I have come to believe that parenting gets exponentially more difficult starting somewhere around age 3. In the beginning you leave the hospital with a seemingly perfect bundle of drowsy humanity. You nuzzle his tiny neck, inhaling the aroma of sweet milk and fresh life. Sure, the nights can be long, and the days can be exhausting, but a few months later when you find yourself walking around with your pudgy, drooling, dimpled prize and strangers in the grocery store are "oohing" and "ahhhing", you think, "this parenting thing is so much easier than I expected! I could have 10 more of these!"

Then, 33 months and 2 kids later, you're staring at a handful of your own hair in your hand, hearing yourself mutter uninteligibly, and in your lucid moments thinking "what have I gotten myself into?!?"

You know, your school teachers really were well-intentioned. They thought they were preparing you for real life. But I don't recall any group projects about what to do when your 4 year old goes on a spitting spree in the McDonald's play area and 3 other mother's glare at you in disdain as they dry their offended progeny. There weren't any lesson plans developed around how to potty train a boy who seems to think that the bathroom walls would look much better if they were "urine yellow". I never completed any worksheets with fill in the blanks on how to handle a child when he's attempting to smother his baby sister with a pillow. I didn't take field trips to the homes of mothers of preschoolers trying to maintain their sanity.

So, when you finally realize that you've just jumped into the middle of the ocean without a life jacket, you flail and kick and reach for the first thing you can find that floats. For us, this was some kind, any kind, of behavior modification. Taking things away, bribing (oops, I mean rewarding), spanking, room time, yelling, whatever we could do to make them stop and change their rebellious ways. It wasn't until recently that I have begun to see that, while behavior modification has its place and purpose, it can sometimes be the easy way out. It may change the behavior, but it does very little for the heart. In Mom's group this year we are watching a video series called "Parenting is Heart Work". It's great encouragement for the parent who not only wants their child to be well behaved, but also wants their child's heart to be directed toward God. To make good choices because they are good choices rather than out of fear of retribution. I've been ready for awhile to make the change to heart-based parenting, and now I'm getting the opportunity to fill my mothering toolbox with the materials neccesary to start that work. The thought that my pouting, cross-armed toddler will somehow morph before my eyes into a defiant-eyed, brooding teenager is chilling. So, I'm praying that the work I am trying to do now in dealing with the tender hearts of my little ones will save me having to break out the parenting power tools when they are teenagers. I realize, like every human, my children's hearts will be under construction their entire lives. But my hope is that I won't have to spend the next 20 years in a hard hat, dodging the wrecking ball.

Last Thursday morning, as I sat nodding and "amen"ing the parenting video, Ethan graciously granted me the opportunity to become a real life object lesson. Due to a previous offense, Ethan was banned from TV and videos for 2 days. So, when the television came to life in the children's room at church I pulled him out and told him he could color and read in the room I was in. A light breakfast is served at every mom's group meeting and that day we had a scrumptious pumpkin bread and fresh fruit. I gave him a plate with a few strawberries and grapes and told him he couldn't have any more than that because this was the "Mommy Snack" and it wasn't really intended for the kids. A few times when I turned around I caught him with his hand hovering over the juicy treats, just willing one to jump off the platter and happen to land in his mouth. Each time, I reminded him that he fruit was not for him and I offered him pretzels and animal crackers as an alternative. About halfway through the video, Astrid, who had been going back and forth between bouncing on my lap and scooting around on the floor, began to express her discontent with the situation and I took her out of the room. After getting her settled with some toys across the hall I returned to the meeting room. Ethan had disappeared. He was not in the seat I had left him in. He was not in the seat beside that one. He was not in my seat. He was not down the hall in the children's room. Just as I was beginning to get anxious my eye caught some movement beneath the "Mommy Snacks" table. I peered under to find a pair of big brown eyes staring back at me and a look of guilt mingled with pride across the face of a five year old with a mouth full of strawberries and a plate overflowing with grapes.

I paused. After all, I did have enough sense not to just "react" with 8 of my peers sitting inches away sipping coffee and scribbling notes on how to be a more loving and patient parent. I silently took Ethan by the hand and led him outside, behind the church shed, where he promptly received a well deserved-
Okay, Okay, that's not exactly what happened. My desire to apply what I was learning kicked in just in time and I reigned in my anger and calmly told my little rebel to have a seat inside, on the stool at the end of the hall, and I would be there to talk with him shortly. He dutifully climbed onto the seat and hung his head. As I walked away I heard him begin to cry softly. Now, you have to know Ethan to really understand how unusual that is. He gets angry, turns red in the face, stomps his feet, and even occasionally growls. But rarely is his reaction to correction a sorrowful one. With every step back to the meeting room I was praying, "Okay, God, how do I handle this?" "What's going to make a lasting impact?" "How do I make him understand why what he did was so wrong?" "I've been over these same principles with him time after time after time, when will they sink in?" "What am I doing wrong that he doesn't get this yet?"

I tried the knob on the meeting room door, but it was locked. Looking through the glass window I could see that the energetic duo on the TV screen were still eargerly imparting their parenting wisdom upon my friends. My friends whose children were sitting on the floor down the hall, criss cross applesauce, listening to a story, giggling with delight, raising their hands when they wanted to speak, and contentedly munching on their pretzels and animal crackers.

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the wood door. I could vaguely hear snippets of the video so I turned my head and rested my ear against it, hoping to catch come priceless nugget to take with me back to the other end of the hall, where my son sat sniffling. As I settled into a comfortable position I heard the woman say, "Parenting the heart takes time. Your children won't get it right away. You will have to teach the same lessons over and over. Don't be discouraged. They will get it, and their hearts will be changed."

I stood, turned, and made my way back to Ethan, who looked so small and forlorn, and knelt beside him.

"Ethan, what was our verse this week in school?"
"Children obey your parents, for this pleases the Lord", he replied quietly between sniffs.
"That's right. Did you obey me?"
"No ma'am."
"Does that please the Lord?"
"No. It makes God sad."
"Yes. Do you want to please God or make Him sad?" I asked.
He looked up and his eyes met mine, "I don't want to make Him sad."
I went on, "And what was our verse from 2 weeks ago? It starts, 'Even a child-'".
"Even a child is known by his actions. By whether his conduct is pure and right," he recited.
"When you disobeyed me and took something you knew was not yours, was your conduct pure and right?"
"No ma'am."
"Ethan, even though you are a child, you know the difference between right and wrong. If even a child is known by his actions, what do you think people know about your heart based on the choices you just made?" I asked him.
"I don't know," he replied.
"You know what I think? I think if all someone knew about you was what they just saw happen here, they would only be able to believe that your heart is not filled with love, kindness, and goodness." I told him gently, "Is that what you want?"
I waited, while he stared at his hands. Finally, he answered, "no."
I lifted his chin and wiped a tear from his cheek.
"Mommy," he said, his voice quivering, "I'm sorry."
"I forgive you," I said, "do you think we should pray so you can ask God to forgive you too?"
"Yes", he whispered as he took my hands, "Will you help me?"
I led him in a prayer, hugged him tightly, and we walked hand in hand back to the meeting room. I felt his rough little boy fingers in mine and thought about how important it is for me to take the time while he' still so small to do this parenting thing right. I realized how differently things could have turned out had I fallen back on habit and just corrected his behavior rather than shepherding his heart. He may never have seen the connection between his actions and his relationship with God, me, and other people. I know he won't always get it right, won't always learn the lesson I want him to understand. I won't always get it right, either. But I think we're both taking a step in the right direction.

The video was over by the time we got back, but that was fine.

I've always liked field trips better than seat work anyway...