Parenting Archives - Page 4 of 7

March 29, 2022 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Love and Launch from the Empty Nest

To my youngest child, my dear son,
As you launch from this empty nest, I pray for God’s blessings of provision, protection, growth-producing challenges, and incredible adventures. You planned, worked, and studied continuously to graduate from college; then you moved across the country in search of a job. I am overwhelmed with nostalgia and thankful for the joy you have brought to my life. I especially remember:

How you outsmarted our family at age two. We lost you and searched the entire house: in closets, under furniture, and every possible hiding place, growing more desperate as we called your name to no response. Finally, we found you sitting on the steps just outside the front door, triumphantly declaring, “I outside! I outside!”

Embrace your sense of adventure.

The mustache you drew on your first-grade-self with permanent marker one morning to imitate your father. Daddy said, “Just let him wear it.” I agreed that it would be a good natural consequence. Only that backfired, because you collected compliments on the mustache—all day long.

Nurture your creative self.

Your cardboard construction of an amazingly realistic model of our California house after we moved across the country. That model was an engineering marvel, created to scale in a two-story replica of all rooms. And I remember my distress when that detailed masterpiece fell off the shelf and crashed into pieces.

Don’t let anyone crash your dreams; your memories always go with you.

Your sweet freckled face on our bike ride. My surgery the next day had a high potential of cancer in two organs followed by chemotherapy. I savored your carefree nature as you raced me down the street. You brought me joy and distracted me from my preoccupation with cancer and worries about orphaning my children.

Share your joy with others; you may never know how much they need you.

The pride I felt as I sat in the audience at your high school robotics team presentation. Smooth and confident, you introduced your team and your project. I marveled at your poise and speaking ability.

Keep developing your God-given talents.

Your after-school hugs for the dog. Knowing that you faced some tough days and hurtful bullies in middle school, I made sure Cooper sat on the porch to greet you on your walk home from the bus stop. You thought you were outgrowing mom-hugs, but Cooper always cheered you up.

Never forget that you are loved.

Moving you into the college dorm. Although you were ready to attend college early, I was still adjusting to the idea. You were tired of me fussing over you and so ready to start your new independent life. (Yes, I cried as we drove away.)

I pray for God’s best for you, especially as I miss you.

Your first Christmas home from college. We talked until 1 a.m. and I was so thrilled to see the maturity and perspective you had gained after one freshman semester. I enjoyed your stories of weight-lifting in the gym, throwing pottery onto a wheel, disc-jockeying on your college radio program, and recovering from two failed calculus tests. Ultimately, you pulled your grade up by studying hard, attending every tutoring session, and taking every review class. You even made the dean’s list after that freshman year of calculus! That experience of failure as a motivator became a priceless lesson in perseverance.

Failure may be painful, but it can be a great learning experience.

The coronavirus chaos of 2020. COVID-19 affected everything from degree requirements to your graduation plans when you lost an internship, added some classes, and changed course. But you managed to complete two majors from two colleges within the university system. You flexed and figured it out.

Flexibility is important; what seems like a problem may result in changed plans and a better outcome.

Fly, my dear child, fly as you soar off to adventures unknown. May God protect you as you face this world on your own. May God grow and challenge you in ways that only your Creator can. Never forget that you are loved—so much. I miss you, and I am so proud of you.

All my love,
Mom

P.S. Please call once in a while.

[Originally posted August 2020]

October 8, 2018 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

A Mother’s Launching Love

Dear Heather, who launched your oldest off to kindergarten this fall, and Kirsten, who moved your oldest into his freshman dorm room,

Although living at opposite ends of the mothering continuum, you are both experiencing unsettling emotions as you launch your children into new challenges. Your mother-child bond, deeply loving and fiercely protective, brings up bittersweet feelings even as you recognize the importance of your child’s developmental milestones. Different launches, but similar poignant aches.

Heather, you have prepared LaVonne so well for kindergarten; her academic and social skills will take her far in elementary school. More importantly, her love for Jesus will bring God’s light and love to others around her.

Kirsten, you have poured love, support, and teaching into the eighteen-year lifetime of your firstborn Christopher. He will now practice and develop those skills independently as he adjusts to college.

Heather and Kirsten, you may question whether your families are prepared for these big changes. As mothers, both of you have witnessed how new challenges develop your children. From that first toddling step out of your arms, your child faced away from you and took off on new adventures. You celebrated your toddler’s new skill of walking, balancing your excitement with parental concern for potential injuries. In your children’s current steps away from you, you will enjoy seeing them make friends, try new activities, and mature in different ways. This launch will also be a balance of excitement and concern, as you support their progress but feel unsettled about the unknowns.

