Sand-Bagging
Growing up, someone once referred to me as a "sand-bagger," keying in on my tendency to point out my own flaws or downplay my own performance in order to cushion myself against the reactions of others if I were to fail at something or meet their disapproval. As I got older, I even convinced myself that this habit of self-deprecation was an expression of humility (not just an outgrowth of a shaky self-concept).
Although I see the errored logic in my own thinking now--due in part to seeing a few special people live out truly humble and gracious lives--old habits die hard. I still catch remarks flying out of my mouth that speak to girlhood insecurities I still harbor, and it makes me wince.
Lately, I've been painfully aware of the way in which this "sand-bagging" carries over into my life as a mom. My Anna is spirited, tenacious, and--frankly--a handful. I'm becoming more and more convinced that God created her to be the way she is to teach me just how little control I really have in life. This wispy-curled little monster means more than anything to me, though, and even after my hardest days chasing, cleaning, and battling a two-year-old's will, I have to admit that I, ultimately, wouldn't change a single thing about her.
But I do struggle when I see parents with more typically-tempered kids (if such a thing as "typically tempered" even exists). Seeing kids whose average day doesn't involve some sort of climbing fiasco, some sort of escape attempt, and some sort of unholy mess creation (like the one at my house today involving chocolate syrup...) throws me. Often, in discussions with other parents, I find myself sand-bagging for Anna, I guess out of the fear that they won't be able to see her through my proud and adoring eyes. I don't want the world to see her as "that kid"--that obnoxious, destructive, willful kid who people want to spank, avoid, or spank then avoid.
I want them instead to see the life in her, the spark that starts somewhere within her and bursts out of her eyes when she grins, the bright little mind that already knows so much, questions so much. I want them to see how sweet she can be, how confident she can be, how fun she can be. I want Anna to own these things, too. I want her to know that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, that she is bright, capable, and absolutely beautiful--regardless of how society's interpretations of beauty and worth change.
Again--after sitting here rambling on and on--I find myself sighing and reaching the conclusion that I'm so thankful for God's persistence in shaping my life. I'm grateful for grace that clears some of the sand bags I've stockpiled and joy that comes from the realization that--flaws and all--Anna and I are adored by our Maker.
Although I see the errored logic in my own thinking now--due in part to seeing a few special people live out truly humble and gracious lives--old habits die hard. I still catch remarks flying out of my mouth that speak to girlhood insecurities I still harbor, and it makes me wince.
Lately, I've been painfully aware of the way in which this "sand-bagging" carries over into my life as a mom. My Anna is spirited, tenacious, and--frankly--a handful. I'm becoming more and more convinced that God created her to be the way she is to teach me just how little control I really have in life. This wispy-curled little monster means more than anything to me, though, and even after my hardest days chasing, cleaning, and battling a two-year-old's will, I have to admit that I, ultimately, wouldn't change a single thing about her.
But I do struggle when I see parents with more typically-tempered kids (if such a thing as "typically tempered" even exists). Seeing kids whose average day doesn't involve some sort of climbing fiasco, some sort of escape attempt, and some sort of unholy mess creation (like the one at my house today involving chocolate syrup...) throws me. Often, in discussions with other parents, I find myself sand-bagging for Anna, I guess out of the fear that they won't be able to see her through my proud and adoring eyes. I don't want the world to see her as "that kid"--that obnoxious, destructive, willful kid who people want to spank, avoid, or spank then avoid.
I want them instead to see the life in her, the spark that starts somewhere within her and bursts out of her eyes when she grins, the bright little mind that already knows so much, questions so much. I want them to see how sweet she can be, how confident she can be, how fun she can be. I want Anna to own these things, too. I want her to know that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, that she is bright, capable, and absolutely beautiful--regardless of how society's interpretations of beauty and worth change.
Again--after sitting here rambling on and on--I find myself sighing and reaching the conclusion that I'm so thankful for God's persistence in shaping my life. I'm grateful for grace that clears some of the sand bags I've stockpiled and joy that comes from the realization that--flaws and all--Anna and I are adored by our Maker.
Lacey, I'm so thankful to have a kindred spirit like you to keep me grounded in my own journey through motherhood. I agree wholeheartedly with everything you said about your beautiful, precious daughter, and have the same conflicting feelings about my lively son. I think it's most important that as our kids grow up, they know that we see their uniqueness for the special thing that it is. We can do this! We have God, and we have each other, too. :)
ReplyDeleteOh Lacey! How I love your wild child! Anna is such a gem and a one and only! I am so glad you see how wonderfully made she is and how loved she is! And although I don't see her or you all that often, I love my time with you and Anna and Brian. I love her outgoing-ness and excitement. Love that little curly haired kiddo. :)
ReplyDeletea beautiful post! and a beautiful picture at the top of your lovely little girl and your lovely belly. you are such a wondefully special person lacey, sandbags and all.
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