One of the enemies of genuine sacrificial love for our children is sentimentality. Yet few of us recognize it for what it is because sentimentality often comes disguised as a tender, motherly, sweet, and gentle love. And what can be wrong with that? But sentimentality ends up stifling and suppressing and suffocating our children because at the root, sentimentality is self-love. It’s not about the kids like it should be, because it is all about Mom and how she feels about herself.
Kids love growing up. They want to do the next thing, and God has built this in. It is good. Can any of us ever remember wanting to stay small and not move on to the next grade? No. Kids are always eager to get to their next birthday, to grow taller, to get to do the jobs that the big kids do. Smother love doesn’t want the child to grow up; it wants to freeze the kids right now at this “precious” age. Sentimentality treats the children like they are little toys, indulging and coddling.
Smother love is fearful: fearful of change, fearful of germs, fearful of the cold and the heat, fearful of sugar and white flour, fearful of the bad influence of friends, fearful of the bad influence of teachers, fearful of growing up. At the bottom of sentimentality is a wrong Continue reading ‘Smother Love’
Last night Doug and I watched the movie Fireproof, because we felt we really should. And, I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. Now I’m not saying there were no cheesey parts. There were. Nor am I saying it is great art. It most certainly is not. But it doesn’t seem to be aspiring to that. Some of the goofy spots seemed put in just to red flag that point.
But I kept thinking about how many millions of people in America need to see this movie. It was very much like a Sunday school flannelgraph lesson on how to save your wrecked marriage, and it takes you up the stairs one at a time. Very basic, very needed. And the simple message is a big improvement over the sophisticated flannelgraph lessons Hollywood presents the public over and over and over again.
We had some very special guests tonight for Sabbath dinner. They were quite a hoot, didn’t spill anything to speak of, didn’t need any spankings, and didn’t break one thing. And, there were eighteen of them! I got them to pose for a little after-dinner photo shoot. They were a little hard to keep still, but you get the general idea. Rory is the oldest, being a big seven years old. And yes, we had all their parents (and one set of grandparents!) as well, and they behaved nicely too. I’m sorry about the bright eyes. I tried to fix it, but it only made it worse, so I left them as is. But you get the idea. I tried to get a picture that would show the scope of the devastation in my kitchen, but Rachel was too fast and had a bunch of the dishes already done before I could take a picture. So you’ll have to imagine that part.
I finally finished this little dress for Chloe, and I think it turned out pretty cute in spite of the several points of agony I had with the pattern. I have chosen to overlook the mistakes, and just be proud that I finished the troublesome old thing before she outgrew it! 
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Nate wrote the following essay for Powells.com that elaborates on this evening event at the Wilson home.
The Amazing Tale of the Butterfly-Unicorn-Ballerina-Princess and the Giant, Creeping Land Squid
Bedtime. It is the most important time in my day. At bedtime, I tuck four children into the appropriate beds in the appropriate rooms. They never think they’re tired. Their eyes are bright and their young minds crackle with surprising thoughts on the day, the future, the nature of the universe. At bedtime, I let go of four imaginations, and they wander alone through the darkness, unchaperoned, unguided, shaping visions for themselves, resting in warmth or wandering into terror.
Every night, I feel like I’m launching paper boats into an ocean. I point my children as best I can. I flavor their minds with subjects and characters and songs and dances and blessings. And when they are warm and spilling over with joy, I let go, and I wait for the morning to hear of their adventures.
This is why we sing about drunken sailors and what to do with them, about how some folks say a man is made out of mud, about lost Scottish love and the walls of Jerusalem. This is why I tell them stories.
Read the rest here.
The “Rome and/or Bust” travelers made their way successfully back to England, and the Wilson branch is now mid-journey on their flight home to the USA. So, expect the final installment of their European adventures soon.
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