"We're just like you."

We had a special stake conference this past weekend. Four general authorities (including an apostle, one of the presidents of the Seventy, another member of the Seventy and a counselor in the Presiding Bishopric) were in our state for a Priesthood Leadership Council on Saturday (a meeting with stake presidencies, bishops and perhaps other priesthood leaders from across the state), and then they fanned out over four stakes for special stake conferences on Sunday.

Our visitor was Bishop Davies, second counselor in the Presiding Bishopric. I didn’t know anything about him before he spoke to us. It turns out that for the decade prior to his call to serve in the Presiding Bishopric, he worked finding land for all those temples the church is building. And he had some cool stories to tell us about his interactions with President Hinckley on the site in Paris, and with the mayor of Philadelphia regarding the site there.

But those stories are not the point of this post. Instead it’s two other things that struck me.

First, he mentioned that in his role in the Presiding Bishopric he meets with the First Presidency every week. For last meeting before coming to our conference, President Eyring and President Uchtdorf were absent, and they met just with President Monson. Bishop Davies observed that he often reminds himself that it is a privilege that the vast majority of Latter-day Saints will never know: meeting the prophet face-to-face. I was heartened by his acknowledgement of that fact.

I’ve never met President Monson, though I have shaken hands with President Eyring and President Uchtdorf, both long before they served in the First Presidency (and perhaps before their call to the Quorum of the Twelve). And I’ve shaken hands with a couple of other apostles in my life, in connection with meetings where they spoke and shook hands with many people. I have no doubt they have no recollection of me, even though I remember the circumstances of each of those meetings clearly.

The other thing Bishop Davies said that touched me was really tender. He was speaking about his own family and told of a family member who had become distant from the church despite years of activity and parental teaching. He spoke of his love for this member of his family, and his acceptance of the circumstances. And he said something like, “So you see, even general authorities have similar struggles to yours. We’re just like you.”

And, though it’s true that he’s not like me because he meets weekly with the Lord’s prophet, I believe he is more like me that I would have imagined. And I’m grateful to learn from his example.

 

Experience coaches vs. helicopter parenting

Last week’s Wall Street Journal featured this story on parents’ serving as “exposure coaches” for their children who suffer from anxiety.

Basically, therapists work with kids who suffer from anxiety to expose them in a controlled way to the very thing that concerns them. Parents are enlisted in the battle and serve as exposure coaches to help their kids grow accustomed to those things that produce anxiety.

As I read this article, I couldn’t help but think about helicopter parents and how their role seems to be the exact opposite.

Helicopter parents are those who seem to want to make everything right for their kids. Exposure coaches have the goal of making their kids right for what life throws at them. Put me down for #2, please.

When I was a kid, if I complained to my mom about something one of my friends did, her standard response was (and I can see her standing at the stove, stirring whatever was in the pot for dinner as she said it), “You’ve got to fight your own battles.”

Who knew that response would be one of the best gifts she ever gave me.

I was the youngest of four kids and I had awesome siblings who treated me well. I tell my own kids I don’t remember being picked on by my siblings (and I don’t). But I also remember growing up reasonably confident that I could do what I set my mind to. It wasn’t that I always succeeded. And it certainly wasn’t that my parents intervened on my behalf; if they ever did, I didn’t know about it. In fact, I’m sure my folks from time to time wondered how I would do some things I set out to do. But they let me do it.

I remember some school assignments that were awesome. And some were awful. And I got the grades for both efforts. I remember succeeding in some social circumstances and failing in others. Some successes and failures I shared with my parents and some I didn’t.

If I asked for help, I got it. If I didn’t ask for help, I got space.

It was a formula that worked for me growing up.

Now I know that the kids in the WSJ article suffer from significant anxiety, and there are lots of reasons for anxiety, most beyond the influence of helicopter parenting. But at the same time I have to wonder if training parents as exposure coaches is one way we can correct misguided efforts of helicopter parents.

Helicopter parents – those who intervene at every step to ensure their children have the best experience – have failed to learn that what we think is helpful is not always helpful. While it may be helpful to offer to call and make a doctor’s appointment for a spouse who has too much to do, it may not be helpful to do that for a teenage child who needs to learn to call and make her own appointments. While it may seem helpful to offer to type a paper for an overburdened student, it may be more helpful for that student to learn to budget his time better next time – a lesson he might best learn by stumbling once along the way.

When we teach our youth about agency and accountability, we typically say that we can choose how we act, but we don’t get to choose the consequences. That is, we take the consequences that come with the choices we make. A helicopter parent who obscures the consequences does no good for the child.

A friend regularly repeats this mantra: Never do for a child what he can or should be able to do for himself. Good advice. In fact, Great Advice!

In recovery circles, families with addicted loved ones learn a lot about enabling a person’s addictions – taking steps to soften the consequences of the addiction. That enabling might be as benign as regular reminders to wake up on time for work or nagging a person to get certain things done. But it can be as serious as covering up an addict’s or an alcoholic’s misdeeds to avoid legal or other troubles. Those enabling behaviors are often symptomatic of a co-dependent person, one who depends on others for his or her own happiness.

But that enabling behavior is common in our society, not just among families with addiction. It’s also deeply rooted in helicopter parents whose happiness is dependent upon the success of their children.

In the end, our goal as parents is to have kids who can grow up and be healthy, happy and successful without us. Helping our children toward that healthy independence requires that they learn skills on their own, that they learn to fight their own battles, that they learn to do the things that they should do for themselves.

Listen to the still small voice! Listen. Listen.

In 12-step programs there are often promises associated with working the steps.  Families Anonymous is a group that helps those who have addicted loved ones. While the better-known Al-Anon is for those whose loved ones are alcoholics, Families Anonymous is for anyone who has a loved one with any chemical addiction.


And true to the tradition, there are promises in Families Anonymous. The promises are the result in the lives of many people who work the steps. One of them is this:

We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us.

I was thinking about this promise recently. In a lesson someone mentioned this verse from the Doctrine & Covenants:

For it shall be given you in the very hour, yea, in the very moment, what ye shall say.

The revelation to Joseph is an echo of this counsel from the Lord to the ancient apostles: 

But when they shall lead you, and deliver you up, take no thought beforehand what ye shall speak, neither do ye premeditate: but whatsoever shall be given you in that hour, that speak ye: for it is not ye that speak, but the Holy Ghost.

None of these admonitions is a suggestion that we should not prepare for difficult circumstances. They are, instead, admonitions that if we prepare, the Lord will provide us with what we need when we need it.

The scriptural references are for those called to do difficult things: to preach the gospel, sometimes in adverse circumstances. And the Lord promises that when His servants are on His errand, He will bless them with the right words to say.

Perhaps you’ve seen that in action: a sacrament meeting speaker who delivers a talk that seems out of his or her natural ability, a missionary who teaches with a particular strength of testimony beyond his years, a Relief Society president who knows what comfort to offer a young sister when she needs it the most.

The Families Anonymous promise, though not scriptural, suggests the same blessing is available in our personal lives. As we work the 12 steps (which are really a path to applying the atonement in our lives), we become more in tune with spiritual things. (Most workers of 12-step programs will refer to them as spiritual journeys.) And it makes sense as we open our hearts to the spirit, we will be more receptive. And the spirit will help us to know instinctively how to do things we could not do before.

As a parent, I relish inviting the spirit to help me learn how to be better. The work I have as parent – to teach the gospel to the most important audience I will ever face – is daunting to me, and I have regularly felt myself unequal to the task. But I am buoyed by the Lord’s promise to help me. And I have seen that help at work in my own home. I have had flashes of inspiration, of instinctively knowing what to say (or how to say it), of having words given to me in the very moment that I need them.

