This article was first published in Anabaptist World as a part of my regular column.

***

When I moved to Oakland, Maryland, after my marriage, I immediately felt at home. The people were warm and inclusive, curious and friendly. I loved to see the Amish and Mennonites mix with each other and with the rest of the local community at a level of interaction and openness I hadn’t experienced among other conservative Anabaptists. Oakland, with its prosperous farms and productive country people, seemed haloed by an idyllic charm. I was proud to call it home.

I am still proud to call this community home. But recently, I learned something about a local Anabaptist—someone I respected and even admired—that deeply disappointed me. Now I grapple with a feeling of disillusionment.

I dealt with similar feelings of disillusionment when it came out that Christian Aid Ministries had badly mishandled sexual abuse against Haitian schoolboys, abuse that could have been prevented. CAM had represented to me everything that was best of conservative Anabaptists—generosity, practicality, integrity, a commitment to spreading the gospel.

My disappointment received a second taint more recently when a Mennonite who was supposedly smuggling Bibles to restricted countries was found to have cheated several Anabaptist ministries from millions of dollars smuggled into his own bank account.

And the late Ravi Zacharias, a Christian hero who blended logic and storytelling in a way that made Christianity both attractive and feasible to the demons of doubt that danced through my soul—this hero too was felled by a specter of sexual misconduct that reached back from his grave.

When stories such as these shock my vision like electric sparks, the world feels tarnished, unsecure. I wonder if all I’ve believed is a lie. The truths I’ve spoken of so glowingly—the redemption that is in Christ, the values of love and forgiveness held among conservative Anabaptists—if these people I trusted could commit sin of such magnitude, is there anyone to trust? Or is all that is in people and in the world failure and disillusionment and lies?

A verse rings in my mind. “The foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal, The Lord knoweth them that are his. And, Let every one that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity.” (2 Tim. 2:19 KJV)

We cannot see all things. The verse offers assurance that there is still a foundation of righteousness, and that God knows his people.

I look at my two-year-old daughter, her small pigtails bobbing beside her head, and wonder what I can give her in a world so tarnished. I can give her books, love, time, a country lifestyle, a childhood free of fear…but who am I kidding? I can’t really offer her freedom from fear. I can’t even protect her from evil, much as I would like to. The places I think of as safest have not always proved to be so.

When she grows older, she will find the same surprising end of star dreams that I have found, the same dirge to sparkling water and roses.

I think of what my own parents offered me. I can see their imperfections. I can see the imperfections and wrongs of the small church I grew up in—but still they bequeathed to me as best they knew how a bedrock of dependance on God. They offered me Jesus.

And it comes to my mind that in this world of uncertainty and disappointment, the best thing I can offer my daughter is Jesus. Not Mennonite-ism, or country life, or books, or church, or education…or any of the things I think of as good. I have seen failure in the values and people I counted on most deeply.

But Jesus.

Jesus opens a way to holiness. There is a sense where Jesus cannot fail because…how could he? He is beyond this life.

Do we then hold to a pipe dream?

If it is a pipe dream, it is a powerful one. A pipe dream that has changed people’s lives, brought healing and hope where desert once was. Albert Camus once said, “I would rather live my life as if there is a God and die to find out there isn’t, than live my life as if there isn’t and die to find out there is.”

This Christian hope seems at first glance flimsy, but the closer you walk to it, the more you bang your head, your hands against its rough-hewn walls, the sturdier it seems.

The Christian hope is a hope visualized though not yet seen. A hope that rings louder in our hearts—though the world may stench around us—when we gain private glimpses of God.

Wrong will be rectified. Redemption will come. Lift up your heads; it comes near.

***

Feature photo by MacKenzie Zimmerman.

The post Disillusionment or Hope? appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

This post was first published in the column I write for Anabaptist World. I thought I’d also share it with you.

***

Some time ago, one of the pastors at the church I attend, Junior Beachy, spoke on the roots of abusive behavior. His insights were helpful to me and, I thought, relevant to the church as a whole. With thanks to him, this article gives some of those insights a broader airing.

