I know that raising children can be one of the most meaningful things we do in our lives. For me, I'd always thought it was the very most important thing I ever did or could do or was in the middle of doing. Because for most of us in this one wild life there's little else we'll do that will impact generation after generation and the future in the same profound way that influencing the development of actual human beings!
And then there were teenagers. Who thought THAT was a good idea? I mean come on, I am now a firm believer in initiation to adulthood rituals that remove your child for weeks and weeks or months and months or, heck...how about years!? Or maybe military boarding school? Or at least a mother-led melt down that has the mother of the family living in a lovely little villa someplace warm for months and months on end--with no children in sight. See Anne Morrow-Lindbergh.
OK, OK, OK! Maybe I am over reacting just a little tiny smidge. Being the parent of three teenage boys must be a spiritual practice of some kind. Please, God, let it be. Even if it's just the practice of screwing up over and over and over again. I mean there's gotta be grace in getting up and starting over, right?
I sure as heck hope so. Please. Thank you. Amen.
And yes, that's me, getting up on my feet one more time.