The Minivan Years Page 8

  Like my oldest son venturing beyond the umbrella, Saul had removed himself from the protective cover of God’s clear command. As a result, he got walloped with a harsh consequence.

  Why does Samuel compare rebellion to witchcraft and idolatry? What do conjuring up spells and worshipping idols have to do with disobedience?

  Witchcraft involves willingly placing oneself under the authority and influence of forces other than God in order to manipulate rather than submit to the supernatural. Idolatry, in similar manner, involves worshipping something other than God in pursuit of “benefits” beyond those He allows.

  Rebellion is also removing oneself from God’s protective authority. Once we step out from under the umbrella, we are fair game for the enemy. The pattern is as old as humanity.

  Adam chose knowledge beyond innocence. Along with it came the “darts” of sickness, sorrow, conflict, and death. Thousands of years later that fateful choice influences my own home, including my four precious kids. Kurt and I want them to know that God established authority for our protection and guidance toward the kind of life we were made to enjoy.

  He provides spiritual authority to shepherd their hearts: “Obey those who rule over you, and be submissive, for they watch out for your souls” (Hebrews 13:17, NKJV).

  Civil authority to maintain social order: “Therefore, submit yourselves to every ordinance of man for the Lord’s sake, whether to the king as supreme, or to governors, as to those who are sent by him for the punishment of evildoers and for the praise of those who do good” (1 Peter 2:13–14, NKJV).

  And parental authority is the first of many umbrellas shielding them from harm.

  “Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right” (Ephesians 6:1, NKJV).

  We want our children to understand that everyone will ultimately serve someone. We can either enjoy the freedom of serving the God who loves us or descend into slavery by serving an enemy who would love to blast us. But the Lord won’t force any of us to stay under the protective guidance of authority, any more than he will intervene when the enemy’s Nerf balls fly.

  * * *

  Mini-Tip

  READ UP

  Brush up on the reality of our enemy by reading several biblical passages that describe his nature and schemes. After all, it is difficult to teach our children about something we ourselves don’t understand. If your children are old enough, go through these passages together so that the entire family learns to be on guard while living in enemy-occupied territory.

  • Ephesians 6:11–12

  • I Peter 5:8

  • Matthew 4:1–11

  • John 8:44

  • 2 Corinthians 11:14

  CHAPTER 14

  Mini-Jurisdictions

  BEING-RESPONSIBLE TIMES

  A few days before her first day of kindergarten, Nicole got a reflective look on her face while I hurriedly got her dressed before getting us both into the car for our latest errand run. It had been yet another busy season in the Bruner family when several to do list items remained, well, to do. I probably seemed more intense than usual, certainly more intent. A brief rundown of the week’s conversation:

  “Nicole, I told you to get your shoes on. We’re going to be late!”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t play right now—I have to get dinner ready.”

  “Yes, we have to wash your hair again. You don’t want to get bugs on your head, do you?”

  “Nicole, you need to put your toys away before we leave.”

  “Okay, but just one book. It’s late and we have to get to bed.”

  You get the picture. Poor Nicole. The crazy schedules of her three older brothers had forced most of the fun out of my playful personality, turning me into more of a demanding boss than a nurturing mommy. Which brings me back to the reflective look on her face.

  “Mommy,” she began, glancing up at me while fastening the Velcro straps on her shoes. “How did you grow into a mommy so fast?”

  A strange question since, in her eyes, I had never not been a mommy.

  “Well, I used to be a little girl like you. Then I grew up, got married, and became a mommy. Why do you ask?”

  “I want to be a mommy,” came her precious reply. The process of growing up was taking too long—and she couldn’t wait to become a mommy. I apparently retained some stature in her eyes beyond that of household tyrant.

  “Oh, that’s nice, Nicole. Why do you want to be a mommy?”

  “So I can be in charge of everything,” Nicole said boldly.

  Being the baby of the family meant bearing the brunt of everybody’s demands—including my own. She didn’t aspire to mommy’s loving persona. She wanted mommy’s absolute power!

  “Everything,” she quickly corrected herself, “except for Daddy.”

  Almost absolute power. But being in charge of everything “except for Daddy” is still pretty powerful from a five-year-old’s perspective.

  Of course, the daddy exception is a mere technicality. She doesn’t realize just how much influence I have over even his actions and decisions. Every self-respecting woman knows the power of the right look, word, or touch. But we’ll leave that aside for the moment. Suffice it to say that Mommy’s authority goes pretty far.

  Several years ago our older boys learned about family jurisdictional boundaries when Dad sacrificed influence in one major department, thanks to willful negligence. About ages seven and five, Kyle and Shaun had their first “guy’s weekend” with Dad while I went out of town to visit my best friend back home in Oregon. I can’t tell you how nice it was driving away from the house knowing I would enjoy three and a half days relaxing in my old stomping grounds, knowing I didn’t have to worry about the kids because they were with my husband. I could read, chat, and rest secure in the knowledge Kurt had everything under control.

