Wednesday, May 14, 2014


I sit here, tea in hand, listening to the timer on the microwave beep, letting my kids know it's time to go outside to play in the sprinkler.

Freedom at last!

The battle cry of their hearts.

They want freedom. Long for it.

They could taste the sweetness of freedom. If it wasn't for me, my daughter reminds me.

Me. The Nefarious Parent. The one who holds them back, keeps them bound, reminds them of chores and then makes them do the chores. The one who makes the rules and enforces them, who expects honesty and integrity and respect and good manners. And don't forget about responsibility, courtesy and decency.

The one who checks behind them to make sure homework is done right. Who checks out friends. Who reads texts and emails and notes. Who is friends with the teachers and the principal, and who is okay with discipline at school when they get in trouble.


I tested my kids today. Gave them the opportunity to be responsible and follow the rules all on their own, without me hovering over them.

Guess what?

They failed.

Not miserably, but they still failed. Rules were broken. Friends were sent home.

And one unhappy boy sent himself to the mudroom closet for a self-imposed time-out. (Actually, he says he was bored, but I think it sounds better to say he gave himself a time-out, which is essentially what it was.;))

They knew they were in trouble. They didn't even argue or put up a fight. Voices remained even, calm.

It was freedom in the making. But they don't know that, at least not yet. They're still being shaped and molded, still being taught and coached and educated.

But one day they will realize that there is freedom in the discipline, independence in the rules.

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. 
Stand firm, then, 
and do not let yourselves 
be burdened again by 
a yoke of slavery.
{galatians 5:1}

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