We accidentally acquired a dog about four months ago.
By “accidentally”, I mean that my husband’s coworker found her, my husband took one look at her, and she was home within the hour.
Lindsey is the best ever dog now, but this wasn’t always the case. After she ate a whole pan of chicken wings off the counter, chewed up three pairs of shoes and countless children’s toys, peed on the carpet every time we let her in the house, and destroyed her crate when we left her in it (at all, ever), I was convinced that we had made a serious mistake in taking her. I couldn’t stand the dog, who was quickly becoming a liability and not an asset.
Thanks to a lot of training and time (and anxiety medication!), Lindsey doesn’t do any of the things she did when she first came! She stays calmly in her crate, chews on her own toys, sleeps on her own bed, eats only her own food, and takes care of her business outside. Best of all, she runs with me and is loving and intuitive with our girls. She has quickly won a permanent place in our home and our hearts.
Every once in awhile, Lindsey reminds us that, in spite of our diligent training, she still has a quirky personality. Sometimes she sleeps with her feet straight up in the air or stretches so intensely that she lets out a loud fart and then is confused about what happened. She pulls the squeakers and stuffing out of every toy she owns (but thankfully, only with toys she owns). Occasionally, she darts after a squirrel during an off-leash run ... and occasionally I let her go.
It is these little idiosyncrasies that make me love our dog the most, and I never want to put her through such rigorous training that she loses the unique things that make her Lindsey. At the end of the day, she is a part of our family for our pleasure, and we certainly expect her to behave, but we want her to have a happy life. We don’t want a robot dog, crushed under the weight of our expectations.
This post isn’t actually about my dog. She’s a handy example right now, but I’m really writing about the purpose of children.
My oldest started soccer this season. Her team lost every game. Every single one!
When we showed up to her first game, the other team had matching shorts, socks, and hair bows custom embroidered with their names. (I forgot which color jersey she was supposed to wear that day.) Several of their self-proclaimed “intense” parents had professional cameras with tripods on the sidelines. Some of them encouraged their (five and six-year-old) girls to “get rough” and cheered loudly for our team when one of our girls ran confidently down the field toward the wrong goal and scored. I don’t remember how badly we lost. I stopped keeping track at 15-0.
As a parent, that game was hard to watch. Not because I was embarrassed. Not because I cared about the outcome of the game. It was hard to watch because our girls felt defeated and frustrated, and U6 leagues are supposed to be fun. That particular game was a competition between their parents and ours, to prove whose kids were a head above the rest. It wasn’t really about the girls on the field.
When your kids look good and when they’re talented and successful, they make you as a parent look good, also. Quite honestly, my ego would have loved it if P’s soccer team had gone undefeated this season! But unlike my dog, whose main purpose in life is to bring me joy, my pleasure is not the ultimate goal of my kids’ existence. Joy is a byproduct of having children, but it is not the reason for having them.
So, then, what is the purpose of having children? I’m not sure that question has any one answer, but the longer I’ve had my kids, the more I’ve realized that God gave them to me more for the purpose of bringing about my growth and humility than my happiness and success.
My parents didn’t crush me with their expectations of me, but I’ve always had unreasonably high expectations of myself and have feared placing those upon my kids, as well. My standard has been perfection, which is unfair to everyone. Part of learning to be human is making mistakes, and I pray that my littles always understand the rules of our home while knowing that they will be accepted, loved, and cherished, regardless of their successes or failures. I want to train them up to follow the path leading to true life, but I also want to allow them grace, molding their wills without ever crushing their spirits or causing them to lose the quirks that make them unique.
This has been hard for me. I do cherish and love my people, but unconditional acceptance of them can be challenging. From time to time, my kids have challenges, and when I see their purpose as my happiness (or comfort or ease or success), I get angry with them for struggling. If I’m believing that they exist to make me feel or look good, I become annoyed when they need me to stop what I’m doing to help them, or embarrassed when they lack talent in certain areas.
When I see my children as precious simply because they are mine and when I am able to view their unique issues as opportunities for my growth, it becomes much easier for me to keep my arms wide open for them in every circumstance. When I admire my family through the correct lenses, I can say confidently to my non-robotic kids, “You can lose every single soccer game and it’s okay! You can lose them 15-0! You can struggle with friendships and emotions and grades. You can be afraid of the dark and wear clothes that don’t match and you can run off every once in awhile to chase the proverbial squirrel ... and every once in awhile, I might let you ... because always, you have a home in my heart and our family, exactly the way you are.”