Who said that parenting was an easy thing to do?
Why can´t kids come with a manual or at least with instructions?
What can I do to help my child to be more obedient?
If you are a parent, then you should be familiar with those questions, so far I don´t know someone who has actually said that parenting is not a big deal.
HOW TO GO:
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The following message is very inspiring, if you think you are having a hard time with PARENTING!
Parenting: Everything to Do with the Heart
This
is an edited version of the talk given by Sister Holland at the parents’
fireside broadcast from Temple Square 27 January 1985.
When
a four-year-old was asked recently why her baby brother was crying, she
looked at the baby, thought for a moment and then she said, “Well, if
you had no hair, no teeth, and your legs were wobbly, you would cry
too.”
We
all come into the world crying—and a little bit wobbly. For parents to
take a newborn infant, who is then only a bundle of potentialities, and
love and guide and develop that child until a fully functional human
being emerges is the grandest miracle of science, and the greatest of
all arts.
When
the Lord created parents, he created something breathtakingly close to
what he is. We who have borne children innately know that this is the
highest of callings, the holiest of assignments—and that is why the
slightest failure can cause us crippling despair.
Even
with our best intentions and our most heartfelt efforts, some of us
find our children not turning out the way we’d like. They are sometimes
very difficult to communicate with. They might be struggling in school
or emotionally distressed or openly rebellious or painfully shy. There
are lots of reasons why they may still be wobbling a bit.
And
it seems that even if our children are not having problems, a nagging
uneasiness keeps us wondering how we can keep them off such painful
paths. At odd moments we find ourselves thinking, “Am I doing a good
job? Are they going to make it? Should I spank them or should I reason
with them? Should I control them or should I just ignore them? Reality
has a way of making the best of us feel shaky as a parent.
I just reread this recently from my journal, written when I was a young and a very anxious mother:
“I
continually pray that I will never do anything to injure my children
emotionally. If I ever do cause them to hurt in any way, I pray they
will know I did it unwittingly. I cry often inside for things I may have
said and done thoughtlessly, and I pray not to repeat these
transgressions. I pray that I haven’t done anything to damage my dream
of what I want these children to become. I hunger for help and a
guide—particularly when I feel that I have failed them.”
Well,
rereading that after all these years makes me feel my children are
turning out surprisingly well for having had such a basket case for a
mother. And I share that with you because what I have wanted most of all
to convey to you is that I am one of you—a parent, carrying a bundle of
guilt for past mistakes, shaky confidence for the present, and fear of
future failing. Above all, I have wanted every parent within the sound
of my voice to have hope.
Inasmuch
as almost none of us is a professional in child development, you can
imagine why I was so encouraged to hear this from one who is. A faculty
member at Brigham Young University said to me one day: “Pat, parenting
has almost nothing to do with training. It has everything to do with
your heart.” When I asked him to explain further he said:
“Often
parents feel the reason they do not communicate with their children is
that they are not skillful enough. Communication is not nearly as much a
matter of skill as it is of attitude. When our attitude is one of
broken-heartedness and humility, of love and interest in our children’s
welfare, then that cultivates
communication. Our children recognize that effort on our part. On the
other hand, when we are impatient, hostile, or resentful, it doesn’t
matter what words we choose or how we try to camouflage our feelings.
That attitude will be felt by their discerning hearts.”
Jacob in the
Book of Mormon
said we must all come down in the depths of humility and consider
ourselves fools before God if we would have him open the gate of heaven
to us. (
2 Ne. 9:42.)
That
humility, including our ability to admit our mistakes, seems to be
fundamental both for receiving divine help and for earning our
children’s respect.
My
daughter is a musically talented young woman. For many years I felt
that this talent would not be developed unless I loomed over her at the
piano and insistently supervised her practice like a Simon Legree. One
day, sometime in her early teens, I realized that my attitude, probably
once useful, was now visibly affecting our relationship. Torn between a
fear that she would not fully develop a God-given talent and the reality
of an increasingly strained relationship over that very issue, I did
what I had seen my own mother do when faced with a serious challenge. I
sequestered myself in my secret place and poured out my soul in prayer,
seeking the only wisdom that could help me keep that communication
open—the kind of wisdom and help that comes from the tongues of angels.
Upon arising from my knees, I knew what action I must take.
Because
it was just three days before Christmas, I gave to Mary as a personal
gift an apron from which I had conspicuously cut the apron strings.
There was a tiny pocket on the apron in which I tucked a note. It read:
“Dear Mary, I’m sorry for the conflict I have caused by acting like a
federal marshall at the piano. I must have looked foolish there—just you
and me and my six-shooters. Forgive me. You are becoming a young woman
in your own right. I have only worried that you would not feel as fully
confident and fulfilled as a woman if you left your talent unfinished. I
love you. Mom.”
Later
that day she sought me out, and in a quiet corner of our home, she
said: “Mother, I know you want what is best for me, and I have known
that all my life. But if I’m ever going to play the piano well, I’m the
one who has to do the practicing, not you!” Then she threw her arms
around me and with tears in her eyes she said, “I’ve been wondering how
to teach you that—and somehow you figured it out on your own.” Now, by
her own choice, she has gone on to even more disciplined musical
development. And I am always nearby to encourage her.
As
Mary and I reminisced about this experience a few years later, she
confided in me that my willingness to say “I’m sorry, I’ve made a
mistake, please forgive me” gave to her a great sense of self-worth,
because it said to her that she was worthy enough for a parental
apology, that sometimes children can be right. I wonder if personal
revelation ever comes without counting ourselves as fools before God? I
wonder if reaching and teaching our children requires becoming more
childlike ourselves? Shouldn’t we share our deepest fears and pain with
them, as well as our highest hopes and joys, instead of simply trying to
lecture and dominate and reprove them again and again?
I would like to close with an experience that occurred just this month.
For
three days in a row, my son Duffy (who is our eleven-year-old
linebacker) leaped from some hidden corner of our home to throw a body
block on me, Super Bowl style. The last time he did this, in my effort
to avoid the blitz, I fell on the floor and knocked over the lamp and
found my fight elbow wedged up somewhere near my eyebrow. I completely
lost my patience, and I scolded him dearly for making me his tackling
dummy.
His
response melted my heart when he said with tears rolling down both
cheeks, “But, Mom, you’re the best friend a guy could have. I thought
this was as much fun for you as it was for me.” Then he added, “For a
long time now I’ve planned what I will say in my first interview as a
Heisman Trophy winner. When they ask me how I got to be so great, I’ll
tell them, ‘I practiced on my mother!’”
Every
child has to practice on his mother, and in a more important way, every
mother has to practice on her child. That is God’s way for parent and
child to work out their salvation. I mentioned earlier that we all come
into the world crying. Considering all the humbling purposes of life,
perhaps it is understandable that we will continue to shed a tear or two
from time to time. But it helps us to always remember that these are
God’s children as well as ours. And above all, it should give us a
perfect brightness of hope to know that when we need help we can go
through the veil to get it.
I
testify that God will never give up on us in this heavenly-designed
experience, and we must never give up on our children—or on ourselves.