Joyriding: The Airplane Story

When I was a teen my dad wasn’t terribly strict, but there were certain boys from whom he forbid me to accept rides. I grew up in a small town, and my dad knew who had a reputation for reckless driving. He never said anything about airplanes, however.

One Fourth of July weekend, I was scheduled to work at the local pizza shop. I stayed behind while the rest of my family traveled to my grandparents’ farm. I was a fairly responsible kid; I held a job, participated in Young Life, and had a track record of making reasonably good choices.

After my shift I drove to the local McDonald’s to grab something to eat. Although I could have eaten as much free pizza as I wanted while at work, somehow it made sense to my teen brain to spend my hard-earned dollars on greasy fast-food burgers. Besides, McDonald’s was the center of my town’s teen universe, and I knew I might run into my sometimes-on-sometimes-off-again high school boyfriend there.

I was right. Just as I pulled into the parking lot he pulled in next to me. In the passenger seat beside him sat a friend, a young man whose father owned one of the two funeral homes in town.

“Want to go to Cleveland?” asked the sometimes boyfriend.

“Sure,” I said. “Do you want to drive, or do you want me to?”

“We rented a plane,” he said.

I remembered hearing the voice of Mrs. McGinnis, the school’s secretary, crackling through the static on the intercom, and disrupting classes for an important announcement. She congratulated two of the school’s students for achieving the distinction of becoming the youngest licensed private pilots in the state. So, of course, this girl with the reputation for making good choices said, “Okay!” And off we drove to the local airport.

In my defense I had an uncle who was a private pilot, and he had taken me up in the air with him several times. And these two were licensed pilots, I reasoned. “How dangerous could this be?” my incompletely formed teenage brain must have concluded.

Because it was the Fourth of July, we were able to witness fireworks displays below us. It was a perfect summer night, and the lights below shone with stunning brilliance. All at once it occurred to me that my parents were somewhere down there amidst the lights below, and they had no idea where I was. They slept soundly, not knowing their responsible daughter flew overhead, having entrusted her safety to the hands of two teenage boys.

If I were the parent of my teenage self, I would have grounded me for all of eternity. World without end.

We arrived safely at the Cleveland airport and found a small sandwich shop which was about to close. Because I hadn’t eaten at McDonald’s, I was hungry. All I could afford was an order of fries which probably cost four times as much as those I would have eaten had I stayed safely on the ground back in my hometown.

After we ate, we returned to the plane for the return trip home. The flight was uneventful, and we arrived safely. None but the three of us knew about our late night Cleveland escapade.

Until.

Several years later, when I was in college, I took a human development class about death and dying. I was given the assignment of interviewing a funeral home owner and writing a paper about the process of planning a funeral. I scheduled an appointment with the father of my Cleveland adventure co-pilot, and drove home one weekend for the interview. My mom thought the project sounded interesting and asked if she could sit in with me.

“Sure,” I said.

When we arrived for our appointment, the funeral director shook my hand and asked, “Aren’t you the girl who flew to Cleveland with my son that night?”

My mother looked at me. I looked at her.

“I never mentioned that? Funny story. . .”

Thankfully the statute of limitations on parental anger must have expired by then. There seemed little value in grounding me since I had moved on to college. But years later, Mom was able to exact a small measure of revenge.

When my kids were teens, I hammered them about the importance of making good choices. I knew from experience that even responsible kids sometimes did really stupid things. One year when my daughter was in college she decided to spend fall break with her grandmother. While she was visiting, my mother asked her,

“Did your mom ever tell you about that time. . ?”

Telling my tale of childhood stupidity and linking with emily:

When We Disappoint

When my daughter was a baby she napped in a crib in her upstairs bedroom, painted pink and stenciled with bunnies. One day, after she had woken from her nap, I picked up my sweet baby girl and started carrying her down the stairs. And then I slipped and fell.

I was in pain, the seeing-stars-I’m-afraid-to-move-and-find-out-I’ve-broken-something kind of pain. While I was trying to figure out how badly I’d battered and bruised myself, my daughter cried out in pain of her own. She had a rash on her chin, received from having been dragged down the carpeted stairs. Her eyes bore a look of utter betrayal as if asking me, “How could you do this to me, my own mother?”

The pain I felt paled in comparison to the ache of knowing I’d caused harm to my daughter. It wasn’t intentional, but I felt responsible nonetheless.  I had failed my child, the one who looked to me for security, protection, and love.

My pastor has been preaching a series of sermons on the life of David. Last week he highlighted an episode in which David failed to protect his family. While on the run from King Saul, David took his family and hid out in Ziklag in the land of the Philistines. He even assisted the Philistines by participating in their raids against the Amalekites, Girzites, and other desert tribes. Saul didn’t pursue David while he lived among the Philistines, and he and his family remained there in relative safety for over a year.

Some of the Philistine commanders grew nervous, however, about taking David into battle with them. David was an Israelite, an enemy of the Philistines, and the commanders questioned his loyalty. David was dismissed from the ranks of marauding Philistines and sent home to Ziklag. Upon arriving home, he learned that the Amalekites had raided the village and carried all its wives and children into captivity.

While David was off doing battle with the Philistines, he left his family unprotected and open to harm.