Not that I always listen. But I’m getting better at that. I’m open to the possibility that I don’t have all the answers (that lesson took surprisingly long on my parenting journey). And I recognize that I need to be quiet enough to hear the still small voice. When I can stop and ask, “What wouldst Thou have me do?” I can feel the promptings that will help me.

It’s good to know I’m not alone as a parent. Good for me, and good for my kids.

On Playing God

I did a workshop at our stake’s women’s conference, and I blogged about it at Real Intent (you can read that blog here).

The presentation was based on the 12-steps of the church’s Addiction Recovery Program which are, in turn, based on the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, which are, in turn, a straightforward way of applying the atonement to our lives.

The first three steps are all about our relationship with ourselves, God and other people. And they’re especially important for people who aren’t necessarily addicted.

One of the cornerstone doctrines of the gospel is agency – the ability that we have to act for ourselves, to make our own choices and enjoy (or suffer) the consequences of those choices. “God will force no man to heaven,” or so the hymn says.

In the first three steps of a 12-step program, once acknowledges his own powerlessness over his addiction (and, in the case of a program like AlAnon or Families Anonymous for co-dependents, over other people), the power of God to restore us, and the willingness to turn ourselves and our lives over to God.

For people who grow up reciting the first few Articles of Faith, this should be boilerplate stuff.  We believe in God the Eternal Father, His Son Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost; we believe we’ll be punished for our own sins and not Adam’s transgression; and we believe that through the Atonement of Christ all mankind may be saved by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel. We are taught from our earliest years that we get to choose, that we are agents unto ourselves, and that the fact that we are here on earth is already proof of our having chosen well at least once.

And yet, most of us who grow to adulthood try to limit the agency of others at one time or another. After acceptable rules of persuasion fail, we try to force our friends or our enemies to do things our way as kids. As parents, we learn by trial and error how much we can force our children to behave. As spouses we learn, often through sad experience, that D&C 121 is right – we really can’t compel others to behave in a certain way.

I’ve heard some say that trying to control outcomes for others is trying to play God. But even God does not control the outcome. He offers a choice and we make a choice. Our choice determines the outcome. Of course God facilitates the choice, and the path back to Him if we choose poorly. After all He loves us and His grace extends to each of us if we choose to accept it.

As a parent, the hardest lessons I’ve learned have been the understanding that I must let go. Now a loving parent doesn’t hold a child out a third story window and then let go. Instead, the parent does all he can to teach, guide, direct, protect, make safe, and then he lets go. And even when a parent lets go, he doesn’t leave his child alone. Good parents establish rules and boundaries with real consequences so that children learn early that with choice comes accountability. And consistent and fair consequences often do a better job of teaching than any lecture Mom or Dad could give.

Now six of my seven children have approached that point at which they begin to separate from us. All kids do it (or should), usually in the mid-to-late teenage years. Some of the separations have been easier than others. Some of our kids have separated but maintained the standards and patterns they learned at home. Others couldn’t run for the exit fast enough. A few have separated in fits and starts – wanting to be independent, but not really wanting to be independent.

Our job as parents – impossible as it seems – is to prepare them to leave, not to prepare them to stay. I learned some time ago that I cannot judge my success as a parent by the choices my children make. But I have learned there are things I can do to help them learn to separate themselves from me. I can help them see consequences. I can help them think a little longer term than the end of the hour or day or week. I can engage them in conversation and invite them to formulate and express their opinions (even half-baked ones). I can help them identify their strengths and help them to reinforce those. (Chances are they know their weaknesses better than I do; I am learning I don’t need to point those out, but I can still help them to learn how to work through them if they want to.)

Basically, I do need to play God. He put us here with teachers, trainers, parents, prophets, friends and family to help us to learn to live separately from Him (so we can return to Him). Similarly, I need to help my children to arm themselves to live separately from me.

What do you think? What has worked for you in helping your children to be independent?

If you're happy and you know it, good for you!

I listened to a Planet Money podcast this morning (I’m way behind; it was weeks old) that talked about happiness metrics for countries. As part of the discussion, economists posited that they could determine a person’s happiness level with a few simple question – age (the older you are, the happier you are), marital status (married people tend to be happier), children (parents are less happy than non-parents)…

That runs counter to what we told ourselves when we married and planned to have a family. We pictured ourselves with our sweet children around us in some family portrait of togetherness and joy.

And yet, looking back on my last nearly 32 years of parenting, I have to say I get what the economists are saying.

There are a lot of unhappy times for parents. Terrible twos. Teething. Sleepless babies. Night terrors. Bed wetting. Sibling rivalries. Dead pets. Broken bones. Wrecked toys. Broken “pretty things” in the living room. Spilled milk. Rebellion. Surly teenagers. Broken hearts. Broken commandments. Bad choices. Academic struggles. And on and on.

And yes, there are happy times, too. And each family has its own mix. And sometimes things can move from happy to sad – or sad to happy – in an instant.

Despite my years of experience, I’m no expert, just battle worn. But it seems to me that one reason why parents are less than happy is because of unrealized expectations. As a new father I had the crazy idea that my kids would be happy when I corrected them, that they would gladly receive my parental counsel and want to follow it. I’m sure that’s the way I was with my dad, wasn’t I? Wasn’t I?

Of course in the church we know the stakes for families are very high. And so are the potential rewards. Parents in the gospel understand the value of making and keeping sacred covenants, and we want our children to know the blessings we have known. And when they don’t seem to want them, we are sad. We’re disappointed. And we’re scared.

It’s all too easy to look across the aisle in sacrament meeting at the Perfect Family and wish our family could be like theirs. Children of all ages well groomed and attentive in sacrament meeting (or gazing lovingly at their parents in adoration, or charitably assisting younger siblings at whatever wonderful thing they are trying to do). We tell ourselves that if we have regular family scripture study and Family Home Evening, everything will work out in the end. And we wonder how far we must be from the end, because things don’t seem to have worked out yet.

Here’s one thing I’ve learned along my 32 years and counting of parenthood: my happiness as a parent cannot depend on what my kids do. I cannot build my own image of myself as a parent or a person based on what someone else with his or her own agency does. Not only is it silly on the face of it, it’s counter to the fundamental teachings of agency. God is no less God because I sin. He is not defined by my choices. And I am not defined by my children’s choices.

In the rooms of 12-step recovery programs, one learns pretty quickly that setting up expectations for others leads to resentment, and resentment leads to indulging in addictions. One way we break that cycle is to abandon the idea that we can set expectations for others. In those 12-steps, one learns that the only person I can control is me. (And in the case of addiction, I may not always be able to control me.)

Does that mean we don’t have standards? Of course not. We set standards. We have family rules. We also have consequences when someone doesn’t live up to family rules. But we don’t expect our children (or ourselves) to be perfect. In fact, we expect that our children (and we) will fail along the way, and that they (and we) will bear the consequences of that failure. Some parenting experts teach that we should HOPE our children make big mistakes while they live at home so that we can still have an influence on them.

Our Heavenly Father knew we would fail. He knew we would make many mistakes in our journey home to Him. That’s why he sent His Son to suffer and die and be resurrected for us – so that we could overcome our very natures, so that we could recover from our regular failures.

I don’t know if Heavenly Father feels sadness the way we do. I suspect he sees the end from the beginning better than I do, and so perhaps he does not have the hopelessness that I have felt as a father. I do know this, though. I know that when I pray about my children, I’m reminded in the Spirit of good things they do and good things they will do, even if some of what they are doing now isn’t so good. I believe that is the Spirit teaching me to look forward with the eye of faith, to believe that it will all work out in the end, and to realize that if it hasn’t worked out, it’s not the end yet.

And that makes me happy. Tired, but happy.


BTW, you can read a re-posting of one my most popular posts from A Latter-day Voice at Real Intent here.

Controlling Behavior: Rules & Boundaries

This is the third in an occasional series on control. Click the links for parts one and two.


