ironing away, when suddenly I realized the analogy: we are like 100% cotton shirts, and we sure get wrinkled, don’t we? Circumstances certainly work against us and wrinkle us all up. But our Heavenly Father irons our wrinkles, perhaps spraying us with some water or uses the steam to get the deep or difficult wrinkles smooth and beautiful again. When He’s finished, we look pretty sharp!
Unfortunately, I have to iron shirts again, don’t you? They get wrinkled and dirty, so we launder them and have to re-iron the same shirts. We also have the same wrinkles that reappear, don’t we? Just like my husband’s shirts get wrinkled in the same places each time (around the waist, at the elbows), we wrinkle in the same places (feeling sorry for ourselves, selfishness, attitudes that aren’t pleasing to the Lord, complacency, and the list goes on and on). I know I struggle consistently with some of the same sins, and feel sometimes like I will never learn the same lessons. Does the Lord get tired of ironing the same spots over and over? Do I feel the pressure of the heat and steam of the iron? Of course it isn’t comfortable. Just like the refiner’s fire, or the potter’s molding and firing, or even the washing machine (all analogies of the Christian life with which we’re familiar), the Lord’s working in our lives doesn’t always feel good. However, we rest assured that He who began a good work in us will perfect it till the day of Christ Jesus, right? Even if that means we have to be thumped, baked, steamed, pressed flat, and otherwise re-molded in Christ’s image, we still want Him to continue working in our lives.
I know there are times I don’t want to go through this ironing process. It hurts, and it doesn’t feel good to acknowledge all the wrinkles that I have in my life. But when the day comes that I wake up in the presence of Jesus, I want to be wrinkle-free.
For I am confident of this very thing,
That He who began a good work in you
Will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.
Philippians 1:6
Written By: Pattie
Posted under: Women's Voices . Email This Post
24
August
2006
PS 2, Nintendo, X-Box. Whatever you want to call it, I’m convinced it was sent here straight from the pit to torture moms. Is it just my family, or do your kids turn into little monsters, fighting and jockeying for their game time?
My youngest has just started playing with her brothers. That makes four kids arguing over the Nintendo. I’ve tried everything. I’ve limited their time playing by using a kitchen timer, but that sometimes sets me up for more trouble.
“Mom, he went over his time again!”
“Hey, give me that it’s my turn.”
“Moooom!”
Crash! Bang! Whine!
Then we moved the games into my oldest son’s room.
“Mom, they’re in my room again!”
“Yes, I know. I said they could play Nintendo.”
“But there destroying the place…”
Slam! Bang! Whine!
“Mom, he locked me out of the room again.”
Recently my son got the tv and games taken out for not letting his brothers into his room. This has been an ongoing problem we haven’t figured out how to solve yet. How can he have his privacy and keep the little ones from tearing up his room when the family game unit is in his room? Just take it out! Problem solved, somehow I don’t think so. Well see.
How about the “mom, he’s not letting me win!” whine. Or the “mom, he turned off the game” scuffle. Did I meniton I think these games are sent from the evil one?
During the school year our kids were not allowed to play the games during the week and only 30 minutes each day on the weekend. My kids thought I was sent from the evil one, especially when their friends played hours after school.
“Mom, so and so gets to play as long as he wants.”
“I’ve talked to so and so’s mom and that’s not true.”
“A different so and so says he feels sorry for me and that you’re the meanest mom in the world.”
Well, then I talked to some moms about this problem and learned that one mom made her children earn game time. As much as they practiced piano, they could play PS2. Guess what we’re doing this summer?
One son is playing a lot of piano, the other is doing a lot of complaining.
“Mom, why do we always have to earn fun?”
“Do you have to earn time at the water park, the movies, sleepovers?”
“No.” Head hung low in defeat.
Subtle grin of satisfaction on my face.
But I’m not a complete ogre. I often surprise them with free game time, espcially when friends are over. Still, I’m thinking of putting the game systems away for a while. I did this once when the fighting and never ending question “when can we play PS2?” was driving me up a wall. I had a very peaceful few months without the kids asking to play.
