Lessons From Preschoolers

As Eloise ate breakfast this morning and we talked about going to school, she announced Today, Mama, I'm going to be a good listener!

That's awesome sweetheart, I said.  So am I, I hoped.

In college the Freshman class all received t-shirts that said SPEAK on the back of them.  It had many different meanings to be sure.  A couple:  1.  Our school had a Southern speaking tradition.  You say Hey or Hello or Howdy or Whatsup Dude! when you pass someone on campus.  That's just what you did because that's polite.  And it made for a wonderful community.  2.  Speak your mind.  Speak up.  Don't be afraid to be yourself.  All wonderful things to do.

But about 9 years ago, I thought to myself, I wish all those shirts said LISTEN because everyone is making too much noise!  

Fast forward a few years to our seminary experience in Ambridge, Pennsylvania where I had the distinct opportunity to learn from 2 of the best teachers in the Christian world today, Mary and Paul Zahl.  The spouses of seminarians (who all worked their tails off as their spouses enjoyed seminary classes and were insanely jealous of them the entire time) had some night meetings on campus where we enjoyed speakers and small groups and fellowship together.  I remember one night quite vividly.  The night Mary Zahl spoke on listening.  The gift you can give when you actually stop talking and listen to someone else.

That was hard.  I sat with my friend Kate.  We were supposed to take turns sharing and listening.  One person shared about anything they wanted for 5 minutes straight.  The other listened without interruption.    No interruptions at all...pure listening.  It was such a revealing exercise.  

1.  Listening is really hard.  I kept wanting to say, Oh me too!  Now you listen to my story about that . . .  Which would have turned the whole exercise back to me.  Because I'm selfish like that.  

2.  Sharing for 5 minutes straight is really hard.  As you speak you reveal new insights to yourself that can be quite difficult.  Like this, Today I had a student who annoyed the crud out of me.  He's such a difficult kid.  I have no patience for him.  In fact I have no patience for anyone because I'm really exhausted and overwhelmed at work.  I'm not sleeping because I keep waking up with bad dreams because I'm worried about how little money we have . . .  As I talk and talk and talk, I can get to the root of my problem.

Listening is sacrificial.  It's taking the "me" out of the equation.  Not my opinions or my advice or my stories or my empathy or my understanding.  It's all about the friend who is sharing.  

The more we listen, the more we know about the other person, the more we understand them, the better we can love them.  This is not Christian talk or religious talk, it's relational talk.  It can be with your husband, your daughter, your neighbor.  It can be about politics or parenting styles or beliefs.  After listening, we can think Oh that's why you insist on owning a gun.  Because you had a break-in while you were alone one night and you are terrified it will happen again.  I understand you better now.  May not agree, but I can understand.

Most often we just take turns talking at each other.  Like a political debate.  While one person talks, the other is preparing their response.  Not listening, just taking turns talking about ourselves.  Because we are all selfish like that. 

And that is why I want to be a better listener.  Just like Eloise said, Today I'm going to be a good listener.

Lessons From Preschoolers

Saying "I'm sorry" is really, really hard.

It's admitting that I am wrong.  And we know that never happens.  So instead of recognizing my fault and saying I'm sorry and moving on like a "mature" adult would do, I come up with every justification in the book.  "It's not technically my fault."  Or, "if he didn't do that, I wouldn't have done this."

But worse yet, most of the time I don't even see my own fault.  I'm completely blind to my culpability.  And when a small infraction becomes a mountain, when I see the writing on the wall, and I finally realize I am wrong and I have to say sorry, the words get stuck in my throat.

I have to cough them out.

It's so hard.

And it's not just me.  It's hard for Eloise too.  Today, Eloise and I had 2 instances when she needed to say sorry.  First, she threw a fit and hit me a couple of times.  After she calmed down, we talked about the problem, and I asked if she could say sorry for hitting me because it really hurt.

She said, "No.  I can't say sorry because it makes me too sad."

Wow.  How true.  It's so disappointing to be wrong.  It's devastates us.  We can't be wrong because then we're not perfect.  To admit imperfection is really sad for people like me.

Second, Eloise took a handful of vitamins, hid them in her hand and started to throw them in her mouth.  (She loves vitamins and it's really hard for her only to have one at a time.)  She threw a fit.  So I pulled her aside and explained again why we don't overeat vitamins.  I asked her to say sorry for doing it, and she said,

"I can say a silly sorry or a fancy sorry or a cute sorry."  She smiles and tries out all the different sorrys in her different voices.  She never could give me a real sorry.