Part of our charge as parents is to train up a child in the way he should go. We want to rear our children in righteousness. We hold Family Home Evening, family prayer, family scripture study and family counsel in the hopes that our children will feel the love that surrounds them and grow up sharing our gospel-centered values and our love of the Lord.

The stakes are high for us, and often we are tempted to try to control our children so much that their outward behavior complies with our image of what it should be. In our hearts we know we shouldn’t do that; we know that it is more like the Adversary’s plan to force us all back home. We know our children need to learn to choose the right, but sometimes we just want them to sit quietly in church!

As a parent, I’m better off focusing on what I can control. I can establish rules and I can establish boundaries, and I can enforce consequences in the event that rules are broken or boundaries are crossed. Rules and boundaries are not the same thing to me, though they may look similar.

A rule is there to control behavior: a speed limit is a rule; “no hitting” is a rule; “do your homework before watching TV” is a rule. These all are there to control behavior, and the consequences will either punish violations or reward compliance. All ordered societies, including families, have rules. And every member of the society gets to choose whether to obey the rules or not. When someone disobeys a rule, he suffers a consequence; when he obeys, he gains a reward.

Consequences for violating or adhering to rules are best when they are proximate, consistent and clearly related to the rule. I had friends when I was growing up who had to help with the dishes in their home after dinner. A favorite trick was to let Sister wash while Brother (my friend) played outside, and then Brother would come in and put the dishes away after they had air-dried. Sister and, more importantly, Mom found this creative solution at odds with the idea that Brother and Sister were to work together. So if Mom saw the dishes air drying in the rack, she’d call Brother to the kitchen and then pour a pan of water over the air-dried dishes so he could have the full experience of drying and putting them away. The consequence was clearly related to the rule; it was linked in time to the offense, and it could be implemented with minimal drama on the part of Mom.

An unhealthy alternative to Mom’s dousing of the dishes might include Mom’s calling Brother to the back porch and loudly enumerating all the times that day or week he had skipped out of his chores with a promise to administer a “real” punishment when Dad got home later in the evening or grounding him for days at a time. Brother would quickly learn to let the yelling go over his head before he returned to play. And he could count on Mom’s forgetting that he was grounded within a day, or that the promised more serious punishment from Dad would never come.

Mom’s plan of action to douse the dishes, however, gives her something positive to do instead of losing her cool. And the consequences so administered are more meaningful. He gets to choose what he does, but he also chooses the consequences.

Boundaries are different: they are there to protect the person who sets them. And they are all about what the boundary setter will do in the event the boundary is crossed. A boundary is particularly important for a person who is a victim of abuse or a person who has an addict in the family. The boundary is not an expression of what the other person must do. It is instead a positive statement of what the boundary setter needs, and what the boundary setter will do if the need is not met.

For instance, a parent of a teenager may say, “I need to go to bed early tonight so I can be ready for a meeting tomorrow. For that reason, I need you home by 10 pm. At 10 pm I am locking the door, and if you are not home, you’ll need to spend the night somewhere else.” Or: “If you don’t have the car home by 10, then you may not use it this weekend.” A spouse who is tired of verbal abuse can say, “I need to have people speak to me with respect. If you cannot meet that need, then I will exit the conversation. I will go to another room until we can talk more calmly. If I need to, I will lock the door.”

Boundaries are much more difficult to administer in my view, because when someone crosses the boundary, the stakes are often much higher than when a child breaks a family rule about washing dishes or cleaning a room. And our actions that we have power to take are really limited. But understanding what we really do control is also liberating. I will never be able to control my teenager’s mood. I cannot force him to agree with me, nor can I ensure that he is happy with what I want him to do. If I release myself from that expectation, then I am free. It will, ironically, be easier for me to remain calm and inviting without the expectation that he react in a certain way, and so I am more likely to get the reaction I want (but wisely no longer expect).

I can make rules and I can set boundaries. I can be consistent in my behavior. I can meet out consequences in an even-handed and fair way. I can say what I mean, mean what I say, and not say it meanly. The twin concepts of rules and boundaries can provide me a hedge against assuming a false sense of control that will only frustrate me.

Ideal Families in the Proclamation

Today's post is cross-posted at Middle-aged Mormon Man as part of the Proclamation Celebration. You can find it here. At MMM's site you'll also find links to the other hosters of the the celebration. I invite you head on over and take a spin! But read this first:

There’s occasionally discussion of a conundrum in gospel teaching. None of us is perfect, yet we’re all teaching one another the gospel so that we can do as the Savior commanded us, and become perfect. As a result, much of what we teach is, as a good friend of mine says, “aspirational.”

You know how this goes: you teach a lesson on missionary work knowing full well that you’re a bit of a slug in that department, or you teach about family relations and all you can remember is the disagreement you and your lovely spouse had over something insignificant that morning.

There’s an extended concern some people raise, namely that we teach a standard that is unachievable, and we therefore put ourselves in the impossible position of always trying, but never attaining it. In so doing we become discouraged (at least) or disaffected (at worst). None of those responses seem consistent with the Savior’s injunction that His yolk is easy and His burden is light.

How does The Family: A Proclamation to the World cope with that conundrum?

First, the standards are established in the Proclamation:

1. Marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God

2. The family is central to the Creator’s plan for us and is ordained of God

3. We are all created in the image of God, and each of us is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents

4. We all worshiped God in the pre-mortal existence and accepted the present plan of salvation

5. Temple covenants allow family relationships to extend beyond the grave

6. The powers of procreation, consistent with God’s command to Adam & Eve, are to be used within a marriage between a husband and wife

7. Husbands & wives should love each other and care for their children, rearing them in love and righteousness, providing for their physical & spiritual needs, teaching them to love & serve one another and to be obedient to the laws of God and man

8. Children are entitled to be born to parents who are married and to be reared by parents who honor their marital vows and are completely faithful to one another

9. Happiness is most likely when families live within the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ, organizing their families accordingly

10. Those who violate covenants or fail to fulfill family responsibilities will stand accountable before God, and the disintegration of families will bring consequences to individuals, communities and nations

Is the bar too high? Who could feel left out or uncomfortable by these mileposts? Well, there are probably some:

1. Unmarried adults. Although the proclamation never says it’s evil not to be married, it’s pretty clear that those who are not married are missing out on something that’s “central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children.”

2. Married couples without children. Whether by choice or for some other reason, childless couples may feel left out of the blessings of family life.

3. Single parents and their children. Whether these parents had their children out of wedlock, or are single because of divorce or death of a spouse, they are single. Their children are (perhaps) not enjoying “birth within the bounds of matrimony” or being “reared by a father and a mother who honor marital vows with complete fidelity.” They do not have both a father who presides and a mother who nurtures.

4. Covenant breakers. There’s pretty harsh language for those who break marital covenants, abuse spouse or offspring, or who fail to fulfill family responsibilities.

What’s the remedy? Does the Proclamation provide any solace or help? Yes, of course it does.

1. Like so many gospel truths, those presented in The Family: A Proclamation to the World appear as opportunities for us. If we find ourselves in families, here is how we can maximize the joy of that circumstance. The Proclamation itself is not a commandment to marry, nor is it a commandment to have children; it is a description of how we can have the best marriages and families we can. Further, it teaches that all of us, married or not, are children of loving heavenly parents, and that blessings accrue to us for that reason alone. The language of the Proclamation says to me, “If you are married, then…” and “If you are a parent, then…”

2. The Proclamation itself recognizes that we are not perfect. In the list of qualities that contribute to the most successful families are these: “faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.” Number three and four on that list make clear that the Lord acknowledges (as if He needed to) that we are not perfect. (Of course His real acknowledgement of that fact is far more significant since he gave His own life that we might live and return home to our Father in Heaven.) The fact is that every marriage and every family is made up of imperfect people who (sometimes, at least) are trying to do the best they can.

