Stephanie Little Coyne: Moses, the Staff and the Burden of Faith.

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Moseying down one of our favorite roads, I was lost in the wonder of the moment. The children were chatting in the backseat. The day was breathtaking and life was good. Preparing to make a right turn onto a road we didn’t typically travel, I casually mentioned, “Let’s take this road. I wonder where it might take us?” Our daughter responded, “On an adventure.” Then she started giggling. Our son was quiet. Unusually quiet.  I looked in the mirror. He was looking out the window at the trees.  All at once he started screaming, “Tunnel of trees. Tunnel of trees.”  He continued screaming until we exited the road and I was able to hold him. Red-eyed, tears streaming down his face, my two and a half year old son snuggled deep into my arms muttering, “Tunnel of trees. Tunnel of trees.” Days later as we were watching our daughter’s favorite movie, Beauty and the Beast, it hit me. Tunnel of trees . . . the scary moment Belle is lost and the trees come alive with mischief and haunting sounds. Tunnel of trees.

 Over the years, we managed well with the typical childhood fears: first day of school, first day of middle school, first ball game, first recital, first concert, first date, first move, snakes, nighttime, new friends, fear of never having friends. The ones that caught us off guard were the ones that seemed to have no trigger, no distinguishable genesis until many days later.

How do you untangle the fears of a two year old . . . or a ten year old . . . or a sixteen year old . . . or a twenty three year old–especially when the trigger is unclear? How do you raise a fearless child? How do you make sense of your child’s fear?

You don’t. As much as we want to wipe out the monsters, slay the dragons and champion our children, the truth is they have to win the war themselves. They have to draw on their own resources to manage their fears, navigate the chaos themselves and ultimately comfort themselves.

So what does a Mommy do? What can you do when everything in you wants to jump in, clean things up and draw an imaginary bubble of isolation around your child? Here are four tips gleaned over my 23 years of parenting:

1)     Pray for your child– everyday . . . sometimes more than once a day.  As you change diapers, as you enjoy a cone of ice cream, as you wash clothes, as you sit down at your desk, as they come home from school, as their faces come to mind, pray for your child. I can’t tell you how many times our children have texted or called about a challenge they navigated successfully only to discover they had been in my prayers at that very moment.

2)     Empower your child. Give her the resources necessary to conquer her fears. Remind your child of his strengths. Tell stories of how she championed past fears and overcame challenges. Talk about how she has within her all that is needed to slay those giants. Our own children have chosen life verses. They also know Philippians 4:13 because every morning from the time the oldest entered kindergarten we would exegete [in child-appropriate ways] the verse on the way to school. They know what “I can do ALL THINGS through Christ who strengthens me” means all these years later.

3)     Provide options [life coach your child]. Don’t allow your child to defeat her demons or conquer fears with only one strategy. Brainstorm options. Ask questions that lead your child to discover answers for themselves. Think through best possibilities. This way your child has a mosaic of colors to defeat his fears.

4)     Always listen. Always hear your child’s fears as if the world depended on it, but do not react as if the world depends on it. Keep your body language in check. Calmly dissect the moment with your child. If your son or daughter is talking to you they want help to regain control. They do not need another out of control person in their world.

I spoke with our daughter the other day. She is currently trying to decide on her next life season.  Our son is trying to think through his chosen major. Both are amazing young adults, capable and competent problem solvers.  Both still invite us to slay their dragons and as much as we still want to “fix” things for them, we do not. We pray, empower, provide options and listen, knowing they have everything they need to navigate their current “tunnel of trees”  . . . and have years of experience doing just that.

Reverend Katrina Stipe Brooks is the proud mom of Tara, a second year student at McAfee School of Theology and Joseph, an accounting/finance major and an offensive lineman at Maryville College. Katrina’s husband, Tony, is employed with the Virginia Baptist Mission Board as a field strategist and Sunday School specialist. A graduate of Samford University and Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond, Katrina serves as campus pastor for Lynchburg Christian Fellowship at Lynchburg College.