As we mother our children, we stretch and grow along with them. Years ago my friend Nancy called me after I came home from the hospital with my newborn daughter. Both new to the mothering role, Nancy and I shared our surprise over the intense feelings of love and concern we felt for our babies. A tumble of maternal bonding and hormones in the first week with her newborn Ben, Nancy had burst into tears at the aching realization that her precious boy would some day leave her and go off to kindergarten. (Ben successfully survived that milestone and many more; as an adult, he now has a close relationship with his mom.)

This fall, my friend Daphne lamented as she packed away her sons’ train play-table and little-kid toys. As her youngest son started middle school, she experienced the bittersweet reality that playtime had changed and her sons were no longer little boys.

Heather and Kirsten, as you lovingly release your children in this season of launching, please recognize that this is your chance to develop as well. Whether sending a child off to kindergarten or college, the adjustment can motivate you to pray and draw closer to God. Allow God to guide, support, and direct your precious children in their new steps away from home. As you entrust your children to God in new ways, may God give you time and energy to deepen your relationship with Him.

Lord, please be with all of us mothers in various seasons of launching our children. Please guide our children in every step of their new paths. Help us as mothers to reach the goal of Proverbs 22:6. “Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” In Jesus’ name. Amen.

August 1, 2018 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

The Move: A Mom’s Reflections on Boxes and Stuff

Boxes. Clothes. Stuff. First-world problems of too much stuff in the basement. Boxes of my children’s stuff: school memories, projects, photo albums, and yearbooks. A trumpet, music stand, and tennis racket in the corner. Clothes, costumes, and uniforms on a hanging rod, long neglected and outdated. Former extracurricular pursuits, now abandoned for a focus on college classes and career preparation.

Not only my children’s boxes, but boxes of stuff belonging to my husband and me. Plus memorabilia from deceased relatives. I am the keeper of family mementos, my house the repository of family history. My parents’ photo albums, dating back to the 1930s. Super 8 mm movies from the 1960s-1970s in their metal tins with a matching movie projector. Prom pictures from the 70s, photos, souvenirs, and clothing from my late husband’s life, stored for my children to sort through some day. More stuff in labeled boxes.

Hours spent sorting, donating, and re-packing the stuff. Carloads of boxes and items donated. Boxes and more stuff, memory after stored memory, lugged out of the basement, out of the house.

Not many memories from the room itself: a few projects completed and a water softener that ate large bags of salt. The heady stench of marker and the ripping noise of packing tape ceased; the empty room awaited only cleaning before the move. I noticed the smell of moisture from the concrete basement floor. My California daughter used to correlate that smell of humidity with her Midwestern grandmother’s house. “It smells like Oma’s basement.” How quickly that became our own overlooked basement smell once we moved to Minnesota.

Swish, swish. The sound of the broom clearing the last of the room. A residual of dust and bugs where life and memories had been stored.

And then I saw the vertical wooden column upon which I had tallied my children’s growth. Dates, ages, and initials of both kids, their growth verified on the upright framing. The 2 by 4 stood sentry next to a big black plumbing pipe, both essential to the house structure. I snapped a photo and took only memories along with me.

The newly-cleaned basement and house seemed lonely. No kid shrieks or laughter; no youthful energy inside. Gone were the door slams from frustrated teenagers. No kids racing downstairs as I trudged up with box after box. From solid concrete to soft carpet, stuff traveled up the stairs, out the door, and onto the trailer.

Slosh, slosh. The mop diffused a clean smell. A sanitized room awaited the home buyer.

Goodbye home. Goodbye to the place where my children laughed, played, and grew. And grew. And grew. And then they launched.

Thank you, Lord, for your provision and protection as we grew and made memories in our wonderful home. Please bless the new owners.

April 28, 2018 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Parenting, Plimsoll Lines, and Priorities

Parenting. Plimsoll lines. Priorities. A Plimsoll line illustrates a maritime law that involves oceans, ballast, and cargo ships. This seemingly unrelated concept became an insightful parenting metaphor in my friend Teresa’s recent MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) talk.

In the 1870s, British Parliament member Samuel Plimsoll examined the ongoing problem of overloaded commercial shipping vessels sinking at sea. He developed maximum depth standards for safe loading of ships’ cargo. These standards evaluated factors like salt/sea water, size of ship, time of year, and type of load to determine how deeply the ship could be immersed in water and still safely carry cargo. In 1876, British law mandated that load limits be indicated by a reference line painted on the ship’s hull. These reference lines became known as Plimsoll lines which remain a part of international maritime law.