3. The Proclamation recognizes a family’s need to personalize the application of the Proclamation. As it discusses the best chance for happy families, it reminds us: “In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners. Disability, death, or other circumstances may necessitate individual adaptation.” It’s not inconceivable to me that one family might choose to have mom work and dad stay home with the kids because of their individual circumstances, for instance. In another family (in many families today), both parents may need to work, and then they’ll have to sort out how to nurture and provide. Families with only one parent in the home (for whatever the reason) will have to sort out how to carry the whole load of parenting. (Elder Baxter’s words from this past conference still ring in my ears.) It would seem that in some geographic areas, exceptions are the rule, and the Proclamation makes clear that that’s ok.

4. Even the covenant breakers will be accountable to God. Covenant breakers do exist, and God knows that. And He will deal with them. It is not up to me to judge someone else. I cannot judge a single dad, wondering what failed in his marriage to put him where he is. I cannot judge a teenage mom and wonder why she made the choices she did. All I can do is follow the admonition of the Proclamation and teach by my example respect, love and compassion. I’m not suggesting that covenant breakers get a pass. They will pay appropriately for their transgressions. But unless I’m in law enforcement, the aggrieved party or the bishop, it won’t be my decision or my concern how that happens.

The Proclamation itself allows for exceptions and teaches clearly that we will not all measure up all the time to the standards of the proclamation. Does that diminish the ideal? No, of course not. Does it change my aspiration to work to have one of those “successful marriages and families”? No, of course not. Does it give me license to teach the ideal and turn a blind eye or deaf ear to the concerns of those who are not living the ideal? No, of course not.

One might argue, if families are “central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children” that the stakes are so high that we should only teach the ideal with rigor, letting the chips fall where they may. But in my view that would be wrong (and inconsistent with the example of the brethren and the Proclamation itself). Indeed, if families are central to that plan (and I believe they are), we should do all we can to lift up the hands that hang down, to comfort those who stand in need of comfort, and to work so that all families of every stripe realize as many blessings taught in the Proclamation as possible. We are among the responsible citizens called upon by the Proclamation to “promote those measures designed to maintain and strengthen the family as the fundamental unit of society.”

Let us work to promote families in which parents can nurture their children, as well as provide for and protect them. Let us teach one another to practice faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love and compassion – within our families and from one family to the next. Let us accept the standards as aspirational blessings that we seek and take steps to realize those blessings as far as we can, relying that the Lord will recognize our efforts and can make us whole where we fall short.

Preparing our children to serve missions

I can guess what you're thinking. "This guy just put his first missionary in the MTC and already he's an expert?? Who does he think he is?!

As a matter of fact, I’ve always been leery of the title of this post. I’ve been nervous when someone purports to teach it in a class or to give a talk about it. But in the last few days I’ve realized that I’d been thinking about it all wrong.

I assumed the topic “Preparing our children to serve missions” meant “How to get your children to serve missions,” something at which I have not really succeeded (my first missionary – and my fifth child – entered the MTC last week).

But looking back, I hope that we have helped to prepare our daughter to serve. And I think we’ve prepared each of our children in similar ways, even though some have elected not to serve. In the end, if our children serve, we want them to succeed as missionaries. To me that means a few things:

1. They need to know the doctrine that they teach. We need to teach the gospel in our homes, first and foremost. Of course the standard memes of family scripture study and family home evening apply. But also our children benefit from seeing us, their parents, live the gospel – that is not only making good choices, but also repenting when we don’t. At the end of the day the Good News of the gospel is the atoning sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ, powerful enough to rescue us from sin. Our children would do well to see that atonement in action in our lives (and their own).

2. They need to be independent of us. Children who depend upon helicopter parents to meet their every need will be like those seagulls that become dependent on fishing boats to survive. Children who are allowed to grow and do things for themselves (even when it’s easier for us to do it for them) learn how to live their own lives. In our home, children learn to wash dishes, do laundry, clean bathrooms, cook and other practical skills. That’s all thanks to their patient mother who is willing to let them take longer to do something than she could do herself. And to allow them to figure out what they’re going to wear if they haven’t done laundry in time to have that certain article of clothing when they “need” it.

3. They need to suffer heartache and to feel joy. They will surely do both on their mission – either because the work goes especially poorly or well, or because of relationships with a particular companion or agreement/disagreement with mission leaders. Our children need to learn to cope with setbacks and they need to learn how to accept success when it comes, too. This idea is linked to #2 in that parents need to foster independence, but it’s much deeper than just learning how to do chores.

4. They need to learn to pray and to receive answers. I don’t believe that a pre-mission young person will have the same testimony as a returned missionary. Too much happens in the mission field to influence one’s spiritual growth. But departing missionaries are well-served if they have learned to take questions to the Lord and to get answers, or at least sufficient faith to move forward. There will be plenty of icky days in the mission field when things go poorly that they will need to rely on the Lord to help them get through it. My recollection of mission life is that the heartache I felt there was deeper and the adversity stronger than I had experienced before. I needed to know I could trust the Lord to lift me up when I needed it the most.

5. There’s value in being able to get along with lots of different kinds of people. My observation is that shy missionaries are often frustrated. I don’t exactly know how to teach a child not to be shy, but giving a child some specific behaviors to use in shy moments can surely help ease the anxiety. Shy missionaries (or know-it-all self-righteous ones) may not only feel limited in their ability to contact and teach new people, but will also feel the sting of not accomplishing what they came to do. (I’m pretty sure about this one – I started my mission shy and self-righteous…)

Of course there’s nothing on my list that cannot be overcome by a willing and faithful missionary who enjoys the blessings of the Holy Ghost. But how much better to have developed these qualities before entering the mission field?

Are there other things we should do for our children to prepare them to serve?

(I note that the things I’ve listed will serve anyone well, not just missionaries.)

Tales from the Dark Side (of the moon, that is)

I wrote a while back about how teenagers (boys, especially) seem to go to the dark side of the moon during their adolescence. And by the dark side of the moon, I mean out of radio contact. And by out of radio contact, I mean they simply aren’t connecting with the things we parents think they need to connect with.


Sometimes the dark side of the moon and lack of radio contact means they don’t want to associate with parents and siblings (leave me alone!). Or they don’t want to live in a social society (leave me alone, and stay out of my room!). Or they know better than their parents (you just don’t get it!).

While out of radio contact, they will often question and challenge family norms and mores. They may challenge house rules and they may reject the faith of their fathers. (As Latter-day Saints we are sometimes pleased and even impressed when a young person does this and joins the church; we are horrified when one of our own does it and leaves.)

Parents, of course, wonder how to reach kids when they are out of radio contact. And I wish I could tell you how to do it. I can’t. But I can share some things I learned along the way. Last time I wrote about the need to fill our kids’ well so that when they are out of touch with us, they will still have some of “us” in reserve.

Here are three more ideas:

1. Use other voices (that is the voices of others, not becoming Mel Blanc, though if a Bugs Bunny impersonation gets their attention, go for it!). We rely on our friends, the parents of our kids’ friends, to reinforce lessons we teach our kids. This is true for our LDS and non-LDS friends. Of course as kids grow older and become more independent, it’s increasingly difficult to keep track of friends and their parents. We rely on church leaders and teachers to help. Studies the church has done have shown that seminary teachers have consistently scored at the top of the list of key influencers for those who have served missions. And we hope that good friends (in and out of the church) will also be a voice of reason for our kids. (Of course this last one is the most challenging, since our kids’ friends are all similar ages and may be in their own period of radio silence.)

2. We have also found that talking to the kids constantly helps. And listening. Whenever they want. I remember ten or eleven years ago when our youngest was an infant and our oldest kids were older teens. The baby would nurse and go to bed and then the older kids would suddenly want to talk to their mom into the wee hours of the morning. Frankly, I don’t know how my lovely wife survived those years of teenage boys and babies. But her constant willingness to talk and to listen (even when she hated what she heard) was a huge factor in our kids’ staying connected even as they separated from some of the things that were most important to us.