Because it's so hard.

So I reminded her that the quicker she says it, the better she'll feel inside.  I remind her of this all the time.

And I hope going through these apologies with Eloise will help teach me to apologize more quickly and more fully in the future.  Because I don't know about you, but saying sorry is really hard for me.

Lessons From Preschoolers

This morning we had a new friend coming over.  And I wasn't prepared, to say the least.

Last night I was too tired to clean.  Or, better said, I was tired of cleaning.  Alex fell asleep at 8pm because he was tired, obviously.  Apparently clergy people are really tired these days.  Just read this article from the New York Times, click here.  It says, Members of the clergy now suffer from obesity, hypertension and depression at rates higher than most Americans. In the last decade, their use of antidepressants has risen, while their life expectancy has fallen. Many would change jobs if they could. (Paul Vitello, NYT, Aug 1, 2010)  Yikes!  Alex, please get the rest that you need.

And, on top of that, 19 Kids and Counting was on.  I couldn't miss a minute of sweet Michelle Duggar's cute high pitched voice.  And Jim Bob's humor.  And that little baby Josie.

I sit and sit and marvel at that show.  How does she do it?  It seems so ideal.  Could I ever be that capable/loving/nice/patient?  Probably not.

So back to this new friend coming over. . . I woke up in a complete fog.  Cordelia decided to fight sleep at 3am.  She fought it until 3:30 until sleep won.  So I returned to bed, relieved that she did it with minimal help from me, and I stared at the ceiling for who knows how long.  I'm tired.

This morning, I came down stairs and started picking up.  I do breakfast.  Clean that up.  Decide I need to serve a snack to our new friend, so I start to whip up some muffins.  Until I hear, "I WANT TO HELP!"

NO!  NO, you CANT help.  You take FOREVER, I thought.

Ugh.  Okay, come help.  I let her help and the process took about 45 minutes as she filled each muffin cup full of batter.  My (oh so holy) thought process went like this: "Ugh...this is terrible...I'll never get these done in time...oh please don't spill that on the counter...the oven's been ready for 15 minutes and now we're wasting energy...I have to brush my teeth, change my clothes, clean up some toys...can't you just hurry up!?!"

Eloise's process went like this: "Cool Mom!  Look at the sticky stuff coming off the spoon.  Feels funny. Tastes good.   This one is done.  Next.  Can I lick the spoon?  PLEASE!?!  This is awesome.  I like helping.  I like spending time with just you."

And because I know you love to help and that it's a wonderful trait to encourage and that spending all this time with you is precious, I will slow down, take a deep breath, and enjoy it too.  Because in just a few years, you will be doing it all by yourself.

I will cherish this now.

Thanks for reminding me to be patient, Eloise, and enjoy what I have right now.  You are such a wise (and enthusiastic) teacher.  I love you.

Lessons From Preschoolers

Some call it nagging.  It might even be considered whining.  But for this nice and neat blog post, it'll be named PERSISTENCE.

And this little girl has a lot of it!  Especially when cotton candy is involved.  Repeating the same phrase over and over again, can wear me down.

While I think of it as a negative when I'm on the receiving end, I'm looking at it from her point of view today.  Because being persistent in your dreams in life (cotton candy, grad school, job promotion, American Idol, potty training, sleeping through the night) can (sometimes) get us where we want to go.

So as I continue to wrestle with the insurance company over charges for Cordelia's birth (11/7/09, ahem), I will draw upon my Preschooler's persistence.  And maybe, just maybe, we'll get this claim (my money) figured out.  I will not give up.

Thank you, Eloise, for this valuable lesson in life.

Do you want to see my Preschooler's other lessons?  She's such a bright little bug: see here, here, and here.

Lessons From Preschoolers

Cordelia took an exceptionally long nap this morning.  Alex worked all day.  So, Eloise and I had an extended play time together.  It was super sweet to have some uninterrupted time with her.

We cuddled for a while and I told her how smart she was, beautiful she was, creative she was, and so on and so on.  After my long list of accolades, Eloise looked at me and said,

"I can do anything!" 

After too many years of knowing that's not true and becoming too concerned about the people around me, Eloise's acclamation was music to my ears.

It's easy to feel discouraged and inadequate and hopeless.  But thanks to you, Eloise, today, maybe just for a small time, I was reminded that I was specially made and can do anything with God's help.

Perfectionism: Lessons from Preschoolers

This time last week, Eloise and I had painted our toes purple and danced in the rain.  It was a wild, girly kind of day.