A Plimsoll line that disappears underwater is an obvious mark of an overloaded ship. Teresa emphasized that principle to the mothers at our MOPS meeting. She spoke of the importance of evaluating our individual situation and then determining our “Plimsoll line,” the point at which we are maximally loaded with responsibilities. Teresa emphasized that, just as Plimsoll lines take into account load factors and seasons, so we need to determine what we can manage and how close we are to sinking.

Teresa’s motivating talk centered on our ultimate goal of following Christ and how we set goals based upon that foundation. As she described how to set realistic parenting and personal goals, Teresa cautioned us to avoid busy-ness and distractions that keep us from doing what God wants us to do. She encouraged us to exercise our “no muscle” by deliberately saying no to activities that would exceed our Plimsoll lines and cause us to sink.

Although she missed Teresa’s talk, our discussion group leader Staci became a great example of using a Plimsoll line. With three boys ages five and under, Staci is a dynamic example of following Christ. As a MOPS mentor mom, I am honored to be part of Staci’s table. On the Wednesdays that MOPS does not meet, Staci sets up playdates for our group. She is involved with high-schoolers, both in her church as youth group helper and in the community as the high school musical choreographer.

On the MOPS morning that Teresa spoke, Staci decided to stay home with her boys. No specific reason, but she said they needed to have a quiet day at home. Little did Staci realize that exercising her “no muscle” in that way was a much-needed preparation for what happened later. That night, her son Jace became sick with vomiting and a fever. Because Staci had recognized her Plimsoll line and cut back on her daytime activities, she had the resources for her long night of illness-assessing, child-comforting, and linen-changing. Staci’s choice also spared the other MOPS’ kids from sharing the nasty virus.

Dear God, please give us wisdom to establish Plimsoll lines for our lives. Teach us how to set goals and relevant boundaries as we follow Christ. In His name we pray. Amen.

March 31, 2017 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Toddler Tantrums: A Patient Father and a Heavenly Parallel

The weary-eyed parents scanned the checkout area at Walmart, searching for a short cashier line to duck into. Mom led the procession, with a grade-school-aged daughter and a shopping cart. Behind her, the mother pulled a sparkly, powder-blue girl’s bicycle, trimmed with shiny streamers from both handlebar ends. Patient Dad followed behind the girl’s bike with a screaming toddler in the cart. The two-year-old sat slumped in a tantrum with head down, tears flowing, and arms flailing.

https://www.walmart.com/ip/Yamaha-Moto-12-Child-s-BMX-Bike/17242520

Next to the boy, and unnoticed by him, sat a toddler-size ride-on toy. It was a tiny BMX bike—an amazing mini-vehicle! Royal blue and white aerodynamic fenders swooped along the bike, accented by fun chrome details. Every toddler’s dream gift, but even that could not distract the boy. Instead, his energy was focused solely on the expression of his fatigue and frustration.

A few minutes later, settled into a cashier line myself, I looked to see the source of new shrieking. Same toddler, but by this time, the family had found a cashier line. Only the father and son were visible beyond the shelves. The boy was on the floor tantruming as he screeched. Obviously the father had removed his son from the cart to allow the boy to flail unobstructed on the open floor. The father’s patient, watchful gaze never left the boy, ensuring his safety without accelerating the tantrum.

I had stopped by Walmart for a few groceries after Awana night at church. As a teacher of 3-5 year old Cubbies, I had dealt with my share of runny noses and tantrums that night. A few preschoolers in our group had those tired-and-crabby, scream-and-throw-yourself-down-on-the-floor type of tantrums. Although my own children had taught me well how to deal with such episodes of acting out (ignore, distract, don’t reinforce), I was still tired after that evening. (And yes, it had been a night of laughter, singing, telling about Jesus, and running around the gym as well, but it was dealing with the tantrums that wore me out.) And so I noticed and admired that patient and tired-looking father.

And then I recognized the parallel: isn’t that just how I act towards my heavenly Father?! Like that father with the beautiful gift in the cart, God has gifts planned for me, gifts that are perhaps even within arm’s reach, but often I tantrum in fatigue and frustration, not trusting my heavenly Father.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17

Just like that earthly father loved his son through the tantrum, God is the one who knows me, knows what I need, has a plan for me, and knows how to keep me safe from my own selfish episodes of acting out. God patiently waits through my mess and my undeserving actions, ready to love and forgive me.

The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. 2 Peter 3:9

Lord, help me to realize that you are my loving heavenly Father, the source of all good gifts, and the one who patiently waits for me to come to you in repentance. Please teach me that you are worth giving up my tantrums for, so that I can trust and obey you. In Jesus’ name. Amen.