My oldest daughter went through a phase in which she did not talk to her mother. Sometimes for days. And my lovely wife would not know why. Sometimes I would come home from work and get the assignment to figure out why the cone of silence had descended and excluded my lovely wife. Fortunately, that period was very short for our daughter.

3. That experience points out another tool in our toolbox, namely that we both have roles to play. I don’t know if it’s Freudian or normal or if we’re victims of stereotyping, but the boys always had a better relationship with their mom in those years, and the girls have gone through periods of time in which they seem more willing to talk to me. We are very lucky to have both of us around to share the task of parenting, and sometimes one of us can do what the other can’t.

It took some time for me to learn that it was more important to me for my kids to want to be at my dining room table than on the bench next to me in sacrament meeting, but that has made a huge difference in how we related to our kids, especially those who have not followed us in church activity. (I’ve blogged about that here and here.)

Happy to hear your thoughts about how to communicate with those who are in radio silence.

UPDATE:  Ardis has posted a second installment on Vanguard Scouting.  The first section of the post does a nice job of explaining some of the signs of movement to the dark side of the moon.  You can find her post here.

The Dark Side of the Moon

Teenagers are remarkable creatures. During these developmental years, they double in size, physically mature, lose all sense of reason (and then begin to regain it), question everything, think they know everything, and believe themselves to be alternately all-knowing and totally inept. Most adults I know would not choose those teen years as the best time of their lives. Many have said they would never wish return to that time in their lives.

I observed in myself (after the fact, of course) and my sons a tendency to go to the dark side of the moon during some of the teen years. You remember when the Apollo space capsules went around the moon there was that period of radio silence as the moon was between them and the earth. I’ve watched each of my teenage boys go through that period of radio silence in their lives. (My daughters have flirted with a similar condition, but not nearly in the same way as my boys.)

While they are on the dark side of the moon, teenage boys seem to forget that they have parents or siblings or responsibility or consequences for their actions. Some find themselves making terrible and long-lasting mistakes during this period that have long-reaching consequences. Others are just dumb and insensitive. I figured in my own case I was really lucky that I wasn’t good friends with anyone who drank or did drugs (that I knew about anyway – or maybe I was just too clueless to know) during that phase of my life, so I avoided those snares. But I had plenty of ways to be stupid nonetheless.

As a parent I’ve thought a lot about how to get through to a kid who is on the dark side of the moon. The fact is, if he’s really on the dark side of the moon and out of radio contact, you just can’t get through to him. And that’s frightening as a parent.

What I came to realize instead is that as a parent I need to do everything I can before my kid enters radio silence to get as much of me into his head as I can. A friend of mine talked about filling our kids’ wells, and she suggests that parents need to fill their teenagers’ wells with the parents’ goodness so that as the teens encounter the evil that is in the world, the good in their wells can counterbalance it. (Her well-filling lesson was very specific: fill the well with good things, positive encouragement, love and comfort, not nagging or lecturing or correcting.)

I think my folks did that with me. I can’t count the number of times I thought of doing something incredibly stupid as a kid and then having an image of my mom come to mind, and imagine myself trying to explain myself. That image of my mom and the fear of having to explain myself kept me out of a lot of trouble. (Not all trouble, of course. I was still stupid and I made plenty of mistakes.)

Something else my kids have taught me, and I think it’s supported in gospel teaching, is that each of our kids comes as an individual. In some families, all the kids look alike (my siblings and I are that way, for instance – everyone can tell instantly upon seeing us that we’re related), but that doesn’t mean they think alike. My kids don’t look a lot like each other (well, some do, but we’re not a cookie cutter family like mine was), and they don’t really think like each other, either. They all grew up in the same home, but each one has a different approach to life, to the gospel, to problems and to me as a parent. As a result, I’ve had to try to figure out how to reach each one in a language he or she can understand. Now that Number Six and Number Seven are the only ones still at home, I’m getting better at it. (Thanks for the lessons, Older Kids!)

The times my boys have been on the dark side of the moon have been the white-knuckle periods of my parenting. For a dad who loves to have predictable outcomes, it’s been particularly tough to know that they are out there making their own choices and there’s not a thing I can do about it. (Well, it’s not completely true I can do nothing, of course. I can pray as Alma the Elder did for his son, and I can create consequences where necessary. But I cannot make choices for them, and I cannot force them to choose what I want them to.)

I reflect on my Father in Heaven and how white his knuckles must be. Of course, he has the advantage of knowing how things will turn out in the end, but I imagine he’s shaken his head at me and wondered if I’ll ever come around from the dark side of the moon. Even at age 50-something I know I still go into periods of radio-silence with him, and I know that’s my doing and not his.

I’m interested in hearing your thoughts about how to communicate when your kids are on the dark side of the moon, or how to prepare them for that period. I’ll share some specific things I’ve learned in subsequent posts over the next little while.

The Big One

Like others, I tend to see themes-for-me in conference. As I’ve blogged before, I took a couple of specific questions into conference with me. Those questions had me listening particularly closely for messages that had to do with how I related to my family.

In the spirit of listening for multiple messages (see here), I paid particular attention to repeated calls (to me and me alone) to be a better parent, and counsel about how I might do that. (I say to me and me alone for two reasons: First, President Uchtdorf told me I can’t judge anyone else; Second, my stewardship is my stewardship, not someone else’s, so of course the counsel I get will be for me.)

Here are some lessons I learned about my relationship with my family:

1. Elder Packer reminded me that a child is a nation, which means, I think, that a child represents all who come after him. He’s not the only one to suggest that when we save a child we may also save the subsequent generations that follow him, too. It’s a big responsibility.

2. Sister Esplin reminded me that I need to teach my children in love; I need to let the Spirit teach them. Frankly, in my 30 years of fatherhood, I’m not sure I’ve paid nearly enough attention to allowing the Spirit to teach my children, and I’ll be giving a lot of thought and prayer to how to do that.

3. Elder Koelliker taught me that I can help awaken in my children the desire in their hearts to know gospel truths. I have prayed for this often in my years as a parent. I’ll be looking for more help here, too.

4. President Eyring was clear: I must lead in saving my own family. It’s part of my role as a father and a priesthood holder. There are others who will help me, but I must take the lead. And I must do it using the principles of D&C 121.

5. Sister Beck reminded me that my wife has power and authority. There’s great value in my remembering that, especially in connection with #4.

6. As Elder Ballard talked about reforming our homes, I found myself thinking of ways I can reform mine. And how I can enlist the help of those who live there in that effort.

7. I need a vision for my family. Thanks, Elder Halek for that counsel. It’s not that I haven’t had a vision for my family before – or at least hopes and dreams – but I’ve never thought about it in this way. I don’t yet know what that vision is, but it will be the subject of continued pondering and prayer.

8. I cannot compel my children against their agency. Elder Wilson’s story at the beginning of his talk reminded me of something my father taught me when I was very young: having the priesthood does not grant a man the right to command anyone. That I cannot compel my children against their agency is more than counsel not to do it. It just really can’t be done. I wish I had learned that lesson earlier in my life than I did. (More D&C 121 – applicable to dads and moms.)

9. I should fill my home with courtesy and quickly resolve contentions. Thanks for that gentle nudge, President Monson. My take away is not that I should teach my children to do this thing. I should do it. I should lead by example, in love.

This is my mountain. And I’m thankful for it.

My experience as the father of non-believers (Part Two, in which the atonement works)

In my last post on this subject, I described my emotional response to the choice of some of my children to leave the church. And I postulated that my emotional response might have led (at least some of) my kids who left to question my love for them.

