Two of our kids have uber-Catholic names. You know how you see a byline from Francis X. Clines and you think to yourself, "Yep, Catholic parents"? That kind of name. Here is a weird truth about me: it never crossed my mind that the kids in question might object. I could not begin to list for you the things I worried about while I was pregnant. If I was measuring large, it was probably a cystic hygroma causing polyhydramnios. The baby was sleeping, or was he TANGLED in his UMBILICAL CORD and about to DIE?! What if I had put too much half and half in my coffee and poisoned all my babies with DIOXIN? What if I was a terrible mother for reasons unrelated to my butterfat consumption?
As I wandered in this welter of worries I never dreamed that I'd have a kid who renounced the faith. I would spread holy truth in front of them like an irresistible banquet; I would set an example of faith and spiritual discipline; I would pray for them every day, from the minute I suspected their existence. And they would respond -- surely, ineluctably. They were made to respond -- how could they do otherwise?
Well. I'm here to tell you, on the off chance that you shared my certainty, that they can in fact do otherwise. You can have the kind of homeschool where you parade around the house with the Bible when you finish another book therein; you can set the very most faithful example you are capable of setting. And your kids may say, "Nah. Not for me."
Kendra Tierney wrote a post in August about raising Catholic kids and it made me think a lot of thoughts about the things I knew before I had teenagers. It made me grateful, mostly, that I had recently re-read this Elizabeth Foss post. (Go read it. Right now. Really.) The thing about teenagers is that they are doing a big hard job: they are establishing themselves as separate entities from you. They are looking at who you are and saying, "I am not you." From that perspective, it makes a lot of sense that a kid whose parents have always said, "You can't miss Mass unless you have had a limb amputated within the past 24 hours" may become a teenager who says, "Actually, I can."
There are a lot of Christian parents pushing formulas, I think: for result A, try behavior B. But parenting is not cookery and our kids are not our projects. It's a tricky balance, having high expectations while letting our kids know we accept them as they are, but do you know what? If I get it wrong, I want to err on the side of acceptance.
The posts and books and Facebook links about fostering faith in kids are a little like BabyCenter forum advice on getting pregnant. The forum ladies will tell you to have lots of sex! Put your behind up on a pillow afterward! Or stand on your head! (after. not during.) Or try Instead! Also cough syrup with guaifenesin! The reality is that we don't know exactly what causes new life to spring into being. You can shape the environment, sure, but you have to wait for the spark to catch. You might wait a long time. We are not urging our children into lives defined strictly by rules and habits (or we shouldn't be, at any rate); we are urging them into relationship with God.
We have to wait for the spark to catch. We might wait a long time.
I have been feeling a little bereft this fall: my oldest is gone; I've had the unexpected experience of hearing a child of mine say with certainty, "Nope, I don't believe that stuff." But I went to confession on Saturday seeking freedom from my more stupid reactions to the situation. It's self-defeating to say "so why bother working on good habits?" I don't want to be stupid, or fatalistic, or gloomy. It's important to take the long view, I know.
Still, I can't help looking back with mixed emotions at the younger version of me-- the one who bestowed a conspicuous name on her child with the best of intentions, certain that he would grow to be a man of courageous faith. This is me shrugging off the temptation to be discouraged, choosing to hope instead. Because I have it on good authority: our hope does not disappoint us.
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