Something breaks the silence, pulling me out of my dreams. I open my eyes and take stock of my surroundings. Two boys breathe lightly on either side of me—an arm is around my neck, the soft fuzz of blonde hair warms my chin. My husband is on the outer edge of our bed, paralyzed by slumber. Was it a snore that woke me? A cough? Was it someone’s leg kicking me under the covers? All I know is that I’m now wide awake. I peel back the covers quietly and slip out of bed. I shut the door behind me and turn towards the kitchen, where the green glow of the oven clock reads 3:03 a.m.
It’s been a lonely day, so it is fitting that I find myself alone and awake in the early hours of morning. If I have any hope of falling back asleep, I know I can’t turn on a screen, so I leave my phone untouched on the counter and settle into a nest of blankets on our couch. I have a stack of books to read, and once again, I’m overwhelmed. Next to me, on the side table, is Volume I of Everett Fox’s Shocken Bible—a translation of The Five Books of Moses. I finger the burgundy ribbon and open to where I left off weeks ago. I want to hear God speak. I want to hear a promise of what lies ahead, even though I’ll be the first to confess that I’m never really sure if I know when God speaks.
The passage I turn to is Numbers 30. It’s a chapter about oath-taking, and I find it odd. It’s a passage towards the end of a book of wilderness narratives, sandwiched between a chapter on festivals and a chapter describing a war against the nation of Midian. And while it briefly mentions men, the bulk of the chapter is all about women and the oaths that they endeavor to take. The vows are upheld if the men in these women’s lives agree to it. If they do not agree, the woman’s vow is annulled. I balk at the passage at first read, but after sitting with it for a week, I’ve concluded that, even if I don’t fully understand it, the fact that an entire chapter of this ancient book laboriously details the intricacies of women’s oath-taking means that it is relatively progressive. I’m not the first to recognize this pattern in the Judeo-Christian scriptures. It may not be the most well-known interpretation, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.
A couple of weeks ago, I officially became a Methodist. At a time when the United Methodist Church has been splitting, it is also experiencing growth, of which I am an example. I am grateful for this church that has loved my family through these pandemic years. I am grateful for a denomination that esteems grace above all things—a church whose motto is “Open Hearts, Open Minds, Open Doors.” And I am grateful to have married into an extended family that includes three Methodist pastors who have each shepherded me for over a decade.
Last week our church hosted a really big, really cheap book sale, and because I’d just become a member of the church, I purchased a small book titled Three Simple Rules: A Wesleyan Way of Living, which was written by a former Methodist bishop, Rueben P. Job. The three simple rules, originally attributed to Wesley himself, I believe, are: Do no harm; do good; and stay in love with God. I read the book in one sitting, late at night, and afterwards I decided to embrace these first two rules as rules for our family. 1) In our family, we try our best to do no harm. 2) In our family, we try to do good. And since I cannot command love for God, I adapted the final rule to: 3) When we make mistakes, we make amends. I’ve been repeating these rules to my kids all week—when my oldest bit the youngest; when the youngest threw his truck at his brother; when the oldest ripped the petals off of my orchid, lovingly named Sybil, in his anger; when the youngest tossed a granola bar wrapper onto the forest floor with a mischievous grin. “In our family, we do no harm to each other,” I say. “We do no harm to our things; we do no harm to the environment. We try to do good; we try to encourage one another to do good.”
Let me tell you: it is so much easier to require this of my kids than it is to require this of myself. In his commentary on Numbers 30, Fox writes that “human words … were seen as having effects in the real world.” We know this, right? But we don’t live like it. Typically, I wouldn’t consider myself someone who goes around swearing oaths and breaking them, but I am painfully aware of how many times I have made some sort of flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants promise (or agreement or plan or consequence) in a conversation with my kids… and how many times I’ve fallen back on my word. The passage also reminds me of how many times throughout the course of my life I’ve promised God something and failed to follow through. If Everett Fox is right, and if the fact that an entire chapter of scripture is devoted to this topic of oath-taking (which I’m pretty sure is not relegated to this just one chapter), then my words carry more weight than I realize. As I write this, I’m even curious if perhaps women have more checks and balances in regards to our oath-taking because our words carry more weight, not less weight, than a man’s—after all, we are the ones who, throughout the ages, have spoken into the next generation in those early, critical years as primary caregiver.