Of course I did love them, and it was out of my love for them that I felt the distress I did. And it was my misguided understanding of how to show that love that I likely confused them.

When I was a boy, I had a covered wagon lamp kit, which I decided to assemble myself one evening. I put the wagon together, and then I put the lamp fixture and cord on the wagon. At some point, I realized I had not strung the cord through the hole in the bottom of the covered wagon. I decided the easiest way to remedy this situation was to cut the cord, string it through the hole, and then re-tape the wire. So I took my wire cutters and cut the cord.

Oh, did I mention it was plugged in? As I cut the cord, the lights went out. We lived in an old house with fuses (not circuit breakers) and we probably only had one or two fuses at that. So a lot of the house went dark. I sat in the darkness, not quite sure what had happened. My father came downstairs to check the fuse box and asked me what had happened. When I told him, he (in an astonishingly calm way, now that I think about it) taught me about electricity and told me I had shorted out the system. He also pointed out that I was lucky I didn’t get shocked. (The wire cutters, thankfully, had insulated handles.)

He then explained something that has always stuck with me. He said that when people grab a live wire, they can’t let go because the electricity causes their muscles to contract, tightening their grip on the wire. That’s why, he explained, that electricians who don’t know if a wire is live, might touch it first with the back of their hand, so if their hand closes, it won’t be on the wire.

When my children began to leave the church, I tightened my grip, as if I were clutching a live wire. And I could not let go.

Until, that is, the Savior finally helped me.

A year or two after my oldest son left home to go to college (and about three years since he’d last been to church), I was serving as bishop. I had interviewed a couple who was working on the repentance process, and it was our final meeting as they and I had all received a witness that they had done what the Lord wanted them to do, and they could return to full fellowship.

The brother observed that that day happened to be Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. On my way home from church that night, I contemplated the blessings of the atonement. I reflected on a letter I’d written my son year or two earlier in which I’d written about how much he needed the atonement in his life. On that night, the Lord taught me in no uncertain terms that it was I who needed the atonement in my life.

I had never felt more like Nephi in 2 Nephi 4 before that night. I had laid out to me very clearly where I had acted out of pride and anger as a father, and where I needed to repent.

Thus began a long process in which I discovered the power of the atonement to heal me. Over time, I learned to accept my children’s choices for what they were – their exercise of God-given agency over which I had no control. Over time I came to have faith that if and when God needed them to return, He would oversee that change in them, not me. I developed greater faith in the power of the sealing ordinance, and greater understanding of the Lord’s mercy as it related to my weakness.

The change in me was not overnight. In fact, it has been about a decade since that realization, and God’s not done with me yet.

During the process, a good friend spoke in our sacrament meeting. She reminded us that there will be no wards and stakes in heaven, only families. In that moment, it occurred to me that I needed to do what it took so that my children (all of my children) could be comfortable in my family, even if they were not comfortable next to me on a bench in sacrament meeting.

I will add that my standards have not changed. I still live by them, and the minor children who live in my home still live by them. But I recognize that my children – those at home and away – choose how they will live; I cannot dictate those choices for them.

As I mentioned in a comment on the previous post, I had a stake president who counseled me during those turbulent years in our monthly stewardship interviews. He reminded me regularly that eternity is a long time. I’m grateful for that, because I may need a long time to get it right

My experience as the father of a non-believer

Recently there have been a number of news stories (and subsequent blog posts) about those who are leaving the LDS church. In the normal course of departure stories is sometimes an account of the negative reception the exiting member receives from family, friends and fellow congregants.

I have written before about the fact that some of my children have chosen to leave the church. (Actually “leaving the church” suggests action on their part: in truth they have simply stopped participating and do not self-identify as church members, but as far as I know, they have taken no official action with regard to their membership.)

In this post, I wanted to explore my feelings as the family member who stayed. My intent is to record behavior, not to justify it.

My children who left the church did so in their teen years, each about the same age. I have other extended family members who have left as adults, and my experience with them was quite different than with my children. My plan here is to tell my story, not my children’s; they can tell their own when and where they see fit.

When faced with my first child who began to walk away from the church, I felt like I was drowning in the ocean. I was that victim of a sunken ocean liner and had neither a life raft nor a life preserver. I became completely disoriented in the cold, relentless, churning sea as I realized that my child was slipping away.

Some of my feelings were engendered by my own testimony: I had a firm testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and the need for its saving ordinances. I had faith in Jesus Christ; I believed the restoration story; and I earnestly sought the blessings of an eternal family for myself and for my children. My departing child threw that in my face: he – by his actions and his apathy – made clear that what was important to me was not important to him. I feared for him, and for myself.

Secondarily, I felt blame. Surely his choice to walk away was related to something I had done wrong. After all, we had family home evening, family prayer, scripture study; he went to seminary and Sunday meetings (until he stopped). No Success Can Compensate For Failure In The Home. I had obviously failed in the home. I had screwed up the most important role I would ever fill.

Finally, I also felt embarrassment. I must point out that this was completely self-induced. No one ever said anything to me at church that would have led me to believe that someone judged me or my wife for my son’s decisions. In fact, they were sympathetic to us and loving toward him always. (I suppose it’s possible that someone spoke behind my back, but if they did, I don’t know anything about it.)

In this storm of feelings, I am certain that I sent crazy messages to my son. I am well aware that I tried to control his behavior long after he had made his choice. That desire for control is perhaps my greatest human weakness. It is my instinctive response when faced with anxiety or uncertainty, and it has taken me years to recognize it and to improve. I never ever stopped loving my son, but I did stop liking him for a while. And in that period, it might have been hard for him to know of my love.

At the point when I finally let go, he stopped attending church all together. And he became increasingly difficult to live with. He was approaching the end of his high school years, and I concluded that it was all part of his adolescent rebellion, and perhaps one day he would return. My sense was that he was no more comfortable with us than I was with him. He did not like our rules for the house, let alone what he saw as our slavish attachment to church values which he rejected.

I am sympathetic to those who leave the church and feel they are treated poorly by active church members in and out of their family. It shouldn’t be that way. We ought to love one another more, regardless of where we are on the continuum of testimony. But I also understand the panic that parents in particular feel when a child walks away from what the parent feels is really the very best thing for him.

I’ve had more than one child walk away. Each of them went through a period of time where they felt discomfort as they walked away regardless of how I responded. (For instance, I was much better with #3 than with #1 – much more supportive and kind.) It sometimes took years for them to realize that I really did still love them despite their choice to go a different way, regardless of what I said or did.

I cannot explain this completely. Perhaps one day I’ll get enough courage to invite one of them to write about their experience. I don’t know if they felt some guilt (imposed by a lifetime of standards and practices) as they left, or if they felt the discomfort of the Light of Christ or the Holy Ghost warning them not to walk away, or if they simply felt the anger of teenage anger and applied it to this choice among others.

In time, we have found common ground. My home is a place each of my kids likes to return to. My dinner table is a place where they are welcome, and they (now) know it. There are certain things we do not discuss, sometimes by unspoken agreement, and I’m willing to live with that. One of my sons says that his mother and I are “enough church” for him. I’m ok with that, because that’s where he is in his life. Those Isaiah chapters in 2 Nephi remind me repeatedly of the attitude of my own Heavenly parents, and it is one I try to adopt in my family, as well: my arms are "outstretched still.”

Daddy Danger

Norbert over at BCC posted a really thought-provoking post on Tuesday around the question, “What is the greatest threat to your family?” Without transcribing his post (please go read it; it’s really quite good), I’ll cut to the chase:

Norbert suspects that his instructor meant to ask What is the greatest threat to THE family, but in response to the question asked, he determined that he – the dad -- was the greatest threat.

Many commenters (myself included) identified with his perspective. I am a little conflicted on this topic, though, and wanted to explore it a bit more.

Certainly the reality of Section 121 holds for fathers perhaps more than in any other circumstance:

We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, they will immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion (v. 39).