I’m at that point again, ready to pack up the games. Just moments ago I heard arguing from up stairs, now all is quiet. It’s one of those free game times, and I figure as long as they’re quiet and happy I’m be able to type away. So, are these game systems sent from the evil one or a blessing from God? I guess it all depends when you ask me!
So how do you handle this problem at your home? And if it isn’t a problem, please let me in on your secret!!
Written By: Gina
Posted under: On Being a Parent, Women's Voices . Email This Post
23
August
2006
With children, sometimes you just have to go with the flow. No matter how embarrassing you think your child’s latest stunt is, chances are it has happened to someone else. It goes with the program; children are unpredictable. They are honest to a fault, and yet, they are hopelessly devoted to you, no matter how much egg you have on your face. Psalms 127:3 says, “Children are a gift from God. They are a reward from Him.†God gives us these gifts to bring joy to our lives.
In her article, “And They Played All Day,†on www.aldort.com, Naomi Aldort,one of today’s leading Parenting/Family counselors states:
“Life is a game. Perhaps adults have matured and forgotten this essential element of life called play. We have become serious and have made an artificial distinction between play and work and between play and study. Our children are here to teach us to lighten up, to put a spark in our eyes and Play Life.”
Sometimes it is important to just “lighten up†and let them be little.
When my son CWGIII was three, he was chosen as Innkeeper in the church play. His line was: “No room,†and he was to point to the stable. Even though he managed to get out the two words, they were barely audible. His expression spoke for him, and by the next year his talent really began to shine. He graduated to the role of Shepherd complete with crook. The moment I saw him, I knew there was trouble brewing. Still, I could not help but swell with pride as my little shepherd marched out with the cast. He was the shortest of the group, but there was no problem seeing him. The pastor had a camera rigged to a huge screen where everyone would get a good view. We all smiled as the little angels made their way to the stage—and around it, and up to the organ, and over to the choir and back, wandering around in childlike curiosity, eager to adapt to their stardom.
“Aren’t they adorable,†I whispered to my husband. Just as the shepherds had gotten situated on the risers I turned my attention to them to find Chase. I could not see him. He was on a middle row. Where was he? Suddenly the shepherd’s crook came rising up between two characters on the front row. Everyone was chuckling as my son, the humble shepherd was trying to herd one of the cast off the stage with his crook. Then another shepherd tried to intervene. They had a brief tug-of-war over the crook before it fell between the risers. My mind was reeling as another shepherd got down between the risers. In my mind I was thinking, “Just let it lie.†I was burying my head in my hands, my cheeks aflame. A part of me was trying not to laugh along with everyone else. A part of me felt like crawling under the seat. The audience was getting a real kick out of the shepherds, and after it was over I was told what a comical success my son had made of the pageant. I just smiled and said, “He takes after his daddy.†What else could I say?
It is much like the time we ran into his preschool teacher at the grocery store, and Ms. Martha said, “Is your Mama cooking more these days?†I looked at her like she had three heads.
“Oh, has he complained about my lack of cooking skills?â€
“Um…not really,†she replied, “he just loves Ms. Sue’s cooking.â€
But I knew better. It had not been two weeks since I had invited my family for dinner. I had cooked several dishes for my visitors from out of town. I was so pleased with how the meal turned out–until Chase came to the table and said, “Wow Mom, Is it Thanksgiving?†The child is not used to having family style meals. I fill our plates from the stove for the three of us, and usually it is simple fare, so naturally he thought it was a holiday. No wonder Ms. Martha thought his mom could not cook. That is what Chase thought too. I was glad that for once I had a buggy load of groceries.
