In the process of writing a memoir, I have been reflecting on the families of two sisters. The first, Joyce, ruled with the iron hand of legalism. Her five kids obeyed a lengthy set of strict rules—“Because I say so, that’s why!” Now grown, they tell me they acquiesced mainly out of fear of punishment.
Joyce’s family devotions often centered on the Old Testament: Honor your parents, Fear the Lord, Stop grumbling. The word grace rarely came up. When her children got married, Joyce told them, “If your marriage fails, don’t bother coming back here. You made a vow to God, so keep it.”
All of Joyce’s children have struggled with self-image problems. They admit it has taken many years for them to think of God as loving, and even now that concept seems more intellectual than experiential. Joyce and her husband have softened into grandparents, but affection still does not come easily to anyone in the family.
Yet here is a striking fact: defying an overwhelming national trend, all five of those children remain married to their original partners. They’ve chosen jobs in the helping professions. All but one are raising their own children in the faith. At some level, strictness and legalism in this family produced results.
In contrast to Joyce, her sister Annette determined to break out of the rigidity of their own upbringing. She vowed not to punish her children, rather to love them, comfort them, and calmly explain when they did something wrong. Her family devotions skipped right past the Old Testament and focused on Jesus’ astonishing parables of grace and forgiveness.
Annette especially loved the story of the Prodigal Son. “We are those parents,” she would tell her children. “No matter what you do, no matter what happens, we’ll be here waiting to welcome you back.”
Unfortunately, Annette and her husband would have many opportunities to role-play the parents of the prodigal. One daughter contracted AIDS through sexual promiscuity. Another is on her fourth marriage. A son alternates between prison and a drug rehab center.
Annette has kept her promise, though, always welcoming her children home. She looks after the grandchildren, posts bail, covers mortgage payments—whatever it takes to live out her commitment of long-suffering love. I marvel at her spirit of grace and acceptance. “What do you expect?” she shrugs. “They’re my children. You don’t stop loving your own children.”
I grew up in a home and church more like Joyce’s. After a period of rejection and rebellion, I discovered a God of love and forgiveness. (More accurately, God found me). I ended up as a Christian writer, piping the tune of grace. My brother, raised in the same environment, tossed faith aside. He now attends what he calls an “atheist church”—a Sunday gathering of humanists who spend much time talking about and opposing a God they don’t believe in—and stocks his bookshelf with works by noted atheists such as Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins.
“No one can comprehend what goes on under the sun,” concluded the Teacher of Ecclesiastes. “Despite all their efforts to search it out, no one can discover its meaning. Even if the wise claim they know, they cannot really comprehend it.”
A friend of mine, a wise counselor, says that human behavior can be explained by three things: nature (or heredity), nurture (including family upbringing), and free will. Which, he quickly admits, explains very little, for those ingredients combine in different ways in all of us. Loving, supportive families sometimes produce wounded and rebellious children; harsh or dysfunctional families sometimes produce the opposite. In between lies mystery—and God’s grace.
(I welcome hearing your stories of how family did, or didn’t, provide a nurturing balance in cultivating the life of faith.)
They’re following the same path as the mothers…
I am trying not to be jealous of the families who have raised all their children to be believers.
My husband and I,
both Christian college graduates,
raised our sons in the faith.
Sunday School.
Youth group.
GT and the Halo Express at bedtime.
Church camp.
Trip to Israel.
In high school, they went with us on mission trips.
The older son had a relatively compliant personality,
the younger was a non-conformist from his babyhood on.
Now, as adults,
the older works for a Christian school abroad,
though extremely frustrated
with what the evangelical church has become.
The younger came to claim his faith at a Christian college,
was later kicked out of that college for a poor decision,
had a resurgence and then repudiation of faith
during his armed services years.
He now reads Hitchings and Dawkins proudly.
As a parent,
I wonder if there was sin on my part at conception
(In sin did my mother conceive me…)
or if we could have changed an event
that started the atheistic dominoes tumbling.
I have yelled at God
(making my husband nervous,
but hey, it’s not lukewarm…)
in frustration, quoting “Train up a child…”
and “He who has begun a good work in you…”
I have begun to realize that any control
that I thought I had in raising our sons
was probably an illusion,
that God loves them more than we do,
and that prayer may be the only option.
And then I get too depressed to pray
and let the angels translate my groaning.
It could also be avoidance.
It is easier concentrate on the day in front of me
rather than the eternal,
especially when I don’t see any change.
And then I get panicked
and guilty
and yell desperately in my mind,
“God, I’m sorry for not paying more attention to prayer
and not having faith that you can change him!
Lord, I believe– help my unbelief!”
My son’s lack of faith sometimes wears mine down.
I find myself asking, “Is what happens God’s will?”
And if the answer is “No”
then where is the Baptist omnipotence I was raised with?
Though the Baptists threw around “perfect will”
and “permissive will” in my childhood,
as an adult,
I think it meant that, really, they had no idea.
And if the answer is “Yes”
and it IS God’s will that my son is an atheist,
then I don’t like God very much.
And I feel guilty about having OUR son in mind and not others–everybody is somebody’s child,
and some people are unrepentant unbelievers
and there’s going to be a reckoning…
Life is mostly joyful in God’s creation,
but I find this particular aspect of life on earth mentally exhausting.
I’m hoping that somehow I have misinterpreted the scriptures,
and that grace is going to get us all.
I am prepared to be unprepared…
Bridgette,
Thank you for your gracious response.
I do wonder why I chose such different values. I cannot abdicate responsibility. There were some very conscious decisions. God has shown grace beyond imagination.
My upbringing about faith was confusing to say the least. My mother’s mother is very legalistic. According to her the only Bible that has the truth is the King James Bible and the only people going to heaven are Baptists. She has made up her own doctrines based on her own interpretations and is what I would call a rogue Christian. She has a complaint against every church and every fellow believer. She is also a doom and gloom prophetess. She’s alienated and frightened everyone with her views on God’s plans for us. As a child, she pushed her views on me with the turn or burn philosophy. My mother and father were quite laxed about church and religion and told us kids to do what we wanted. Although, I respect the freedom they gave me, I yearned for their time and attention. Both of them worked and drank beer when they weren’t. I dated a preacher’s son in high school which resulted in a pregnancy when I was 15. The preacher family was angry with me and said it would be best if I did not attend their church for a few weeks. My own parents drank over their sorrows yet they welcomed me and my unborn baby. I remember telling my pastor that I felt more love and acceptance from alcoholics than I ever experienced with church goers. My son was born a quadriplegic which I learned when he was 13 months old. My parents divorced that same month. I remember telling God that I was done with him. I also remember thinking that was odd for me to do since I never thought God cared about me or was involved in my life anyway. After 14 years passed, much of which was lonely, fearful, and exhausting from meeting the daily demands of caring for my son, something began to stir in me. I found myself thinking about Jesus all the time. After about a year of this he revealed himself to me. Since then I have been obsessed with learning about him and devoting time to knowing him personally. Sometimes I go to church regularly and sometimes I don’t. I am constantly surprised about how many times I have encountered him. When I became preganant with my second child ( 15 years after my first) I said, Lord what should we name this baby? I was completely shocked that he answered me audible. He said “how about Grace?” It was so casual. I think about that often. Grace was born 9 months later. I could go on but I don’t have the time. My upbringing was 2 opposite extremes of legalism and libertarianism yet Jesus showed up. He has begun to heal many wounds and help change me. I’m still a work in progress and at times I wish it would be sooner. When I go through self loathing or am impatient with myself I remember those words. How about grace?
A beautiful story, movingly told. You have lived a hard life, and been Graced throughout. –Philip