For me, unrighteous dominion in the home is most insidious precisely because it is so easy to get there from here. Men are taught by the church to preside. Parents are taught to teach their children. There is an implied message that parents can be evaluated by how their kids behave. And so it is exceptionally easy for Dad to compel behavior in the name of “reproving betimes with sharpness.”

The other reason unrighteous dominion is so insidious is because the stakes are so high. The Proverbs teach “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old he will not depart from it” (22:6). By golly, as a dad I want to ensure those kids are trained up right! But in doing so, I risk violating the terms of Section 121. In my zeal to have my kids “turn out right” I can easily do more harm than good.

There are some other complicating factors:

1. Many men (and maybe women, too, I suppose) really like the notion of control. I am one of those men. I am uncomfortable with uncertainty. Especially as a young father, I knew what a “happy family” looked like, and I was going to have one if it killed us.

2. Humans have an inborn “fight or flight” reflex that shows at the sign of conflict. Part of overcoming the natural man, I suppose, is overcoming this particular impulse. But those of us who lean toward the “fight” side of that pairing can be pretty tough to live with (and even dangerous in extreme circumstances).

3. Children are not highly predictable beings. Because they are constantly growing and learning, each day can be a new adventure for parents. For a dad who detests uncertainty, that can be particularly trying.

Section 121 actually offers a remedy, as well:

No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned;

By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile (v. 41-42).

Of course as a parent, we sometimes need to offer correction. It’s part of our job, but even that requires the proper approach according to Section 121:

Reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved, lest he esteem thee to be his enemy;

That he may know that thy faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death (v. 43-44).

I’ve written about this before, but the sharpness of this verse, as taught by Theodore M. Burton, is the sharpness of a clear photograph, not the sharpness of a caustic acid. So we can offer clear correction, but that correction needs to be enveloped in enough love that our children know that our faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death.

There’s another thought that bears mentioning here. Our children have their agency. They will make bad choices. It is part of their earth-experience to do so. A friend of mine suggested that we should pray for our children to make their bad choices while they still live at home so that we are there to help teach them.

At some point, we are not responsible for the choices our children make – certainly by the time they are adults, but some might argue after age eight. We are responsible, as parents, to help our children feel the consequences of those choices so that they can learn right from wrong. In the end, however, our children will make their own choices.

I’ve been a parent for over 30 years, and my youngest child is 11, so we have a number of years to go before all our kids are out of the house. (We’ll never stop parenting, we’ve discovered, but the “away” parenting is very different from the day-to-day retail parenting of minor children.)

I’ve had some really great moments as a dad. And I’ve had some really bad ones. I can really understand Norbert’s suggestion that a father may be the biggest threat to his own family. Even a good, well-meaning father can make mistakes.

The good news is that the atonement extends to fathers, too. We can seek the forgiveness of our children if needed. We can repent. We can improve. We can take parenting classes. We can study. We can seek the help of a professional therapist if needed. We can listen to the counsel of our spouse. We can enjoy the guidance of the Holy Ghost.

As we approach the right behaviors in teaching our children, according to Section 121, there is a remarkable blessing available:

The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth; and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever (v. 46).

A good friend taught me that in his view, the greatest way that promise can be fulfilled is if our children (our everlasting dominion) come to us without compulsory means – that is that they want to be with us now and in the eternities.

On the faithless Laman and Lemuel

I remember when I taught gospel doctrine in my freshman year at BYU, I had a team teacher who used to say she thought old Laman and Lemuel got a bad rap. She imagined from time to time that it might not have been easy to have Nephi as a brother. And it was his record we were reading, after all.

I used to roll my eyes when she’d say these things as we prepared our lessons. And I’d hope she wouldn’t say them while we were teaching.

So it surprised me a little this past week in Sunday School as I felt a twinge of sadness for Laman and Lemuel. Our discussion was around their lack of faith, like that was their Chief Character Flaw. I’m not sure anyone meant the discussion to sound as it did, but from where I sat it sounded like “if they just had more faith, they would have been more like Nephi and less like, well, you know.” Less like themselves.

I don’t mean to defend Laman and Lemuel. They had their agency just as Nephi did. But as the parent of seven kids, I can tell you the notion that Laman and Lemuel and Nephi and Sam all had the same parents plays differently in my head. I know that I parented my first few kids very differently from how I’ve parented the last ones. My first kids taught me valuable lessons as a father, and my younger kids are the beneficiaries of those lessons. My father was the same way. I –- the youngest in my family -- benefited greatly from the sometimes challenging relationship that my older brother had with my dad. (I should point out that my older brother and my dad are both great men, and that they love one another completely. But my brother was my dad’s first teenager. Any of you who have had a first teenager understand. Those who haven’t, just wait.)

Laman and Lemuel were older when they left Jerusalem. They may have had a better –- or at least different -- understanding of what they were leaving behind than young Nephi. At least some of Nephi’s formative spiritual experiences came as his family traveled in the wilderness, when he was at an age that those experiences could shape him. His brothers did not have those experiences at that age. And so their experience was not the same as Nephi’s.

I don’t seek to absolve Laman and Lemuel from their poor choices. Of course one can go to the Lord in prayer at any age and learn His will. But consider how many general authorities talk freely about really coming to their testimonies while serving on a mission. Is there something about that experience at that time of life that affords a certain set of experiences? I think my own experience would suggest that there is. A young man who does not serve a mission will not have the same experiences. He can still gain a testimony and strengthen it, but it will not be the same experience. Similarly, it may be that Nephi’s older brothers did not have the same experiences as Nephi at least in part because of their age.

I don’t know about Lehi’s family, but I know that my younger children were born into a far more prosperous family than my oldest ones. My oldest three came while we were still in school. They had a dad who was preoccupied with school and working and all the stress that comes with poverty-line living. And then they lost their dad to establishing his career. My youngest children have had a completely different experience. (My younger children might point out that their parents are a lot older than their older siblings' parents, so the differences cut both ways.)

Nephi is right when he asks his brothers if they have sought the Lord’s help in understanding their father’s dream. We all can go to God for help and understanding. But there are lots of reasons Laman and Lemuel might not make that choice, might not have the faith, to seek divine assistance.

It is convenient to put black hats on Laman and Lemuel and white hats on Nephi and Sam and to simplify the good-guy / bad-guy myth of the Book of Mormon. But the record itself reminds us that even that story is nuanced: Sariah loved all her sons; Laman and Lemuel did follow their father into the wilderness; even Nephi examined his own personal flaws, recognizing that he was not perfect; and some generations of Lamanites were more righteous than their Nephite brethren.

We benefit, I believe, by remembering – particularly as we apply the Book of Mormon to ourselves – that the story is not a simple one, just as our lives are not simple.

Good news and bad news: Who are you again?

The good news is I was praying for my son last night in our family prayer. The bad news is I couldn’t remember his name.

Those readers without children (or with only one) may find this hard to believe, but even if you grew up with siblings in your family, you might remember that your parents got your name wrong from time to time.

It would have been less embarrassing to me if the son whose name I forgot had not been kneeling right next to me. And if he weren’t the only son left at home.

His comment after the amen: “Well, at least you went through the names in order.” (I could have added, “At least I didn’t confuse you with one of your sisters.”)

My favorite experience with name-blur was the night I came home from my mission. It’s important to note that I have one brother, David, and he is seven years older than me. All the way home from the airport, my mother was calling me by my brother’s name. I was still getting used to the fact that I had a first name at all, so I wasn’t bothered by it. Dad found it very funny.

As we were sitting down to dinner, Dad was still ribbing Mom about calling me by my brother’s name, and then he turned to me and said, “David, will you say the blessing?”

There’s some lesson there about stones and glass houses.

