Becoming a Parent to Adults

One of the most difficult times in parenting is that delicate time when children become adults and leave home.  Since you brought them home from the hospital you directed every aspect of their lives down to the smallest detail.  As Christian parents you sought to instill in them a love for God and His Word.  You trained them to make decisions that took into account, above all else, God's will.  While at home if you saw them taking actions outside your training, you could discipline them in an appropriate way so they didn't make the same mistake again.  That was then...this is now!  Now they are gone.  They are adults.  You have seen this coming for a long time.  You have made every effort to do the "slow release" thing and you thought you did a pretty good job.  However, "slow release" brings us all to that day when we must press the jettison button.  It's a terribly painful day for both the parent and the adult child.  There is a process of adjustment. 


My parents were very hands-on.  My Dad was a "John Wayne" type character.  He had no problem saying, "you don't do as I do, you do as I say"!  As wrong as it was his powerful, and at times overpowering, personality made me accept it without dispute.   It also weakened my ability to make a decision or confront.    I was married at 19.  Yes, that wasn't unusual way back then!  The lack of preparing me to being released as an adult had a negative impact on my marriage as well.  I could see my wife was frustrated because she had just left her parents and needed an "adult" to help her navigate the waters to adulthood too.  I retreated to becoming passive and forcing her to lead.  It took a few years to get this worked out.  It was only when I became a Christian and began to seek the will of God that this was settled. Looking back on it though there seems to be something worse than being kicked out of the nest unprepared.  What could that be?  Never being truly released is much worse, in my opinion.  This is especially prevalent in Christian families.  Parents tend to want to make sure the adult children stay the course and actually can interfere with the purposes of God. 


As my three children reached adulthood I faced the learning curve.  Like many, I didn't do a very good job with the first one and hopefully improved down the chain.  One of the most powerful lessons I learned was the shift away from being the disciplinarian.  I'm not sure that my Dad every accepted that he wasn't my primary disciplinarian even after I was married and had children of my own.  He still wanted to control.  That control is very damaging to an adult child.  It forces conflict and often separation.  When an adult child leaves home a parent is no longer the one in charge of discipline.  Now that role is moved away from the father to the Heavenly Father.  Now the method of discipline leading to wisdom is sowing and reaping.  The results of decisions made becomes either the reward or the penalty. 

May the Lord give us all wisdom and great grace is these matters!

Remembering the Greatest Generation

I grew up in Waycross, Georgia.  Having been born in 1949, I was surrounded by war heroes but didn’t know it at the time.  I would go with my Dad to visit with his friends and hear the stories.  Some had fought in the infantry, some in tanks as my Uncle Alvin, and some on ships like my Dad, who entered  the Navy right at the end of the war.  They didn’t talk much about the war until they got together with other veterans. That’s when I loved to be around.  It seemed so exciting to a young boy, but you could also hear the horror in their memories as well.  I was near adulthood when it occurred to me that I grew up among heroes, truly the Greatest Generation.  They had sacrificed so much and all too many gave the ultimate sacrifice.

The most exciting stories of all came from one of the most reluctant heroes.  My father in law was George Franklin Brown.  He didn’t like to discuss the war.  However, I learned to start slowly and keep at him asking leading questions.  Then like mining for gold, every now and then he would open up with a nugget.  When he did, I knew I was sitting in the best seat in the house.  I would sit for an hour or more with chill bumps giving way to feelings of sorrow and pain.  He grew up in the little town of Seffner, Florida, just outside Tampa.  He was a smart boy excelling in school with a love for the outdoors.  One of his favorite reading subjects was World War I aviation.  Little did he imagine that they day would come when he would himself be flying the unfriendly skies.  He read illustrated books about the Red Baron and other flying aces of the day.  One story in particular had prophetic implications.  The author warned prospective airmen that while in combat they should “Beware of the Hun in the sun.”   The German fighter pilots of the Great War would attack as a column from the direction of the sun so you couldn’t see them until they were on top of you.  That little ominous phrase would one day save his life. 

