There’s an expression, a popular proverb, whose origins are unknown but a form of it appears in the book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible. The original proverb says, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and the Ecclesiastes verse reads, the way of sinners is made plain with stones, but at the end thereof is the pit of hell. These words, or some semblance of them, have appeared in various forms in letters, books or similar texts, and in other religious works. I think my favorite is this alternative: Hell is full of good meanings, but heaven is full of good works. Well, today, I am hijacking this phrase, tweaking it slightly, and applying it in a whole new way—the path of parenting is paved with good intentions, but requires good works.
Now, while you may have been expecting some sort of tip of the hat to parenting being some version of Hades, that is definitely not where I am headed. Rather, my thoughts are directed not at my teenagers and their effect on me, but are directed at me and my effect(s) on them. In other words, the path of parenting is filled with good ideas, good intentions, good meanings, but what parenting requires of me is my good works. Or, to put it more directly, it requires my follow through. I rather like to think I do that pretty well, and, sometimes I know I do. However, there are equally as many times when I think about what I can or should do, but do not actually do the thing.
As I contemplated this earlier today, I realized parenting is wrapped in the idea of how well we love our teenagers, and how well we love ourselves. Interestingly, that comes down to the whole idea behind this blog series—love is a choice. Choosing to love is one of those things that requires follow through. It requires action. And it requires surrender. These are simple things, but they are not always easy things. In fact, they tend to be things that require me to get out of my own way and to address my own internal dialog, specifically the broken soundtracks, that can get in the way of all my good intentions.
Because, there’s the thing. I like to let myself believe my intentions are enough. I want to ride on my own coattails, so to speak, of the actions I took yesterday or a week ago, or three months ago, or when my girls were 7 & 9. But the truth of the matter is I need to show up again today and when I do, I need to choose that all-in, no-matter-what, fix-the-broken-soundtrack kind of love. Those are the choices — the actions — that truly allow me to uncover all the reasons I love my teenagers. And that’s exactly what I did today. Despite my desire for a pity party, despite my longing for wallowing the day away in my own head space that was running rampant with worries and anxiety, I leveled with myself.
And I prayed. I prayed some disjointed, incoherent, and even angry prayers. I made room so I could see my teenagers and not just myself. Mind you, I realize parents need time to themselves. I recognize I need my cup not to run empty if I am going to pour into the lives of my teenagers. I acknowledge my autistic brain sometimes loses not only steam but capacity. And I am honest with my girls at this point in all of our lives because they can hear me and I am grateful for that. I am grateful that they are able to hear me, process my challenges, and provide me grace and space where I need it.
Even more, I am grateful they hear me when I reach out to them, sometimes poorly, sometimes in the same disjointed, incoherent, or even angry-sounding way with which I pray to God some days. I am grateful they can understand my words more than my tone of voice and hear my yearning to love them well, to encourage them, and to empower them, even when I do so falteringly, flailing and flapping and flopping about like one of the eaglets we’ve been daily monitoring in the Big Bear Bald Eagle Nest camera stream. Because the thing is, love moves in both directions and sometimes even I can forget that part of this whole parenting thing. My teens love me with a fierce and no-matter-what-kind of love of their own. And I couldn’t be more grateful for that every single day.