Enjoy those moments, parents, for they are quickly gone. Make memories out of teachable moments. Use everyday events to reinforce these lessons. I relish the memory of teaching my son to tie his shoes, even though his first week in school he paid his friend Adam a quarter to tie them. No wonder I got the note from Ms. Tiffany saying we needed to work on tying. When I told her he had been paying Adam, she just laughed. And once again, I said, “He’s just like his daddy.†I fear if we keep doling out quarters, he will find a way to pay someone to do his homework. And yes, kindergärtners have homework these days. If you have not reached the kindergarten stage, just wait. They will be reading by Christmas. By May, they will be doing your taxes. Although Chase already knows the value of a quarter, we now have the task of teaching him to be thrifty, to save the money, and do the labor himself—a much less attractive option for Chase, as well as little entrepreneur Adam.
But, for every embarrassing moment, every crawl-under- the-table-and-hide episode, there are a million and one great moments. I get to hear my son pray that the rain will stop so he and his friend Katie can go swimming. I am amazed as the skies part and the sun appears. I get to hear him pray over a broken DVD remote and lay hands on it in soulful pleas. That remote worked fine within minutes. I get to hear him recount his Sunday School lessons and tell me about “Shadrork, Mooshark, and Abednego.†I get to hear him sing southern gospel with his daddy. As we travel, we turn the volume up and have a sing along.
I am so thankful that God chose to bless me with this wonderful child. He was worth nine months of vomiting, the 27 c-section staples, 4 a.m. feedings, and the poopy diapers. It is ok that I have a couch cushion I have to turn upside down because Chase became artistic with nail polish at the age of 2. It’s ok that my car’s interior is a rerun of Sanford and Son. Let them be little, I remind myself. Little shepherds and angels make for big blessings.
I had the honor of attending my son’s school awards ceremony. My son walked proudly to the podium and received his Character award for honesty and helpfulness. Don’t you know this forty-year-old mother was wanting to stand up and cheer! I had to bite my tongue from nudging the lady next to me and crowing, “He takes after his mom…â€
Written By: Cynthia
Posted under: On Being a Parent . Email This Post
22
August
2006
I was thinking about posting on this subject, and then between Gina’s post here yesterday, and the really great joke she posted on her own blog on Saturday, I decided it seemed to be in the flow.
I had the TALK with my daughter this spring after I got back from a writer’s conference. She turned 8 in December and is a rather precocious child anyway. She has a fascination with fetal development, and at age 5 had begged me to check out all the books on the subject in our library’s “Resources for Parents” section. So she already knew about eggs.
And sperm.
And placenta, umbilical cords, and breast feeding.
And how a baby “comes out.”
The key piece she was missing was precisely in what manner the sperm got “in” to begin with. We sorta skipped over that part and hoped she wouldn’t notice.
That worked for almost 3 years. However, while I was in California with my writer friends, she made a rather shocking confession to Daddy.
“I know how babies are made.”
My husband: “Oh REALLY? Do tell.”
My (heretofore) uninformed daughter: “Oh, a guy sticks his penis up a girl’s butt.”
My husband: (trying not to choke) “Um, that pretty well sums it up.” Then, “And where did you learn this bit of information?”
Daughter: “From the book.”
(When my husband was relaying this to me, I suddenly had a vision of every single steamy romance novel I have on my shelf. There’s not THAT many, OKAY??? About to faint, I demanded to know which one she’d gotten hold of.)
Husband: “Which book, DEAR?”
Daughter: “The one mommy gave me.”
Turns out it was NOT one of my romance novels. Whew! It’s a Christian book designed for ages 5-8, to act as a tool for parents to have this sort of talk with their kids. It’s called Before I Was Born, by Carol Nystrom. I’d been planning on going through it with her, but was procrastinating on it.
Husband (to me when I got home): “So you didn’t give it to her?”
Me: “Yeah, like I’m going to hand a sex book to my 8 year old and say, here you go honey. A little light reading for quiet time.”
Husband: “Well, I didn’t think so.”
Apparently, she’d swiped the book several months previous. And she’d been reading it and studying it. I think the only reason she “told” on herself was because the weight of that new information was just too much for her to handle on her own. I’m SO glad she decided to go to her parents instead of anyone else.