As I continue to research all things Charlotte Mason—whose educational philosophy argues that children thrive on living ideas—I have started to more intentionally curate what goes into my kids’ brains. Mason encouraged a mother to feed her children’s mind with only those things that are good and true and beautiful. So I’ve started asking myself if the books I’m reading to my kids, if the songs we sing on repeat, if the TV shows we watch—are those things good, true, and beautiful? Now I am also asking: Are they doing no harm? Are they doing good? Are they teaching us to love God and humanity? And while this is a good practice, what I’m learning this week, which seems to be a pattern with me, is that perhaps my own words are the thing that may stay with my kids most of all. So the question I should be asking is: Are the words I speak to my kids good and true and beautiful? Am I doing no harm? Am I doing good? Am I teaching my children to love God and one another and to make amends when they (and I) inevitably fail?
Proverbs 16:32 says, “He who is slow to anger is better and more honorable than the mighty soldier, and he who rules and controls his own spirit, than he who captures a city.” James sums up this proverb with the well-known adage: “Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.” (James 1:19).
We live in a world where the opposite is the norm: people are quick to speak, slow to listen, and quick to become angry. If you’ve read my previous post, “Confessions of an Angry Mom,” you already know I struggle with this. (Interestingly, that remains my most popular post to date, so I’m guessing I’m not alone.) My kids push all my buttons. I am constantly triggered, living like a spring wound too tight—ready to pop. It’s a complaint I’ve received all my life: my moods shift, darken, and recover in a dizzying cycle. My mother has said many times that having a conversation with me requires those closest to me, who know my swirling thoughts, my overactive analyses, to walk on eggshells. I cringe at the thought, even though I know it rings true. I often feel like the doubtful disciple that James describes as “a wave of the sea … driven and tossed by the wind.” I often feel… tossed. Unmoored. And honestly, all this doubt and cynicism and anger at injustice and lack of community pushes me to hope in a God who promises to redeem all the world. Even me. I cannot erase my doubts, my anxieties, my fears; I cannot snap my fingers and become a different version of myself overnight. Try as I might. But I am growing and changing in the slow way that God often chooses to work. And I can only look with hope toward the same Jesus who calmed the storm with the words peace be still and pray that He will also calm the wind and the waves that toss in me.
May the God who rules over all creation grow in me the ability to think before I speak, especially to my children. May the Jesus who knows the spectrum of human feeling allow the swell of emotion to flow softly through me to a place of calm. May the Holy Spirit give me words to speak to my sons that first and foremost do no harm, words thereafter that do good, and when I fail, may He give me courage and grace to make amends.
With sighs and hope,
Jenica
I definitely feel like I’m writing into the void, so help me out and leave a comment if this resonates with you. I think we all need a little encouragement that we aren’t alone on the journey.
Everyday Joy
Words of Jubilee
Straight from the Bible this week, friends:
“The words of the reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.” (Proverbs 12:18)
Give me wisdom, amen.
A Few Good Things:
The kids and I love this Rain for Roots song. It’s a simple reminder for me that in order for them to grow good fruit, I must be producing it as well. (Disclaimer: I’ve never actually watched this YouTube version before—we always listen on Spotify.)
These Loops earplugs help me drown out the background noise whenever I’m feeling frazzled. I can still hear my kids talking, but the high-pitch whines are slightly dampened.
This article about “The Radical Theology of Mr. Rogers” by Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg.
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I love this. All very relatable, as always, both as a parent and as someone who is trying to follow Jesus and help open my kiddos' eyes to him too. There's something about your line about the slow way God sometimes works that has stuck with me all week. Glaciers carving out landscapes and all that. It's so hard to be in it sometimes, even in the good. Grateful for a fellow sojourner--thanks as always for sharing!