That is why if we keep clamouring for things we want from God, we may often find ourselves disappointed. We had thought God as the dispenser of all the good things we could possibly desire, but in a very real sense, God has nothing to give at all except himself. -Simon Tugwell, Prayer: Living With God
I drove 32.4 miles each way to take my kids to the local Christian school. We piled into the minivan every morning to make this holy trek. My consolation for the daily complaints: “This is taking too long;” my reward for the many miles on our blue-green mom-mobile and for the grimy seats marked with cracker crumbs and juice-box stains was that we were focused on our family — doing things God’s way.
During my son’s second week of kindergarten the promise of a perfect family slipped a little from my clamoring, road-weary hands. His teacher called and asked me to stay behind after the carpool ended. For a minute I wondered if she had already noticed how my children were excelling, but I quickly surmised from the look on her face (and my son’s) that she did not have good news. She pulled a tattered magazine from her desk drawer. “This is what Graham found on the playground this morning and showed all the other boys in class.” To my horror, she waved a Playboy magazine in front of my face.
I did not stop to reason with her that my son had not stashed the contraband on the playground; that he was five years old and exhibiting normal curiosity; that he may have even demonstrated leadership skills. Her shame-filled reproach was contagious. I promised that Graham would get the appropriate talk and never do something so dirty again.
“Get in the van!” I glared at my children. My heart sank as I felt the sting of my failure and the certain humiliation of our family being the topic of dinnertime gossip. I was about ten miles from home when I rallied. I determined to call the local Christian radio station for further programming on Godly parenting. I remembered a book I’d bought earlier on taming strong-willed children. I was, after all, part of 1.5 million other parents in the 90’s banding together to work out the formula for fool-proof parenting: to fight the culture from indoctrinating our children, to be the saviors of the family.
Life in the Minivan
Thirty years later I can tell you that I never figured out that formula. But I tried. I really wanted to believe that good parenting was about good outcomes, and that the Bible was the answer book. I even wrote a few books on parenting. If I’m honest, it wasn’t so much that I was sure of the way, but that I hoped that I would find the way by writing down my parenting stories.
I wrote a book about eating disorders, and by the time my daughter was eighteen years old she was in the grip of anorexia. I wrote about substance abuse, and everyone in my family struggled with the beast of addiction. I wrote about mental health, and we have all looked depression, anxiety, and even suicide straight in the eyes. My family has been a source of joy and discord, beautiful memories and heart-shattering brokenness, mutual support and inexplicable estrangement. And I have felt hope, shame, delight, terror, camaraderie, loneliness, some success, and profound failure.
It turns out that life in the minivan is seldom comfortable. It is confusing and chaotic. Rarely does it look like a “Christmas-card family.” And I am coming to believe that God intended it to be that way.
Years after my son found that Playboy magazine on the playground, I was in the middle of a much more significant parenting crisis. My adult daughter called to tell me that she needed treatment for addiction. Her phone call was not a surprise — for months she had been a ghost in my life, fading in and out at the beck and call of drugs and alcohol. Her call vaulted me into action. I raised money for expensive treatment. I packed up her apartment, drove her to inpatient care, wrote weekly letters and sent thoughtful care packages. I suppose underneath all my desperate yearning, I was still hoping there was a formula for light at the end of this very dark tunnel. 180 days in, I got a phone call alerting me that my daughter had failed a drug test and was kicked out of treatment. I was outraged, ashamed, and terrified. If I’d still had that minivan, I would have slashed every tire.
A kind friend found me in my despair and gently asked, “How would you feel if things had worked out differently? If things would have worked?” I immediately knew my answer, and it cut open my heart and exposed something that had started to fester years earlier in my fervent focus on my family. “I would have saved her,” I mumbled.
God puts us in the minivan with our flawed and faltering children so that we can see ourselves. Our children are often like the flashing red lights on the dashboard of our hearts — alerting us that we are in trouble and need the grace of God. We need God’s adamant, one-way love. We need to know we are loved when we are good for nothing: when we fail and our children falter, when we have no answers and look like fools, when our family breaks into a thousand pieces and nothing can put it back together again. When we finally know — heart and soul — that we cannot save ourselves or anyone else. We need a Savior. And we have one who whispers, “Get in the minivan — so I can love you.”
I started getting drops of grace instead of dollops of law when my children were teenagers. We sat in church one Sunday morning noting the title of our pastor’s sermon, “What is the Big Deal About Sin?” My children elbowed each other and grinned. My son leaned over and whispered, “I have been wondering about that all of my life.” All his life? After practically being born in the choir loft, after all those miles in the van riding to a Christian school, after winning hundreds of awards in Awana – he wondered about sin?
This is what my pastor, Peter Hiett, said in that life-changing sermon:
I’m convinced your deepest problem is not the cigarettes you smoke or the alcohol you drink in secret. It’s not the slander you speak or the gossip you cherish. It’s not the pornography, betrayal, infidelities, or lies. Your deepest problem is that somewhere deep down inside, you believe Jesus the Messiah rose from the dead just to kick your ass when, in fact, he rose from the dead so you would believe all is forgiven. It is finished. Justice is accomplished. And the Father is pleading, “Come home, come home, come home.”
By the end of the sermon, I was reminded of the reason for children. It is not so that we can focus on our families and whip them into shape. The reason for children is that they make us pile into the proverbial minivan, cram together in smelly and uncomfortable ways, and they inevitably distract us from our self-salvific formulas as we careen down scary, breathtaking roads and crash into God’s grace. And in so doing, they heal us. After all these years, all I have to say to my children is exactly what God says to me over and over again, “You are so loved. Get in the minivan and come home.”
COMMENTS
5 responses to “Grace in the Minivan”
Leave a Reply
I read this drinking my morning coffee with my husband and then to my husband, stopping to say,”I’ve never heard this angle before.” He responded,” Print it.” From 1974-1980, I began the joy and wonder filled joy of raising four children. They were bright, athletic, beautiful, and our home was filled with laughter, trophies, stellar report cards, and love. We were often told we should write a book on parenting. In the mid 90’s the cracks and brokenness that unfolded were bewildering and heartbreaking. Yes, there are clearly most situations that don’t allow me to be the fixer in any way. I have found the peace of God that passes understanding guarding my heart and mind through prayer.
Powerful. Thank you for writing this.
This came right on time (of course). Thank you for saying what I’m feeling and thinking on today. My crisis but God’s grace. K
eep on writing, it helps.
“..all is forgiven. It is finished. Justice is accomplished. And the Father is pleading, “Come home, come home, come home.”
Refreshing, thanks for the powerful reminder!
Beautiful and hopeful. Thank you!