No credit, no blame; No brag, just fact

Another confession. I used to read other people's Christmas letters full of gushy praise for their children and wonder how all those accomplishments could possibly be true, and puzzle over the dilemma of trying to paint such a glowing report of my own family. Instead I imagined myself writing a book similar to my favorite picture book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Only mine would be titled, Jamie Jo and the Generic, Unremarkable, No Star, Very Average Kids.

When my children were only babies I remember anxiously watching for every milestone, comparing them to other kids to see if they were on schedule. Some of my children were right on time. They rolled over, cooed, crawled, got their first tooth, walked, and talked just when the book said they would. But none of them were what you could call precocious in their early development. If anything, they were on a delayed - no, let's call it "relaxed" - schedule. One didn't walk until he was a year and a half and didn't lose his first tooth until age eight. Two didn't talk before age three. Two didn't master reading until around age ten.

As a normal average mom with a fair amount of pride mixed with a competitive nature, it was at times disconcerting to observe my non-exceptional children interacting with truly brilliant, strong-willed, athletic, verbally articulate, early blooming toddlers their same age. Sadly I had to admit that this very average mother had produced rather average offspring.

Being a somewhat slow learner myself, I continued to make the same mistake of comparing my children throughout their growing up years. I distinctly recall the feeling of despair when I accidentally saw the results of another missionary family's standardized academic test all the children had taken. My own kids' scores hovered above the 50% mark but closer to that mark than the 100 percentile area where the other family's children consistently scored. Children for whom academics came very easily. Children who later received appointments to the Air Force Academy and West Point.

Yes, all the way through high school and the mandatory and depressing SAT college entrance exams, I watched enviously as my friends' offspring out-shined my own. What a futile way of approaching parenthood. The Pollyanna ("Let's play the glad game!") in me had not fully emerged, or I would have been able to see as clearly then as I do now that my children DO shine, each and every one of them.

What have I learned along the way that might help some of you headed for this same pitfall in parenting? First of all, that normal average kids are easier to raise than the highly intelligent, high achiever types that outwit their mothers from birth. I have a friend with a houseful of those. It's no picnic. My seven were a snap compared to that.

You know what else I learned? You can't just compare one trait in isolation, like rate of development or IQ, apart from the bigger picture. Like anything else we tend to covet (ouch! that's a strong word; sounds strangely like sin!), if we knew the rest of the story, we wouldn't want half the things we think we want. Not if we knew the true cost.

I also learned that what is readily apparent (and easily measured on a standardized test) is not what's necessarily important in the long-run. Once I repented of my sin of envy (coveting? ouch, I still hate that word!), I could see my kids as they truly are - very exceptional, gifted, kind-hearted, generous, hard-working, fiercely loyal, successfully persevering, compassionate, and Christ-like in their love for fellow man.

Am I a proud mother? Absolutely. But not in the sense that I pridefully take credit for their moral character. I'm proud of them for their wise choices and their desire to be a passionate follower of Jesus. If I had to sum up my personal philosophy of parenting, I'd borrow a motto of successful midwives: "No credit. No blame." I do my part to train, educate, encourage, and disciple, but the results are in God's hands. Each child will make his own decisions and mistakes. My job is to release them to do that. If they do well, I am proud. Praise be to God. When they mess up, I love them anyway, and trust that God can still work in their lives. The story isn't finished yet.

The story isn't finished, except the fictional account I wrote before they were born. Then I dreamed of perfect children. Now I am thankful once again that my children are not perfect, or even particularly remarkable. I am thankful that they all love the Lord and try to serve Him with the abilities they were given and have developed.

Side note: Do any of you remember the old TV show back in the 60's, The Guns of Will Sonnet? I like the phrase we used to always quote from it: "No brag, just fact." Maybe I've gone too far the other extreme, and don't praise enough where praise is due.