Who We Are, Not What We Do
It was an overcast morning where the air hung thick and heavy, yet the temperature was still registering below 80 degrees. Inside we were restless and edgy. It was just one of those mornings, you know, the kind that are not your favorite. The two-year-old was awfully whiny and demanding. The kindergartener and second-grader didn’t want to focus on their schoolwork, but nor did they want to do anything else either. Even I was having one of those days where being patient was a struggle. The sullen, combative storm of my oldest was peppered with the feisty, furious outbursts of my middle child, and I felt like they were all pushing all my buttons.
In an effort to salvage our school day, I suggested we bring a couple blankets outside for a picnic lunch while I read more of Felicity Learns a Lesson, one of the American Girl series we were reading together as part of our homeschool curriculum. I hoped a change of scenery, some fresh air, perhaps a release of some bottled-up energy through jumping on the trampoline, would make us all feel a little more human. None of the above happened. Grumpy kids jumping together on a trampoline meant they kept getting in each other’s spaces and upset at each other. There were screams, and shrieks, and hollers, and moans, and growls—all the noises you wish never came from your kids, but especially not in the ear-range of anyone else.
Lunch was just as much of a hot, epic disaster. The grass was still wet, so we first spread our blankets out where the direct sun had evaporated most of the water. A little sun for my still nearly winter-pale skin, I thought, happily positioning myself so the rays could hit my face. My oldest disagreed. “It’s so hot,” she griped, flopping herself down and narrowly missing her lunch plate with her rolling, flailing body. We moved one of the blankets to the shade, but I knew I was fighting a losing battle. I tried to reason with the youngest to sit down and eat, but he only wanted to jump and almost stepped into several plates of food. I sent my eldest inside to eat her lunch, and soon brought my son in as well so he could watch monster trucks YouTube videos while he ate. My words were far too sharp. Too unflinchingly firm. I tried to read some while the last kid standing picked at her lunch, and then we decided to come in as well. We had mostly just wasted time. Very little lunch had been consumed, very few pages read, and clock wasn’t slowing down.
On our way in, I heard voices from a neighbor’s back porch. I wasn’t sure how much of our angry chaos had been witnessed. This was not what we wanted to show our neighbors. We wanted love, grace, and warmth to saturate our words. We wanted to be ready to help when needs amongst our neighbors arose. We wanted to be compassionate, active listeners. I couldn’t even offer grace to or listen well to my kids today. I felt like a hypocrite.
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As I look back on this morning, I realize how much precedence I had put on what we were doing. I was task-oriented. We were supposed to be checking off the schoolwork that needed to be finished that day. We were supposed to nourish our physical bodies. We were supposed to get fresh air for our health. We were supposed to cultivate even a small amount of lovely in our day.
If I could zoom out and take an aerial perspective, though, I might find that character growth, the people my children are and are becoming, wins out over how long it took them to get through their schoolwork on one particular day of second grade and kindergarten.
It can be easier to focus on what to do instead of zeroing in on who we want to be. Doing is tangible. We can wrap our heads around it. We can write it out in neat, tidy lists. We can measure and quantify it. We can feel good when we chalk up another accomplishment and know exactly how we fall short. It is in essence definable.
Refocusing our attention on who we want to be feels a bit like pinning down a wet, squirmy fish. We want to be kind, or genuine, compassionate, or patient. Do you, like me, find your first impulse is to gauge our growth in these areas by comparing ourselves to those around us? The problem with this approach is that our progress would be relative, based on who we were comparing ourselves to at that moment. We could so easily become self-absorbed, justifying who we see in ourselves because it looks ok in comparison to others. Let’s shed some truth on this: we can always find someone failing harder than we are in a specific area of their character. This does not mean we are growing.
We need a standard that is constant if we really want to grow into the character and likeness of Jesus. We find this when we turn our gaze upward.
Coincidentally, spending time with the only one with perfect character forces us to face our own flaws and his righteous perfection head on. We become more by being. Being his. Being loved by him. Being adopted by him. Not through anything that we have done. Not by our own doing.
My narrow focus that morning created little space for me to focus on being—the people we are becoming through the grace of our good, good Father. We have to nurture inside what we want to be visible on the outside. The actions, the doing, should flow out of the character we are cultivating, the people we are being and becoming. Abiding in our source of constant, perfect character is essential.
Missional living right here in our neighborhood is defining for our kids what normal is for our family. It is shaping who they are becoming. When I show grace to my kids, I am teaching them how to in turn show grace to others and how to receive the grace that God gives them. It is shaping who they are becoming. When I apologize to them when I fail to show grace, I demonstrate the power of humility. It is shaping who they are becoming.
Dear, dear Daddy, you are a good, good Father. You call us your own. You love us, treasure us, yearn for us. May we hold you in reverent awe today. May we see rightly who you are and who we are, that all of who we are is because of you, not because of anything we have done. We are because you are. Please help us to live out grace and love and humility in our families and neighborhoods. Amen.