“Papa”, as I came to call him after the grandkids started coming, joined with Army Air Corps as so many enlisted when our country entered the war.  He trained with a good friend from home.  He started as a gunner on dive bombers, but that was short lived because he found he would sometimes pass out in the radical dives and that proved not too helpful as a gunner.  He was moved to bombers and ended up as a tail gunner on the B-25.  Papa, a Christian with a Christian wife at home praying, saw Divine intervention on a regular basis.  Once he was taken from his squadron without any reason and reassigned. His old squadron was attacked right after his departure and they suffered great loss of life.  He found his way to a squadron stationed in North Africa.  The average life expectancy for an airman in that theater of war was 8 missions. Frank flew 63. He received numerous commendations and more than one Purple Heart. 

Frank was known for his character and integrity.  He was quick to volunteer for extra flights if there was a need.  Yet, he always came back in one piece.  A fellow airman wrote home and told his wife “there is an unseen presence around Frank Brown.”  On one mission, they dropped their bombs and were returning home.  They were a bit relieved because they had been told to expect heavy resistance. They had received none.  Then, off in a distance several German fighters appeared doing aerial acrobatics just out of gun range.  Everyone in the squadron had their guns trained on the fighters.  Suddenly Frank hears this voice in his head, “Beware of the Hun in the sun”!  He realized the sun was on the other side of the plane, and quickly turned in his turret in that direction.  At that very second, Frank could see glistening on a sunbeam a group of enemy fighters heading directly toward them-the aerial show was a distraction. He immediately opened fire on the formation with his .50 caliber machine gun and screamed a warning over the radio.  The attack of the enemy was thwarted.  There are many stories like this one.  Before it was over we were usually crying, especially Papa.  I didn’t ask about the war too often because while it did seem to have a cathartic effect, it also stirred up deep wounds.  Nightmares and often violent ones continued for years after the war.  The day he watched a good friend blown from the sky haunted him to the day he died.  He grieved on the anniversary of the crash every year and some think may have even led to a stroke when he was 80.  But despite these deep wounds, Papa, like many of his fellow brethren that served in that War, somehow managed to protect his family from these psychological burdens while keeping his character and integrity intact.

I am told we are losing 1200 of these old warriors every day.  The Bible tells us, “Greater love has no one than to lay down his life for his friends”.  Papa and his generation paid a price in pain and suffering that hopefully we will never have to experience.  All we can do is honor their sacrifice and say a heartfelt “thank you”.

Remembering George Franklin Brown: 1921-2006

Moms turn off your cell phones please!

I thought that might get your attention!  That kind of comment generally is directed at dads.  However, more and more I see moms who never stop talking and texting and their kids are paying the price.  Recently I bought a new bike. Actually, I bought a new bike because my not so old bike was stolen while chained to a steel post.  After buying my new bike, like most new things, I can’t stay off of it.  I like to ride rails to trails.  There are usually a lot of people on these trails which allows me to do another thing I really enjoy, watching people!  It used to be that fathers, and you could spot them a mile away, who were supposed to be spending  quality time with their kids, weren’t!  While Mom was home clearing the kitchen table Dad takes junior for a stroller ride.  Mom is humming at home and smiling because she visualizes bonding taking place with Dad.  It ain’t happening!  Dad’s distracted.    Along comes smart phones and the iPad.  Now, it’s Mom who’s joined Dad in the neglect.  You can see them most everywhere you look.  At the grocery store, in the mall or the park, you don’t have to wait but a second or two and there she comes with as many as 2-3 little babes being entertained in some way to keep Mom free to talk and text!  Even in the car Mom chats away while the little ones watch Sponge Bob on the screen in the back seat.  The outcome is that children are not being trained as is supposed to be the case.  There’s a big difference between “training and entertaining”!  The children are far beyond being bored, they are missing those moments of development that comes from only loving and attentive Moms and Dads.