Then David and the people who were with him raised their voices and wept until they had no more strength to weep. I Samuel 30:4, ESV

I’ve wept too; in the knowledge that my actions have caused harm to those I love. I’d like to say that dragging my daughter down the stairs was my one and only act of disappointment, but that’s not true. I’ve made careless decisions, some of which were outright self-centered and sinful. I’ve responded in frustration and anger rather than in love.

Leaning on conventional parenting wisdom I repeatedly grounded one child and generally made life miserable in an ongoing battle over schoolwork. The problem with leaning on conventional wisdom, however, was that it blinded me from seeking God’s wisdom and recognizing my child’s learning disability. That thing God said about not leaning on one’s own understanding? Turns out God intends those words for parents. Turns out, he intends them for me.

Nobody around here is getting nominated for mother-of-the-year any time soon.

I wounded my child with angry words, through my lack of patience and understanding. I grieve my actions and have wept bitterly. I am tempted to curl up into a ball and declare my utter worthlessness as a parent. But that’s not what David did:

. . . David strengthened himself in the LORD his God. I Samuel 30:6, ESV

God doesn’t cast aside those who fail, those who disappoint. The Lord met David in his sorrow and strengthened him. My pastor directed us to these words, written by David in Psalm 25:

Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
   according to your steadfast love remember me,
   for the sake of your goodness, O LORD!

Good and upright is the LORD;
   therefore he instructs sinners in the way.
 He leads the humble in what is right,
   and teaches the humble his way.

Psalm 25:7-9, ESV

This account of David ends well; he gets his family back. My daughter’s chin healed, and I doubt she even remembers the day I dragged her down the stairs. But not all stories end well, at least not on this side of eternity. My actions may cause wounds which run deep, resulting in scars that last a lifetime. Who knows whether David’s wives and children were haunted by recurring nightmares after being captured by ancient marauding tribes? Scripture is silent on this point, and I believe it’s wise not to speculate when scripture is silent.

But this passage offers hope. It reminds me that God is the one who rescues and delivers from all harm, even the harm caused by my carelessness and sin. So I ask his forgiveness and pray for healing. I need passages like this to remind me that God doesn’t give up on me, even when I’m undone by my failures. He forgives and strengthens the mother who cries bitter tears.

Honored to have this post included in the December, 2011, round up of featured posts at The High Calling, selected by David Rupert at Red Letter Believers.

Linking with Michelle @ Graceful:

And with Jen and the sisterhood:

The Way They Should Go

Am I the only mother for whom the following words strike fear and trembling deep into the recesses of her heart?

Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.  Proverbs 22:6, NIV

I know.  These words are intended to be a source of promise and comfort.  It’s just that, I’m not always sure I’m leading my children in the way they should go.

The Sunday School answer, of course would be that we are to lead them in God’s way, to follow the principles of scripture.  When my children were babies, my husband and I stood at the front of our church and made promises to raise them in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.  The difficulty, for me, has always come in knowing how to do that on a day-to-day basis. 

It’s not as though believers agree about what faithful Christian parenting looks like.  We draw lines in different places in almost every area of parenting.  Breastfeeding only or is bottle feeding okay?  Cloth or disposable diapers?  Timeouts only or spanking?  Do we allow them to trick-or-treat?  What about Santa Claus? What is the best way to educate:  home school, private school, or public education?  Should we allow our children to date or is courtship the only honorable means for finding a spouse?

Where does a faithful Christian parent draw the line on clothing choices, tattoos, piercings?  When should we lay down the law?  When do we extend grace?

The wealth of technology and gadgets available to our children makes parenting decisions even more complicated.  At what age should my child be allowed to have a cell phone?  Should I let my children text?  What about internet access?  Facebook?  Do I monitor their accounts or is it wrong to snoop?  What kind of music do I allow my kids to download onto their IPods, or do I even involve myself in those decisions?  Do I even understand how most of those gadgets work?

Add in variables about each child’s temperament, gifts, abilities, strengths, and weaknesses; try to account for family dynamics as well as the emotional baggage each of us as parents brings into our family, and the decision-making calculus becomes truly overwhelming.  There are just too many opportunities for getting it wrong.
                                                                                                                              

And I know that sinfulness and rebellion linger within my own heart.  My fear comes in wondering,

What if I lead them in the wrong way?

When my example leads them astray, I feel I have betrayed my precious children into the hands of the enemy by means of a mother’s kiss.

As my children have grown, I’ve had to acknowledge times and places where I got it wrong.  Far too often I relied on my own wisdom and understanding rather than acknowledging my utter helplessness in raising those entrusted to my care.  I attempted to put into practice the words of James Dobson, Tedd Tripp, and Doug Wilson while neglecting the Living Word.

I spent more time at home school conventions and in studying curriculum catalogs than I did on my knees.

Recognizing my failures, I have had to look my children in the eye and ask for their forgiveness.  I’ve had to bend the knee to my heavenly Father and ask His forgiveness.  And while there on my knees, it finally occurred to me:

What if the way isn’t so much about parenting methods, educational choices, and acceptable behaviors?  Could it be that the way this proverb had in mind is the way of repentance, of forgiveness, of grace?

The way of the cross. 

Linking with Finding Heaven Today.