  The trip turned out to be all that I’d expected and needed, allowing me to come home refreshed and ready for another tour of duty in mommyville. And as an added bonus, I discovered just how essential I am to my children’s survival.

  In order to celebrate my return and thank Kurt for giving me a break, I decided to cook one of the family’s favorite meals—roast beef, mashed potatoes, corn, and French bread. We sat down at the table, gave thanks, and the boys dived in. And I do mean dived! I had never seen them eat so voraciously. They ate a lot and moaned in delight after each bite, as if they had never tasted such heavenly food in their lives. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought Kurt had starved them all weekend.

  I didn’t know better.

  “They sure seem hungry tonight,” I teased Kurt between bites. “You did feed them while I was gone, didn’t you?”

  “Of course,” he answered defensively. “They ate three meals a day.”

  “What did they eat?” I inquired, having earlier noticed the food I had left for Kurt to cook was undisturbed in the refrigerator.

  “Well, let me think for a moment.” He leaned back in his chair to reflect upon the past few days. I saw him counting silently on his fingers, as if rehearsing each meal in his mind to make sure all nine were accounted for. With each finger, the look on his face became more sheepish.

  “So?” I pushed for the verdict.

  “Well, every time I got ready to fix something, I asked the boys what they wanted to eat.” Mistake number one.

  “And they never wanted what you had planned.” Excuse number one.

  “So I gave them what they wanted.” Mistake number two.

  “And what did they want?” I pushed on the door he hoped to keep locked.

  “Funny thing is, now that I think about it, they always wanted the same thing.”

  “Which was?”

  He didn’t need to respond. The boys volunteered the information I might have guessed. “Cereal!” they shouted in unison.

  That’s right. Over the nearly four days I had been gone, my children had eaten nothing but dry cereal with milk. No wonder they consumed the food on their p
lates like wild animals devouring prey. A child needs protein, for heaven’s sake! Something they hadn’t had since saying good-bye to Mommy.

  At that moment, Dad forfeited jurisdictional authority in the family kitchen. He is still allowed the occasional breakfast decision, an area in which he has proven himself all too capable. But when it comes to the important decisions about the kids’ nourishment, I am the clear and undisputed leader. Years later, the family still jokes that no matter what other areas Dad may control, Mom will always be the boss of food.

  If you want to lob a grenade into an otherwise pleasant conversation, bring up the topic of wives submitting to their husband’s authority in the home. My generation of women, even those raised in Christian churches, automatically bristle at the notion. We, like Nicole, want to think of Mom as the one with all the power. If she does allow her husband the illusion of authority, it is only because it helps preserve his fragile male ego.

  Perhaps you’ve heard the story, but it bears repeating. An angel holding a golden clipboard stood before an assembly of heavenly residents on the opening day of eternity. Hoping to organize the crowd into groups based upon their earthly performance, the angel gave what he thought was a clear set of instructions.

  “I need all the married men to form two lines,” he began. “Those who were henpecked, weak leaders who allowed their wives to rule the roost, step to the right. Those who authoritatively ruled their homes like a man’s man, form a line to my left.”

  A long, winding line formed to the right as one honest husband after another admitted his weakness. Before long, every man in the crowd stood on the angel’s right. Every man, that is, with the exception of one solitary man standing at the left.

  “What is your name, son?” the angel asked.

  “My name is Fred, sir,” came the man’s reply.

  The angel looked to the right at a line of what must have been millions of men honest enough to admit they had not truly led their homes, allowing their wives to “wear the pants in the family.” The angel turned back to Fred, standing alone, and he wondered whether Fred had heard properly.

  “Let me make sure you understood my instructions,” the angel said. “This line is for all men who wore the pants in their families, who ruled with iron fists, and who kept their wives in their places.”

  “Yes, sir,” came Fred’s reply.

  “Well, I can’t help wondering why you are the only one out of millions of men who chooses to stand in this line. Do you really expect me to believe you are the lone man’s man in this entire assembly?”

  “Believe what you will, sir,” Fred answered. “All I know is that after you gave the instructions, my wife told me I had to stand here.”

  We laugh, in part because the scenario is not that far off from reality.

  I won’t go into all the theological arguments for and against male leadership at home. Those who accept biblical authority know what I’m talking about. Suffice it to say, God established jurisdictional authority in every institution—government, the church, and the home. He gave the husband authority and responsibility. And while some abdicate that role, most do their best to fulfill the job description detailed in Paul’s letter to the Ephesians:

  Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.

  EPHESIANS 5:25, NIV

  Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.

  EPHESIANS 6:4, NIV

  I grew up in a family where the man didn’t fulfill these roles. My father was abusive to my mother, hardly loving his wife as Christ loved the church. And definitely exasperating his children. So I am by no means ignorant of how badly some men mess up their end of the bargain.

  Because I am a wife, however, my concern is over us wives messing up our end.

  Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.

  EPHESIANS 5:22–24, NIV

  In everything? Does the Lord have any idea what that would mean in my family? The kids would waste away from eating nothing but cereal!

