Above All, Get (and Give) Wisdom

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“Christmas Shopping” at freedigitalphotos.net

In our attempts to be great wives, moms, and friends, many of us women during the holidays stress over gifting, baking, decorating, you name it. But might I suggest we funnel some of that energy into a higher calling?

I’m thinking in a mom role, and an aunt role. The aunt role is really shouting at me this year, because I have three teenage nieces who are entering into some exciting and stressful times. (I’ll be vague, to protect the innocent). I get to hear about their hopes, dreams, likes, dislikes, and problems. A few times I’ve been privileged to hear information not even the parents get. Weighty, honored position.

As one who acutely remembers the tumult of the teen years, I know what these girls need for Christmas: wisdom. “Wisdom is the principal thing,” King Solomon wrote, “therefore get wisdom” (Prov. 4:7), and “How much better to get wisdom than gold, to get insight rather than silver!” (Prov. 16:16). If only wisdom were as easy to wrap as a purse, sweater, or boy band poster!

With the exception of some big-ticket items, I don’t remember what I got for Christmas when I was 16, 17, 18. But I remember feeling lost in those years, wishing for some anchors of truth to hold onto, some guiding light to show me where to step. Okay, maybe that’s not what I was looking for, but hindsight is 20/20, and I see now that that’s what I should have been looking for. Too bad I was full of myself back then and didn’t know what was best for me—as evidenced by my blind, puppy-dog love for the wrong kinds of guys and my choice of a first college because it had a pretty campus (no joke). All of which relationships/college attempts lasted less than four months. Hoo, boy.

How I wish I could’ve seen the long range. But I couldn’t. I could only see what was right in front of me. I didn’t realize feelings should be merely indicators, not dictators (that’s some wisdom from author Lysa Terkeurst), that I should base my decisions on wisdom, not feelings. If only I’d had wisdom back then. I’m not sure anyone has much of it until they leave home, though.

Sometimes it takes being forced out into the world, or blindly stepping out—through marriage, a move, a job—to get our first taste of worldly wisdom, or life experience. At one level, wisdom can only come from life experience. We can try to impart wisdom, but without life experience, our audience may not “get” the wisdom.

I can talk all the wisdom I want to my sweet nieces now, as can their mothers and grandmothers, but the truth is, they might not be ready to listen. They might make bad choices anyway. Then what do we do?

We pray. We love them. We give them all the tools we have, enforcing consequences if it’s our place to do so, and then we must rest in the fact that, at some point—maybe a hasty marriage? A job? A move?—they will get the wisdom of life experience. And hopefully such wisdom will drive them to also seek God’s wisdom.

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“Cute Cheerful Child Carrying Stack Of Books” at freedigitalphotos.net

Maybe one day when they have that life experience, they will look back and remember some of what we said to them. More likely, they will remember our actions. Did they see us seeking wisdom? Committing our time to studying God’s word, helping others? Do they remember us sitting down to listen to them? Do they remember a calm assurance because we know God and we can trust him without trying to figure it out ourselves?

Yelling, fretting, worrying, and demanding that others “must do this” doesn’t command much respect for the God we propose to serve. If we have true wisdom, which only starts when we place God in his rightful place in our lives (that’s first place), we can afford to be calm in all situations (save burning buildings, suicide attempts, and the like). We don’t have to try to force anyone to do anything, because we know God’s rightful place, and our rightful place. That is, we know that only God can change a heart, or a life direction. All we can do is plant seeds.

To bring this post back to where it began, why not use the holiday season to plant seeds of wisdom in someone who has shown some trust in you? And if you need wisdom yourself, ask God (James 1:5), and read or reread Proverbs.

In this season and in the upcoming year, I pray that God uses me to plant seeds of wisdom in my sphere of influence—I hope you’ll do the same.

Note: this post was inspired by my reading of the book of Proverbs, recent Family Life Today broadcasts dealing with the topic of Christmas, and talking to my lovely nieces:)

 

 

 

The Question Every Young Couple Must Answer

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“When are you having kids?” my high school students always used to ask. Why they were so interested in this detail of my life I never understood—much like I didn’t understand when family members or anyone else asked. The question used to come frequently when we were first married, and then, as year after year slid by with no child, but only new feats such as a bachelor’s degree, teaching job, and master’s degree, the question all but went away, and with it, my child consciousness.

But when I got to my first semester of grad school in 2010, I had an epiphany. Sitting in class at that time as both student and teacher, I was to finally understand why students and so many others wonder that question.           

It happened one night in literary theory class, when my professor, trying to explain the infant stages of Freudian development admitted, “Well, the research says this [insert windy explanation of anal and oral stages]; but I don’t have kids, so I don’t really know firsthand.” That’s all. One comment. Then he continued his lecture on Freud. But I was stopped.

Before that night, he’d been Mr. Know-It-All.

Now, he was just a man out of touch with reality…who, perhaps, had never changed a diaper.

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(Photo from giftsfordadtobe.com)

What did my professor have? He had his books and his scholarly journals and his research (and with those, late night library visits while bedecked in baseball caps [to blend with students, he’d told us]), but what, beyond that? He didn’t have a wife. Or kids. Or religion. (Lots of grad students and professors end up losing their religion, I was also to find out.) The closest relationships he had seemed to be with us, his students. And he was great with us, very gentle and caring, and genuinely concerned for our welfare.

But in general…in general, I had to ask myself that night: Is this really the life? And more importantly, is this the life I want for myself? Do I want to be like this professor someday, standing before a class of adults (or high school kids, for that matter), in my forties or above, with no life experience to share with them, besides what I had read in books?

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This was a profound moment for me. I journaled at length about it the very next day. And I talked to my husband. Was I missing something here? Was I about to embark on the wrong path, this path to the PhD? What did it mean that I was having all of these questions?

Mind you, I was hardly ready to toss the birth control, quit teaching, and/or withdraw from my graduate classes. Just then I wouldn’t admit that I wanted kids. Because I wasn’t actually sure I wanted them.

But one thing I now understood: If I had kids, I would become a more interesting professor…and a more interesting person. I would become more credible. More human. And that alone was something worth considering.