The good news is, I know God knows my sons and me (and my wife and daughters, too). I can only assume that since he’s perfect, he doesn’t mix up their names as often as I do.

But I’d rather have him call me the wrong name than not call me at all.

"God must not think too much of you..."

I was listening to a Mormon Identities podcast from the Mormon Channel in which Richard and Linda Eyre were the guests. I’ve read a few of the Eyres’ books over the years and almost passed on this particular podcast, but I’m glad I didn’t, if only for this story that Richard Eyre told.

The Eyres and host Eric Huntsman were discussing the fact that our kids come to us not as a lump of clay just for us to mold, but that they bring genetic elements and (according to our LDS belief) they also bring something of who they were in the premortal existence. As Linda Eyre said, they come as who they are.

This principle is important when we think about those families who have apparently perfect children and parents who seem to take credit for their children’s perfection. Richard told this story:

We were in a Sunday School class once where we were visiting. No one knew us. And it was on parenting. And, uh, there was one guy there who, bless his heart, he just was a know-it-all. You know, he had all the answers and he just kept bragging, and he’d say, “Well the way we did it with my son the valedictorian and the quarterback…” and then he’d give some thing, you know. This happened maybe ten times during the class, and you just got the impression that all his kids were perfect and he was perfect and blah, blah, blah, and I knew it was bothering people.

And then, at the very end of the class a little fellow who hadn’t said a word got called on and he stood up and addressed this guy that had all the answers. I’ll never forget what he said, Eric. He said, “Excuse me, sir, but God must not have thought too much of you, sending you all those easy kids.”

I loved this story. It reminded me that as parents we do have a role to teach and guide our children as best we can. But in the end, our children will make choices and they own those choices, their parents do not.

Years ago I read an article in which Martin Sheen was telling how he had at the time intervened in his son Charlie’s life. At the time (this was years ago, not the most recent binge of Charlie Sheen weirdness), Martin did something to move Charlie toward recovery from his addictions. Charlie subsequently said his father had saved his life. Martin corrected that thought: He said he did not save his son. Charlie saved himself. Charlie owned his recovery.

I believe that we should neither take responsibility for our children’s mistakes, nor credit for their successes. Of course we can mourn with them when they fail. And we can celebrate with them when they succeed. But it is their failure and their success, not ours as parents.

To be sure, environment is an important element in rearing our children – both the environment of our home and the world in which we live.

Elder Packer has said:

The measure of our success as parents, however, will not rest solely on how our children turn out. That judgment would be just only if we could raise our families in a perfectly moral environment, and that now is not possible.

It is not uncommon for responsible parents to lose one of their children, for a time, to influences over which they have no control. They agonize over rebellious sons or daughters. They are puzzled over why they are so helpless when they have tried so hard to do what they should (Ensign, May 1992, p 68).

He goes on to speak of the power of the sealing ordinance eternally to help our children find their way home.

I believe this concept serves as a comfort and a warning to parents.

If we acknowledge that our children are each unique spirit children of loving heavenly parents, then part of our role as parents is to understand them for who they are (something the Eyres also advocate). And part of our role is to influence them in ways they will understand. And to provide alternatives to the evil influences of the world.

If, however, we seek to force our children into our mold of what we believe they should be, ignoring who they are to begin with, then we are, in my view, violating the principles of Doctrine & Covenants 121:

…when we undertake to cover our sins, or to gratify our pride, our vain ambition, or to exercise control or dominion or compulsion upon the souls of the children of men, in any degree of unrighteousness, behold, the heavens withdraw themselves; the Spirit of the Lord is grieved… (D&C 84:37).

When, on the other hand, we succeed at recognizing who our children are, when we influence them with love and kindness, teaching them well, even if they take paths divergent from ours, we may know the blessings of Section 121:

…thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever. (v.48, emphasis added).

Are Men Biologically Adapted To Nurturing?

We know that The Family: A Proclamation teaches that fathers are to preside, provide and protect, and that mothers are to nurture, and that they are to support one another in these roles. We’ve heard a number of talks in recent conferences that seem to suggest (or directly state) that mothers are more in tune with the tasks of nurturing than men.

That may be, and I do not intend in any way to refute the Proclamation, but there’s a new study published in The Proceedings of The National Academy of Sciences, and reported by the New York Times that would suggest that fathers also are biologically adapting to a more nurturing role.

Lee Gettler, an anthropologist at Northwestern University and co-author of the study said,

This should be viewed as, "Oh, it’s great, women aren’t the only ones biologically adapted to be parents."

Humans give birth to incredibly dependent infants. Historically, the idea that men were out clubbing large animals and women were staying behind with babies has been largely discredited. The only way mothers could have higly needy offspring ever couple of years is if they were getting help.

The study, which tested men before and after becoming fathers involved over 600 men in the Cebu province of the Philippines:

Testosterone was measured when the men were 21 and single, and again nearly five years later. Although testosterone naturally decreases with age, men who became fathers showed much greater declines, more than double that of childless men.

And men who spent more than three hours a day caring for children -- playing, feeding, bathing, toileting, reading or dressing them – had the lowest testosterone.

Researchers view the drop in testosterone as a positive thing for families, hormonally encouraging men to be more faithful to their families than straying.

“This is part of the guy being invested in the marriage,” said Carol Worthman, an anthropologist at Emory University who also was not involved in the study. Lower testosterone, she said, is the father’s way of saying, “’I’m here, I’m not looking around, I’m really toning things down so I can have good relationship.’”

So, it would seem there is some biological evidence that a father’s role extends beyond conception, and that the father is biologically tuned to participate in the nurture of his children.

Presiding with equal partners

The proclamation on the family is clear: "By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness...."

But it's also clear: "In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners."

How does Dad preside when Mom is an equal partner?

We discussed this topic in our high priests' group yesterday, and although we did not resolve it, we had some good thoughts.

In his talk "Priesthood Authority in the Family and the Church," Dallin Oaks helps us understand the relationship between partnership and presiding. He says that although the structure in the church is hierarchical (we follow our "file" leaders), in the family it is patriarchal. He quote the partnership line from the Proclamation as I have above, and he quote President Kimball who urges wives to have a full partnership with their husbands, not a limited or silent one. He reiterates that the concept of partnership between husbands and wives is not the cultural norm all around the world, but that it is ordained of God. And he quotes Doctrine & Convenants 121:

No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; By kindness, and pure knowledge (verses 41-42)

declaring, "When priesthood authority is exercised in that way in the patriarchal family, we achieve the 'full partnership' President Kimball taught."

As I listened to the discussion, I thought about what I've heard about how the Quorum of the Twelve functions -- that they and the First Presidency consider matters of policy for some time, that they have open discussions, and that they often carry over those discussions for weeks in order to allow all members to come to consensus. This certainly seems to be the process described in Edward Kimball's biography of his father's presidency of the church (Lengthen Your Stride) when President Kimball discussed his revelation regarding extension of the priesthood to all worthy male members of the church (see OD2).

And I thought of an example in our family from the past week. We have a particular delicate issue that my wife and I are trying to works through with one of our children. There is no easy answer, and we are not personally equipped to resolve it on our own. We have discussed the matter a number of times over the past months, and in the last few days it has become more acute. We agreed to pray separately and together. We have been discussing the promptings we have received (some in the moment we need them). Our path to consensus has been bumpy. At some moments we've been completely aligned and at others we've appeared to be diametrically opposed to one another. But we continue to counsel together to find a solution.

In this matter, I would never assume that as "presider" I had the sole right to revelation on the matter. Nor would I want to "delegate" the matter to my lovely wife -- not because she is not capable, for she is! -- but because I would not want to ask her to bear the burden alone.

We have not come out on the other side of the tunnel, yet, and we may not for some time. But I'm grateful for an equal partner who is sensitive to the promptings of the Spirit and who is gracious in how she shares the burdens of parenthood.