Being a Sanctuary for my children (or why I won’t be sharing as many cute stories on Facebook)

I often get the comment, “I just love reading your Facebook posts!”  I consider myself a bit of a social media guru, using Facebook, Twitter, and my blog to share about ministry events and as my own creative outlet.  Writing for me is a spiritual discipline as it helps me, an introvert, to process and reflect on my experiences and thoughts.  My blog has been like a therapist, helping me to process my parenting angst.  When I felt most alone, I was encouraged by my online community that responded, “Me too!”  Facebook serves as my online journal.  As a busy mom, I don’t have time to scrapbook, so it becomes a collection of pictures, a log of our family activities, and a repository of cute kid stories and sayings that I can look back on and remember.  The latter is usually the source of people’s delight in my Facebook posts.  My children are 5 and 7, and due to their strong-willed and precocious nature, they provide great story material.

Although I have read blog posts about the dangers of oversharing and have friends that won’t even use the real names of their children online, I haven’t been concerned.  Something about the removed nature of this form of sharing gives me a false sense of security.  But unfortunately, I have learned a difficult lesson.  My son has a crush on a girl in his class, and they talked on the phone after school for the first time last week.  Smiling at the sweet awkwardness of second grade conversation, I posted a status about not being ready for my 7-year-old to date.  The next day, Brady came home and asked if I had told his teacher about his girlfriend.  “No,” I answered, “Why do you ask?”  He responded with a perplexed look, “Because she knew that we talked on the phone and asked me about it.”  Instantly I remembered that his teacher’s husband is a former co-worker of mine and a Facebook friend.  I was filled with anger that he would share it with his wife and that she would embarrass Brady by asking about it.  And then I was ashamed because I was truly the source of the problem.  Facebook is not private, and I shouldn’t have expected information that I shared with a wide diversity of connections to stay that way.

It definitely made me think.  For one thing, my boy is growing up.  Although he is an extrovert that has never met a stranger, I sense a growing need for privacy in him.  While I thought his attraction was “cute”, he sees it as something more serious.  As a mother, I am deeply invested in my children’s experiences, but I am learning that I don’t own their stories, even though I often feel and act as if I do by sharing them online and in sermons.  They are navigating their own way through life and I should be a safe place, a sanctuary, in which to find support and learn what is appropriate.  I should offer them encouragement to build their own sense of self-esteem and value what they see as important (even if I don’t agree that seven-year-olds should be dating).  My kids are more than anecdotes, and when I share their private stories, I teach them that they can’t be honest and vulnerable with me.

As a minister, I recently had the opportunity to preach in front of my son for the first time.  Usually my ministry takes place in a university setting and my kids don’t often have a chance to see what I do.  On this Sunday, I was doing pulpit supply for our pastor.  I had forgotten that this was the first Sunday that my son, now a second grader, would be remaining in the sanctuary for the service instead of going to children’s church.  It was a bit of a shock to look down from the pulpit and see him smiling back at me.  It was one of the pivotal moments I’ll remember in ministry, like the privilege of baptizing him in this same church.  I quickly did a mental scan of my sermon to make sure I hadn’t used any stories about him, and was a little awed by the responsibility of my children seeing me engage in ministry as they connected in worship.  I want them to value faith and to feel a part of the church.  I desire for them to know their worth in God’s eyes and in mine.  I want to share that my love for them and my love for ministry comes from a deep sense of God’s calling and love, which I want them to experience in a real and personal way.  I feel sometimes that my words to them don’t always get through, but on this Sunday I had a special pulpit in which to share my love.  I wondered how much of it made sense to him, but was reassured by the picture he handed me after the service was over.  I think he understands a lot more than I realized.

Rev. Jenny Frazier Call is an ordained Baptist minister serving as university chaplain at Hollins University in Roanoke, Virginia.  A graduate of the College of William and Mary and the Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond, she learns the most from her precocious children, Brady and Maryn.  She couldn’t juggle it all without the loving support of her husband, John.