Family Culture {3}: Curating

We’re on day three of a series examining how parents can overcome the pull of society’s default and be intentional in the cultivation of their own Family CulturePsychology Today defines Family Culture as “the unique way that a family forms itself in terms of rules, roles, habits, activities, beliefs, and other areas.” Earlier, we looked at how identifying your family’s core values starts you on the path of reclaiming control of the message you send to your children.
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Family Culture {2}: Values

I think it’s pretty safe to say that my family (ahem) stands out. We have a lot of kids. We homeschool. We don’t watch television. We live in a barn, for Pete’s sake.

On Friday, I shared that, in the beginning, we were on the unexamined, default path of family living. True, anyone who knows my husband and I know that we have never had an issue bucking the status quo. But defining our Family Culture helped us not just lead reactionary “we want to do it differently” lives in regards to what’s perceived as normal, but gave us a framework and some bigger goals to strive towards as we walked through the years.

If you’re dissatisfied with the rhythm of your days, wary as you see the character of your children developing, or just wondering how to fulfill your role in God’s great story, this series is for you.

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You’re already doing it

I was privileged to spend a few hours today with mothers of very young children. Those with four years or less under their belts, still excited and yet exhausted by the day in and day out of caring for little people who can’t meet even the simplest of needs. It was a lovely time; if you ever start to feel jaded by the long haul, sit in the company of women just now discovering the beauty and the burden of being a stay at home mom, of raising her babies, of juggling marriage and faith and stealing a shower in between the newborn’s cat naps…all with a few little people clinging to her skirts.

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To our new pediatrician

Hi. My name is Heather. I know you’re probably going to call me, “Mom,” throughout most of this first meeting, and that’s o.k. I can take it, though I admit you’ll score bonus points if you take the time to remember me as something beyond my role today. But again, if you don’t, I’m not going to hold it against you. It’s not me that I want you to invest in, anyhow.

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My daughter, Babita

I met Babita when she was 12, two years after we first placed her picture on our refrigerator.

It was the summer of 2009, and finally, yes, finally, after years of prayer, I was in Nepal, a country that God had placed in my heart before I ever knew a thing about it.

There she was, at a children’s home in Kathmandu, where she had come to stay a few years earlier. It was an awkward meeting in front of the other children, me handing her a teddy bear just like all the others that each of our children, who at that point numbered five, had tucked in their beds at home.

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It’s worth it

I see you there, Momma.

I see you sitting in your van outside the Super Walmart, with the WeeSing Bible cd playing just loud enough to keep your 6- and 4-year olds happily singing, but not so loud as to wake up the 2-year old who somehow fell asleep in the four minutes it took to drive over from the library, or the 3-month old who has been raring to go since 4:15 this morning. I see you scrolling through Facebook on your phone, looking at all the photos of your friends who have real jobs, all your cousins who are on vacation in Hawaii, your sister who just remodeled her entire family room in white, white, and white.

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