In recent years, we have heard more than ever before about many kinds of abuse — physical, sexual, emotional, economic, spiritual. We have seen abuse that was hidden within church walls uncovered. We are learning to respond to abused people in a way that heals while trying to deal redemptively with perpetrators. 

Let’s not stop there. Let’s ask, “How can we live and think in a way that abuse does not happen among us?” 

This article seeks to get to the heart of abuse by considering the motivations that underlie it. 

First, let’s define abuse as the misuse of power and desire. 

Consider the story of Absalom, King David’s insurgent son. We don’t typically think of Absalom as abusive, yet we can see that he misused his power to get what he wanted. 

Absalom had power in his good looks and the fact that he was well-liked. “No man in all Israel was as handsome and highly praised as Absalom” (2 Samuel, 14:25, Christian Standard Bible). Absalom also had a desire: He wanted to be king, and he used his power to work toward that end. “He stole the hearts of the people of Israel” (2 Samuel 15:6, CSB). 

Even though Absalom was not at the top of the power structure, he was able to abuse someone with greater authority — his father, the king. 

The indignation we reserve for a person in authority who abuses someone vulnerable is legitimate and backed by Scripture. 

However, the story of Absalom helps us recognize that, at its root, the misuse of power to get what we want is always the same, no matter who holds a position of authority. Each of us holds some form of power. Each of us has the potential to misuse it. 

Let’s consider some things that empower us. The following list is a start. I’ve clarified a few items with additional comments. 

Physical strength.

A position of authority.

Good looks.

Charisma.

Passion. A passionate personality garners a following. 

Anger. A person who tends to get angry can use this tendency to control a conversation. Others will soften their words or back off when they know they’re liable to get shut down. 

Moodiness. Like anger, moodiness can be used to control conversations. Others will tiptoe around the triggers. 

Pity. Even a sweet and submissive person — maybe especially such a person — can use other people’s pity as a manipulative tool and a subtle means to gain control. 

Tone of voice.

Intellect.

Knowledge of Scripture. Many have acted in ungodly ways in the name of the Scripture they know to such depth there is no arguing with them. 

Secrecy. Behind this power, much abuse and sin has been hidden. 

Spirituality. People can use their spirituality as a means to defy authority or to get what they want. 

Friends.

Trust.

Money.

Freedom.

Power varies in different contexts and relationships. I might have power over one person — more money, say — that I do not have over another. 

We must use our power to bless rather than control. God made all things good. Part of what makes abuse damaging is that what God designed for good is used for evil.

So, what is the right way to use power? Galatians. 5:13 (CSB) gives direction: “For you were called to be free, brothers and sisters; only don’t use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but serve one another through love.”

Freedom is power. We are told to use our freedom to serve. We see this simple pattern repeated often in Scripture: turn away from evil and do good. 

Each of us has a duty to look into our own heart and deal with the roots of abuse that lie there. 

Identify your power. Assess how you use it. Are you using it to control others, to gain undeserved advantage or to obtain what is not rightfully yours? Or are you using it to serve others?  

***

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Unsplash

The post The Roots of Abuse appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

In this closing post of my parenting series, I want to reiterate again that these opinions and perspectives spring from my specific experiences and goals. They are not intended as the be all end all in parenting, nor to imply that Mennonite parenting is better than other parenting. As parents, we all do the best we can with the knowledge and circumstances given us. My dad used to say that his most important child-raising tool was dependence on God, and I think at the end of the day, that’s the best place for a clueless, can-you-believe-I-have-this-thing-and-how-on-earth-am-I-going-to-parent-her parent to be.

Recently Annalise’s pediatrician said something interesting about boundaries. We were talking about the increased number of autism cases, and he said he believes in many cases children diagnosed as “autistic” are actually just children who haven’t learned boundaries. Don’t get me wrong–he confirmed he sees many cases of legitimate autism as well. But a school gets more government aid for an autistic child than for a child acting out, he said. And from his observation, rather than being autistic, some children haven’t been given boundaries at home and so haven’t developed the ability to control themselves in social situations.