Just now, Eloise and I were reading a book together.  And we looked at our matching toes.

I said, "Look sweetie.  We have matching toes.  Aren't they pretty?"

Pointing to her right foot she said "These are broken."  And to her left foot, "these are perfect."

I said, "Well look, some of mine are kinda broken too."

Then she said a very profound thing.  Pointing back at her broken (chipping) toe nails on her right foot, she said, "These are sad."  And pointing to her perfect left foot, she said, "these are happy."

Broken equals sad, and perfect equals happy.  I was profoundly struck by this because lately I've noticed Eloise's awareness of perfection.

And she likes things to be "perfect."  (I'm not sure where she's even learned the concept because not many things are perfect around here.)  For example, she won't eat cookies with nuts in them because they are "not perfect."  She likes a clean smooth cookie.  She gets frustrated when she's dressing herself because if her pants are folded under or uneven or anything, they are "not perfect."  And she screams very loudly about it.  Now her hair is a whole other story.  (-:

Anyway, back to the quote.

I also think perfection means happiness.  When I see a neighborhood mom driving her suburban with her freshly highlighted hair, four kids in the back, sipping her latte, and wearing Lilly Pulitzer, I think she's perfect and happy.

And when I see an old woman struggling to understand her prescription at CVS and struggling to just stand up with her broken sunglasses on her head, I think she must be sad.

But then I remember our friend from Shepherd's Heart, our inner city church in Pittsburgh that serves the homeless, the addicted, other imperfect people like us, who from the outside looked broken in every way.  He suffered daily from his time in Vietnam, he lost his family, he's overcoming addiction everyday, struggles with anger and sadness, and yet the JOY from that man's lips is the most beautiful sound you might ever here.  The REDEMPTION of his soul is astounding.  And the PEACE that the Spirit of God brings to him as he sings to himself over and over and over again is real.

It is not perfection that makes us happy.

It is when our vessels are broken, that the light of God can shine through.  It is when our cups are empty, that the Spirit can pour in.

Thanks, Eloise for this lesson from human nature.  Now I pray that both you and I can move pass our desires for perfection and "boast all the more in our weakness."  "For when I am weak, I am strong."  2 Corinthians 12:10b

Watering Flowers, Lessons from Preschoolers

Eloise loves her garden.  She shows all our neighbors and asks them, "Aren't my flowers beauuutifulll?"

Yes, they are, we all answer.

And they really are.  The flowers are vibrant.  Our vegetables are growing taller.  And our pet rock is staying sedentary.  It's a nice garden.

Thank goodness pansies are forgiving.

Eloise loves to water her flowers.  She takes the watering can and makes sure each petal gets drenched.  I try to direct her to the roots and soil, but of course, she'll have none of it.

We all know who's in charge around here.

So after she goes to sleep, I sneak back outside to water the soil.  To get to the roots.  And ensure the plants are healthy at their core.

When we first moved here, I was exhausted.  I had nothing to give anyone.

I was exhausted physically.  Unpacking the house.  Arranging and Rearranging.  Learning to navigate the worst traffic in the world.  Learning to hate parking meters.  Learning how not to get lost.  And doing it all with a 18 month old in tow.  I was spent and had nothing to give.

Emotionally, I mourned the loss of magnificent friends and a place that I love dearly.  I was lonely.  I experienced culture shock.  (People in the coffee shop here don't just pick up conversations with you about the snow fall last night or the awesome ski conditions or the great band coming to town that night. No, people here don't talk to you at all, actually. :-)

I had no energy to reach out to make new friends.  I was too overwhelmed to get involved at the church. My colors were not very vibrant to say the least.

My roots were dry.

Before:

After:

(The tough transition was felt by all of us.)

In time, praise God, my roots have been showered with love and support.  I have been encouraged by the people I least expected.  And my cup is full.  It's overflowing in fact.

I'm busy volunteering and leading Bible study and reaching out to new friends and encouraging neighbors.  I'm busy loving 2 daughters and not just one.

The fruit is practically falling off the tree.  And it's a great place to be.

And that is why we have to always water the root.  Why we have to always extend God's grace and love.  It's not a video game where you have to unlock one level to get to the next and the next. There's no progression.  It's just about staying in place (like our pet rock) and receiving the water.  Drinking it up and enjoying it.  The fruit will come and the flowers will bloom if the roots are watered with the "sweet sweet love of Jesus."

Preschoolers really to have lots to offer this world.  Thanks, Eloise.