So later that week, after I got home, she and I sat down on the couch together while Little Sister was napping. We read through the book together, and then I let her ask whatever questions she had. I figured letting her ask the questions would keep me from giving too much or too little information. I promised her I would answer anything she wanted to know and be completely honest, no matter what.
YES, I was a little nervous! Especially with this kid. Her curiosity knows no bounds. I could count on her questions being many and in great detail.
At first, she was squirmy and shy about it. I had to reassure her several times that there was nothing wrong with talking about sex with her parents. But that it was a topic that should stay between us and her for right now. After that, she got a little bolder and started asking what she really wanted to know.
And they were good questions, too! Granted, some were questions I hadn’t thought about asking until well into my teen years. But with her, that doesn’t surprise me.
I was not at all prepared to have this sort of talk when my daughter is only 8. I thought I had a couple more years. But I was really, really glad for it. I am so thankful for the opportunity to show her that sex is good, not bad. That it is nothing to be afraid of, but that it is really serious and should be saved for marriage. And that it’s something that is okay to talk about with Mom and Dad.
My “talk” with my parents consisted of reading Preparing for Adolescence by Dr. Dobson, and a few strained conversations with my mom. It’s a lot better than what my husband or many of my friends had. I didn’t find out about sex from kids at school or in a locker room, but I also never felt really comfortable discussing it with my parents. I want things to be different between me and my kids. I want to be the safe place for their questions and concerns.
I think we’re off to a good start. If I can show my 8 year old daughter what a condom is without melting away in embarrassment, I think we can probably handle about anything!
Here’s the book, if you want to check it out. It’s part of an award-winning series on sex education:
Before I Was Born, Vol. 2
Written By: Meredith Efken
Posted under: On Being a Parent . Email This Post
21
August
2006
A couple of weeks ago my nine year old son started reading the Bible. His goal was to read from Genesis all the way through. I thought it was a great idea, and I was so proud that he would be interested in this on his own. It also coincided with a Bible dramatization tape series we’ve been listening to.
Today as we listened to the story of Abraham and the three strangers my son was already familiar with the story. I was interested in how the tape series was going to handle the Angels at Lot’s house where the Sodomites wanted to “lie” with the strangers. They skipped that whole scene and made it age appropriate on the tape series.
Tonight we were supposed to read Little Pilgrims Progess together, but it got too late and my nine year old was disappointed to the point of disobedience, where he came out of his room to whine and complain. I tried to explain things to him and then distracted him and he felt better. He asked if he could read the Bible before bed. I said sure. He then said “I think the tape is ahead of me.”
Light bulb goes on in my mind! I don’t think he got to the part about Lot and the strangers. So I tell him to bring me his Bible and let me see where he’s at. Lo and behold, I read the dreaded passage where the men of the town want to have sex with the strangers. Yes, that’s what it said in his translation.
Near panic came over me. Did I want my son to read this? No. I haven’t had “the talk” with him yet, and I sure didn’t want to have to explain homosexual rape! So, I told him the next chapter wasn’t appropriate for him to read. He was stunned and said, “Mom, I don’t understand. How could the Holy Bible be inappropriate?”
Thus began the discussion of sinful people and that it’s in the Bible to show us what not to do and the consequence’s of our sin, but he was too young to know these things, and I didn’t want his mind to be filled with bad things that might scare him. I related it to how I tell him to close his eyes when something inappropriate or violent comes on the TV.
I then suggested he read the New Testament and at his age he should fill his mind and heart with getting to know Jesus better. He mentioned some stories in the Bible like Joseph and Moses and wanted to read those. I started to go through the Old Testament to see what he could read, but then he said, “I should stick to the New Testament so I don’t get tempted to read the bad stuff!”
Bullet dodged for now! Tonight I’m thanking God for my son’s disobedience. It just might have saved his little heart from knowing too much too soon!
Written By: Gina
Posted under: On Being a Parent . Email This Post