I have been accustomed to thinking about “discipline” in conjunction with raising a child, not so much about boundaries, although the two words could in some ways coincide.

In conservative Mennonites culture, discipline for children is considered important. A well-disciplined child should obey a parent or authority figure right away when given a command, know how to sit quiet in church, and not throw a fit when something doesn’t go her way. Like my peers, I consider disciplining my child an important part of her development, so she won’t grow up “spoiled” or self-willed. And I have discovered in myself (I suspect also like many of my peers) the not-so-good tendency to worry more about how Annalise’s behavior will make me look than to worry about effects of the behavior on the child herself. I have considered over and over again the proper use of discipline, how much is too much, how much is too little. But before my conversation with the doctor, I never thought of discipline in conjunction with boundaries.

For me, discipline has gathered a semi-negative connotation. Discipline means punishing a child who does something wrong or inappropriate, in the interest of teaching them habits of morality and self-control. Boundaries, though. Thinking of child training not just as discipline, but as teaching a child boundaries, makes so much sense. Boundaries may at times be taught through punishment, but they are more often taught through modeling respect and small consistent behaviors every day.

For example, when Annalise and I pick up her toys at bedtime (and lest you think she’s a paragon, at this point I’m still doing most of the work), this is teaching a boundary. Toys belong in the toybox. When she throws food from her highchair and we tell her “No,” and show her where to put the discarded food in the pocket of her bib, this is teaching a boundary through positive reinforcement (so much more effective, we’ve discovered, than just saying “No” and snapping her fingers). These things are baby-sized boundaries, but as she gets older, she will need to learn other boundaries: not using unkind words toward another human being, not taking what does not belong to her, not intruding into someone’s personal space.

One way that Ivan and I are trying to help Annalise understand boundaries is by allowing her the power of choice rather than snatching “no-no’s” away from her. We only use one child lock on one kitchen cupboard that stores cleaning supplies. For the rest of the child level cupboards, I keep an eye on things and tell her “No” if she gets into something she shouldn’t. I expect her to listen and punish her if she doesn’t (and yes, obedience is also a work in progress).

Along with that, I try to create boundaries only for things that really matter. For example, I let her pull books off the shelf because I can easily help her pick them up again later. But I don’t let her empty the cupboard of my kettles or my good glass dishes, both because she might hurt herself and because it makes a lot of clean-up work for mom later. I want her to understand boundaries, but I also want her to feel like this is her world and her house, with plenty of room to explore.

Another word for boundaries might be respect. Respect for other people. Respect for creation. Respect for oneself.

I remember attending a college creative writing class when I was in my early twenties and realizing the value of the boundaries that were a part of my life and my culture. Some of the boundaries, like wearing cape dresses or wearing dark hose to church, may have seemed nonessential or even silly. But my dad had taught me those boundaries were important in order to respect the feelings and preferences of other people in my church group. The reasons for other boundaries, like not reading books or watching movies high in graphic violence or sex, seemed fairly self-evident for a Christian. Whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely, the apostle Paul writes, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think about these things.

In my creative writing class–out in a world where, to my sheltered eyes, there seemed few boundaries about what people could say, do, or write about–I saw so much sadness and loss of innocence it shocked me. I realized for the first time how my boundaries had protected me, how they had preserved within me a space for joy, innocence, and wonder.

We may know we should set boundaries for children, but along with that, I think we should also consider setting boundaries for ourselves. Yes, maybe we are old enough to know there’s terrible violence in the world, but that doesn’t mean we should take the liberty of watching graphic violence on television or in movies. There may be a time and place to watch such things, but not as an everyday diet. Our spirits, like our children’s, can be hardened, deadened, or made afraid. I believe we will be healthier and happier as persons and as parents if we set boundaries on what we allow into our own lives as well as our children’s.

Your turn! What are your tips, insights and experiences regarding boundaries?

This is the end of my series on how my Plain Mennonite background impacts my parenting. Flip back through the series to read posts on children as normal, self-reliance, and family togetherness.

P.S. I want to do a special 3-day Christmas sale on all my books, so check back tomorrow if you’re interested in hearing about that.

