Encouragement

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Strange Punctures
By Kay Brown

Our oldest teen-aged son just pierced his nipples. Despite that rather heinous crime, he is actually a good kid. This year, his musical tastes have switched from gangster rap to syrupy lovesick country tunes, which is somewhat of a mixed blessing. At least, the new broken-hearted songs we hear do not usually suggest that we kill anyone. This is good.

In five short years, we will have six teen-agers living under our roof. This is, of course, if our roof holds up to the insult of having six teen-agers living under it. I have my doubts. Living in a mobile home is very much like living in a disposable house, similar to the pink deluxe Barbie Dream House I owned when I was a little girl. I hope this home lasts longer than that one did. Barbie’s home was lovely until we invited my brothers’ action figure dolls over, because my brothers came along with their G.I. Joes. That house was never the same.

I already know that this trailer will never be the same. The first week we moved in eight years ago, long strips of stapled door trim magically popped off the frames. In case you need to know, trim makes grand pretend swords. Several shiny doorknobs simultaneously dismantled themselves and dropped to the floor. We decided to call the doorknob problem a Homeschool mechanics lesson, because the six-year-old who took them off was enchanted that he could remove them alone, “Look, Mom, I figured out how doorknobs work!” Unfortunately, he could not put them back on. He only got a, ‘C,’ for science that day.

Holes of all shapes and sizes continuously appear in the walls of our home, but I am not sure what subject I should credit for the various punctures. Incredibly, one time our four-year-old twins hammered 50 razor-sharp pencils about three inches apart and waist-high around the dining room. Each one protruded two inches from the wall; it was art. As I ran in, (which I did because they had smilingly entered my bedroom with hammers in their hands,) I was speechless. What could I say - “How many times have I told you not to hammer dozens of sharp pencils through our sheetrock?”

I keep noticing that my kids are masters at finding loopholes in my parenting skills. Never would I have dreamed that they would pull the shenanigans they have pulled. How could I have known in advance to tell them that they were not allowed to do these things and have a consequence ready? To think about what is going to happen with six teen-agers in the house is scary.

Very scary.

If I did not know that God had given us these children, if I did not know He would equip us to train them and if I did not know His promise is to never leave us - I might be terrified. But I do know these things. If I can trust Him now, I can trust Him when every one of them is as tall as their handsome dad. Willingly, I look forward to enjoying the next few years with them as they turn into productive members of society and learn to support themselves (and eventually, their parents.) I do not have to predict every situation they might encounter, I just have to point them to Jesus Christ, who will always lead them into righteousness and joy.

I am going to tell the rest of them not to pierce their nipples, though.

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