  In all seriousness, this submission thing is much easier said than done. I especially find it a difficult concept, since I had no model during my childhood of the kind of mutual submission God intended fathers and mothers to demonstrate. But I want something better for my children than what I received.

  I believe my jurisdiction in the home has little to do with lines of authority or my work outside the home. (Kurt and I have almost never had a serious disagreement about a big decision, which is the only time the trump card of authority becomes an issue.)

  The question to ask is not Who is boss of whom? but rather Who is responsible for what?

  Kurt is responsible for modeling manhood, fatherhood, and what it means to heroically sacrifice himself for his family the way Christ sacrificed Himself for our redemption. Self-sacrifice comes in all shapes and sizes, such as Kurt providing for the family or when he plays with the kids after an exhausting day at work instead of crashing in front of the television.

  I am responsible for modeling femininity, maternity, and what it means to heroically sacrifice myself by serving my husband and my children. I serve Kurt when I show him respect and allow him to lead. I serve the kids when I play my role as the life giver of our home. I owe it to them to shake myself out of selfishness and choose a joyful attitude—allowing them to experience a home filled with love and affirmation rather than tension and angst.

  So I can affirm Nicole’s aspirations toward motherhood. After all, we moms may not be the final authority on all matters in the home. But our jurisdiction reaches pretty doggone far.

  * * *

  Mini-Tip

  PLAY TO YOUR STRENGTHS

  During your next date night, sit down with your husband and discuss what strengths each of you possess in order to proactively decide who should take jurisdiction over what areas. If your husband, unlike mine, is a terrific chef—let him take the kitchen reins. If you are an accounting whiz, by all means manage the family finances. According to the Bible, we wives were created to be our husbands’ helpmates by combining our areas of strength with his to produce a well-run household.

  CHAPTER 15

  Mini-Scholars

  CHOOSING-A-SCHOOL TIMES

  The background image on our home office computer monitor is a picture of Nicole sitting at her kindergarten desk. Her feet are crossed beneath the chair and her brand-new box of crayons sits before her. Wearing a blue beret to match the school uniform, a white blouse, and solid blue skirt, she looks too cute and older than I wanted her to be. I suppose no mom properly prepares herself for their last child’s first day of school. It was hard enough facing the first child’s first day of school. That occurred eleven years earlier when Kyle entered Antelope Trails Elementary—one block from our house but one hundred miles from my care and protection.

  For some reason, taking Shaun and Troy to kindergarten seemed less painful than taking Kyle. I suppose experience helps. You quickly figure out that children come back home at the end of the day, usually in one piece.

  But Nicole’s first day of school caught me off guard. She was excited about her new clothes, new backpack, new supplies, and new routine, and she and I had been looking forward to the day for months. All summer long we counted the “dark naps” remaining until the start of school. (“Dark nap” is what Nicole calls the eight-hour sleep we do at night, in contrast to the brief “light naps” she takes after lunch.) So I expected an easy, in-and-out process. After all, I had the routine down pat after three prior launches:

  Meet the teacher

  Organize school supplies into the cramped desk space

  Figure out where to hang the coat

  Peer into the restroom to discover a nifty, five-year-old-sized toilet


  Same steps. Similar room. But this time seemed less routine, more ominous. As I kissed Nicole good-bye, I felt a twinge of grief. Not worry like with the boys. Grief—like a precious season of life was coming to a close.

  My husband felt worse than I did. For some time Kurt had been complaining to Nicole about her growing up. “Look at how big you’re getting, Nicole,” he teased. “I thought I told you I wanted you to stay small so that you could always be my little princess!”

  “Daddy!” came Nicole’s indignant reply. “I can still be your princess when I’m big. You know I have to grow up so I can go to kindergarten!”

  Precisely the thing he dreaded. The arrival of “K day” meant Kurt had to reluctantly accept the inevitable. No matter how much he resisted, Nicole would indeed grow up. Of course, in her daddy’s mind, sending her to kindergarten was just the first in a depressing series of events—including high school, college, marriage, and Kurt lying cold and lonely in an unmarked grave.

  To add insult to injury, Nicole expressed a desire to accelerate her pace of maturation. It came wrapped in a less-than-positive assessment of day one.

  “Mom,” she began, hands on her hips, “I thought kindergarten was going to be fun!”

  “You didn’t like your first day?” I asked.

  “You said we would do work,” she continued, “but coloring isn’t work!”

  So much for the excitement of crafts. Nicole wants to jump right to algebra!

  We took a lot of pictures on that last first day of school. With the boys we took the candid of each standing next to his first teacher. Nicole, on the other hand, has an entire collection.

  Nicole beside Mrs. Myers standing by the classroom door

  Nicole standing by the classroom door alone

  Nicole standing by the classroom door alone in a wide-angle shot

  Nicole sitting at her desk with crayons

  Yet another of her at her desk emptying the supply box

  Nicole standing in front of the trunk of a giant, papier-mâché tree whose branches sprawl across the entire ceiling