The post My Plain Mennonite Heritage and Boundaries appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

I couldn’t say this better than one mommy from my church mommy group: “I think it’s a rich blessing to be a part of a social group where children are both treasured and a normal, expected part of events.” She gave the example of taking her children along to sewing circle and having the older ladies welcome them and accept the extra noise and encourage her as a mother. “I think it’s evidence that we Anabaptists see it as a cycle of life; there will always be children around, you have your turn receiving support, then after a while you turn around and support others.”

I have also begun to notice how integral children are to Anabaptist culture and institutions since having a child of my own. This summer, when I attended the Writers and Artists Conference put on by Christian Light Publications, a conservative Mennonite organization, I saw quite a few couples there together with their children. Perhaps the wife had come to support the husband or the husband to support the wife. I asked about a room where I could care for Annalise and was pointed to a room off the reception area with several chairs and doors that stayed closed for privacy. Nothing fancy, but it worked. I met other writer moms who had come with their babies, and we chatted while we breastfed. Our babies added complications to our conference experience, but they were normal, and we were normal.

This summer I also attended the Advanced Writers and Speakers Association conference, which I blogged about in an earlier post. When I asked ahead of time about bringing Annalise along, sweet Linda, the conference organizer, did not discourage me. Annalise was still breastfed at that point, so I didn’t want to leave her behind, but I knew from past experience at other writers’ conferences that babies were just not done, and I might find it hard to find a private space for napping and breastfeeding. In the end, Ivan came along and hung out in Louisville with Annalise while I attended the conference. This conference was different than other non-Anabaptist writing conferences I have attended because it was intended for women writers only. However, in many other aspects it was the same. Held in a downtown, high-end motel where meals and beds felt cost prohibitive. Breakable dinnerware, gourmet meals, dressy casual attire except for the banquets, when sparkle and sleek dresses appeared. Spouses rare and children nonexistent.

I felt myself unfairly annoyed at the differing culture. WHY shouldn’t children be normal at a conference? WHY must everything be so fancy and expensive? WHY couldn’t it be made easier for a “common” (as my dad would say) person like myself to attend? WHY should there be what seemed to me an unnecessary number of layers between a profession and a family?

In the Anabaptist world, provision is almost always made for children. It’s normal for babies to cry in church. It’s normal for mothers to gather in the nursery around breastfeeding babies. It’s normal for young children to play and make noise at sewing circle while old grandmas quilt, middle-aged moms prepare food, and teenage girls knot comforters. Mixing gifts and expertise among the different seasons of life is normal and valued.

Interestingly, I have learned since Ivan got into the storage shed building business, that a huge percentage of storage shed builders, haulers, and suppliers are conservative Anabaptist. When Ivan and I go to the Shed Expo convention, I would guestimate the proportion of Ans to Nons as maybe half and half. And wherever Anabaptists go, there go children. Couples stroll the display booths together with children in strollers or walking beside them. A “family room” is provided where moms can nurse and nap their babies, and little ones can play.

This makes sense to me. I don’t understand a world where everything is separated, where old grandmas meet at bridge clubs (or whatever it is old grandmas do nowadays), mommies plan play dates, teens rock to music in locked bedrooms, and children grow up grouped with other children exactly their age.

I remember at the CLP writer’s conference, when Annalise was stirring up a fuss during a workshop, the bonneted ladies on either side of me pulled pencils and things from their purses and engaged in the business of helping to entertain. I loved the relaxed, comfortable way they went about it, as though they loved children, as though they knew exactly how the embarrassed and uneasy mother must feel, as though providing childcare for a restless baby is a perfectly normal part of sitting through a workshop.

Don’t get me wrong. I think non-bonneted ladies might well have done the same thing. Non-Anabaptists love children as much as anyone. But it does feel relaxing to raise a child in a setting where children are considered a normal, everyday part of institutions and culture.

Another benefit I see to the normalcy of children in Plain Anabaptist culture is that while children are valued and loved, children are not the only one. Many children grow up in big families, and even an only child is usually surrounded by cousins within their extended families and various ages of playmates at church. I think this is healthy, because all attention is not fixed on any one child. Any child can see, “Now that toddler is getting all sorts of giggles and attention, and now that one is. It’s not because they’re extra special; it’s because all children are special.” So a child can grow up in an atmosphere of being valued without being a prima donna.

