Crossfire on the Homefront

One child:  peace.  Two children:  squabble.  Three children: warfare.  In our home lately, I have had to dodge the crossfire of words, angry looks, jabs and pokes.  I never know if it's going to turn into grumbles, tears, whines, or blows (no blows yet!), or how much to intervene.  Dr. Lehman suggests putting them together in a confined space until they work it out.  I might try that.  Is the coat closet too tight?  Another parenting expert said, "If you just spend 30 minutes a day with each of them doing what they want to do, they will not misbehave."  I wish I had an hour and a half every day to leisurely play.  Not on Planet Pearson!

Nurture.  One of my three words for 2012.  How can I nurture them through this?


The best I could come up with this morning was to revisit Galatians 5:22-23.  We gathered in the living room, opened our Bibles, and read together,  "And the fruit of the Spirit is:  love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." 

The kids copied down the verse and then made a column of "opposites."  Hate, sadness, turmoil, worry, impatience, cruelty, evil, betrayal, harshness, impulsiveness.  I wish I could say they all put on their haloes and started sprouting fruit, but in the very midst of the devotional, they engaged in sharp responses and finger-pointing. 


I lit a candle and reminded them we have the Holy Spirit in us like a fire.  It can shed light on all this beautiful fruit in us. Then I blew out the candle and told them that our attitudes can snuff out the flame.  We become dark.  We leave behind the stench of smoke. 

We each chose a quality to work on for the day and prayed about it.  One chose kindness.  The second chose peace.  The third chose self-control.  I chose gentleness.  Our prayers were sincere.


By snack time, they were already quarreling, insisting they were innocent and another was causing the trouble. 


"She's whistling again." 
"He's being mean."
"She's asking dumb questions." 
"Moooooooom!"


I quickly felt my own flame sputtering.  I could smell the tendrils of smoke.  My eyes darkened with all that is opposite of Spirit fruit.  I turned my back to them, placed my palms on the cool counter, bridled my tongue, breathed deeply, and prayed the kids would hear themselves.  See the sin.  See the need for more of God. 


And then, suddenly, they were laughing big, hearty laughs.  Is that a flicker of a flame I see?  Is that a drip of sweet nectar I taste?  I joined the laughter as I swept off crumbs from the counter and told them, "This is Joy, kids, this is Joy.  Let's live here for awhile."  And we did.  For awhile.