when you have a lot to carry

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but it did. 11 years and several months later, it seems that none of it can be taken back. The hard wiring that defines you is there to stay. You're a worker. You're a real life problem solver. You're one of the strongest kids I've ever met, and I'm not just saying that because you're mine. It's the truth - and everyone around you sees it. You don't like to be wrong. You don't like to be in trouble. You don't like to fail and sometimes that keeps you from even trying.

You're about 10 days away from 6th grade. A grade that puts in you in a whole different part of the school you've called home for the past 6 years. A grade with different expectations and different teachers, and different relationships with your friends. It's a grade where you'll have a lot to carry.

You've already started having small panic attacks about not knowing the right answers, about not being the one raising your hand to answer questions, and about having to do "school" again after a couple of months off. The teacher in me is cringing, but at the same time, I'm so very hopeful. Hopefulness is one of the best things I can hope and pray you gain this year. Here's the thing though, Mas ... hopefulness is developed through struggle. And as hard as this is for me to think and type for the world to see, we all are going to have to let you struggle.

I know what you're thinking ... what kind of people their kid struggle or even hope for such a thing?  I do. Your dad does. Your grandparents do. We all do. And I can confidently say that when you have a lot to carry, the only way it will ever seem like it's not too much to bear is when you have hope.

Hope is knowing where you want to go.

Hope is knowing how to get there.

Hope is believing in yourself.

Hope is learned.

"Children most often learn hope from their parents. To learn hopefulness, children need relationships that are characterized by boundaries, consistency, and support. They've been given the opportunity to struggle and in doing that they learn how to believe in themselves." - C.R. Snyder

We have to let you experience disappointment, deal with conflict, and have the opportunity to fail. Yes ... fail. And through it all, I'm praying that you'll come out as one of the strongest, most courageous, brave young men the world has ever seen.

Your head's not meant to hang down forever. And in the moments when all you can focus on are your folded hands and your dirty boots, please remember that daring greatly in life isn't about winning or losing. It isn't about how much or how little you have to carry. It's about having the courage - and the strength - to show up in those difficult situations and let yourself be seen. It's about walking into your 6th grade classroom 10 days from now and seeing what you're made of and knowing it's more than enough.

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* this post was inspired from the last chapter of Daring Greatly by Brene Brown ... a chapter worth reading and rereading over and over again *

my take on wholehearted parenting

I stood as quietly on the other side of the stock trailer door as I could. It seemed ridiculous because I'm certain the cows and calves could see my tennis shoes sticking out underneath, but nonetheless, I was quiet. The flies were swarming almost as bad as bees - biting at my ankles that already ached from the scrapes from alfalfa earlier in the week. I couldn't see a thing and had to let my ears guide me as to what was happening on the other side of the aluminum door.

The boys pushed the four pairs into the the pen we had made with the trusty panels without much trouble, and things were moving along fairly quickly. The cows got sorted back out and it only took two tries at loading the calves because of the one stubborn black one. Go figure.

I breathed a sigh of relief to myself thinking that this was going better than expected ... when suddenly things didn't go so well. Aren't most things like that though?! Smooth sailing and then chaos - which then seems to lead to tears, hurt feelings, and someone getting covered in crap.

Seconds. That's all it took to go from good to bad. Just a few stupid seconds. I stared at the ground, not sure what exactly had happened for one boy to be closing the trailer door and the other lying in the greasy, stinky crap, but somehow with the turn of my head for a few seconds everything went wrong.

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Turns out one boy wasn't doing something the other thought he should be doing and instead of using kind words, frustration won. Shoving and kicking won. Piles of crap won.

I grabbed Mack up off the ground, quickly said goodbye to our friend who had witnessed the entire scene, and put a blanket down on the pickup seat for Mack to sit on. If only I had a shower on the side of the pickup. Mason pulled the pickup back around to the road & then got in the back seat, I latched that gate, and we drove the 30 miles home in silence.

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On this last Thursday of summer with my boys, I was silent. As I drove, I contemplated what I could have done differently, what I could have modeled, what I could have said, and I came up with nothing. I thought about the last chapter of Daring Greatly that I need to reread at least once a month. I questioned my wholeheartedness and the shaming I've caught myself in with them, and with myself. It was a long 30 minutes.

And then during the last few miles before home, I realized that the pile of crap was exactly what needed to happen today. The turning of my head was a gift. Reality looks you in the face during those seconds that go all wrong and basically challenges you to wholeheartedness. Moments where you can be brave, hopeful, and risk being vulnerable in the best sort of ways. Letting my boys struggle and experience adversity was exactly what they needed today, even if it was mortifying to watch. My discomfort of the situations they seem to be in hourly with each other, and even with themselves, can't dictate my behavior or more importantly, my reactions to the things they're doing. I have to let them fall & fail, all the while praying they know that getting back up and trying again are two of the most hopeful things they can do.

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We got home. I made them lunch. And then I took a two hour nap. I let them figure out how to get along without me, and wouldn't you know - they did.

Parenting wholeheartedly is hard. It is uncomfortable. It strays away from normal and suggests to throw perfection and prerequisites out the window. It's teaching the difference between guilt and shame, and practicing what I preach. It looks like I've got my work cut out for me.

"What we are teaches the child more than what we say, so we must be what we want our children to become."