I hope and pray the Lord will give Ivan and I more children, both because I love children and because I think it’s healthy for a child to have siblings. If he does not, I will still try to give Annalise opportunities to interact with other children of varying ages and to feel surrounded by community. And I guess that’s my parenting tip for today. Whatever our background or setting, we can deliberately befriend, mix with, and learn from a variety of age groups. Both we and our children will be richer for it.

Your turn! How normal are children in your setting? How easily have you been able to integrate them into a shared community? And what tips and insights do you have for the rest of us?

This post joins a series that started here.

Check back tomorrow to hear my thoughts on boundaries.

The post My Plain Mennonite Heritage and Children as Normal appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

While togetherness is the thing that first comes to mind when I think of what I want to give my child, I think for Ivan it may be independence. At least I know he’s commented more than once that he wants Annalise to learn to think and do for herself.

When Ivan and I talk about teaching Annalise independence, we don’t mean handing her a mentality that says, “Me first. I need to be myself and do what I like, so make room for me.” We are talking about a sturdy mentality that is able to meet the issues of life with clear-thinking and self-reliance. We are talking about her being willing to try new things and to work hard for the things she wants to achieve. We are talking about her thinking for herself rather than just accepting the status quo.

Maybe it’s odd to talk about self-reliance as a conservative Mennonite value, since we are known for valuing unity and community. And it may be that an ability to think outside the box is an Ivan-and-Luci value more than a Plain-person value. But I think there is a sense where self-reliance is embedded into Plain culture. Plain people value their ability to care for themselves in community, whether that’s growing their own gardens or caring for their elderly. They tend to be suspicious of government meddling and the more traditional or conservative of the Plain people refuse to accept government aid.

I remember saying to one mom at Mountain View Mennonite Church, where Ivan and Annalise and I attend, that it scared me when Annalise tried to open and close a drawer because she could so easily pinch her fingers. And that mom said she knew how I felt, but she tried to save her worry for the things where the child could be seriously hurt and allow the child to find out on their own that a drawer could pinch their fingers.

This is HARD for a mama to do! But I do think it’s good advice. While I have never deliberately allowed Annalise to hurt herself and have prevented it when able, I HAVE deliberately allowed her to play in situations that were not without their hazards. By opening and closing drawers, she has discovered on her own that fingers can get pinched and knows how to hold her fingers at the right angle to prevent that. She has had many minor falls—off low chairs and couches, off the golf cart and–when she races ahead of me toward the house at top speed–onto our blacktop driveway. I have deliberately refrained from guarding her every move unless she is in a situation where she could seriously be hurt, like near fire or our long cement staircase. Annalise has had many bumps and tears, but she is also learning to take care of herself, and I think that is valuable for both of us. For her, it leads to a lifetime of self-reliance, for me an easier job as a mother because while she is learning to care for herself, I am learning to trust that she will.

Another way I attempt to build both her self-reliance and her sense of freedom is by keeping my “No’s” to a minimum and encouraging her to explore. I let her empty drawers to play, if it’s something that won’t be damaged, that won’t damage her, and that we can easily pick up afterward without needing to rewash. If I am ready to come inside and she wants to stay out, I let her play alone in a place where I can easily see her from the window. I don’t say anything when she is outside with her daddy and he lets her play with things I am skeptical of, and I smile when I see her trotting along behind him at a speedy pace while her mama might linger, encourage her onward, and hold her hand.

To foster her intellect, I read to her. Now, the sentences will linger in her brain and teach her rhythm and the flow of words. Later, they will teach her to think. As she grows older, I think that we will watch movies only occasionally. But we will read lots and lots of books.

YOUR TURN! How much do you value self-reliance? What are your tips and insights to foster it in a healthy way?

This post is part of a series, and you can read the introductory post here.

Check back tomorrow to hear my thoughts about children as normal in Plain Anabaptist culture.

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