Patterns

 

Listen, my son (or daughter) to your father's instruction

and do not forsake your mother's teaching.

They are a garland to grace your head

and a chain to adorn your neck.

Proverbs 1:8-9

A saw horse is a handy thing up here, given how much of our own firewood we glean from naturally fallen trees on the property.  Not to mention dock building, and other repairs, and upgrades that require some carpentry.

We've had one or two up here since before I can remember.  Ken says his Dad built them back in the day.  One has fallen apart long ago, and the other was not looking so good either.  So, using left over new lumber from building the bunkie, Ken followed the same basic pattern as his Dad's sawhorse and built a new one.  Not exactly the same, but pretty close, just with new material.

Makes sense to use the same basic pattern.  The old one was sturdy and served the family well for probably close to 80 years now.  The structure and design were obviously solid.  We'll engrave 2026 on this one and see how long it lasts.  Or at least, our grandchildren will.

It strikes me that this is basically what parenting is.  Providing enduring instruction and structure that can be replicated; patterns for living that the next generation can build on.

I will say here what can't be a surprise because it's just everyone's truth; our parents weren't perfect.  And while the sawhorse lasted and is worthy of repeating, not everything, on both sides of our family, was.  But there were enough good things passed along to make me take another look at Proverbs 1:8-9 and be grateful for what's been handed down to me...and also, to be soberly reminded.

The intent of the entire book of Proverbs is a common ancient near eastern genre of writing where a parent, most usually a father, collects his life's lessons in a volume to pass along to his children, usually the first born son.  (In that, it is good to note that the author's mention of references to the child's mother was quiet 'inclusive' for its day.)  So the intended audience, then, is the next generation.  

But the implied corollary to this, and here's where I am soberly reminded, is that the father and mother must have something of worth to pass along.  A sawhorse pattern, if you will, that's going to be solid and long lasting.

Believe me, yes, I know, there's enough parental guilt flying about the cosmos at any given time to crush us all.  I do not intend to add any more.  And there's so many ideas and opinions and models of and about raising children to flabbergast the best intentioned among us.  I will not attempt to push for my own.  

What comes to me these days, instead, as I approach 70, and as I realize more and more that my opportunity to build any kind of legacy to leave anyone grows short, is how essential it is to first be teachable myself if I assume to teach; to be grounded in a secure sense of myself, if I'm going to try to come alongside another in the process of their own identity formation.  

I wonder, then, if the best gift I can offer my children and grandchildren, and anyone else I may have any instructive role whatsoever, is ongoing and life-giving practices of spiritual formation that will aid me as I seek to cooperate with the work of God's Spirit within me.  The inner work that will ground me.

What patterns do I want to leave behind?

At my age, these would be patterns already evident in my own becoming.

I had better make sure they are worth handing down.

Of course, just like Ken used new wood to build the new sawhorse, and also adjusted the structure slightly, my kids and grandkids will find their own building materials, and remake things that best help to forge their own lives.  Just like Ken's new sawhorse, while bearing some resemblance, looks very different than his Father's, so the next generation will construct new ways of thinking and loving and living out what God directs them to do and be.  I celebrate that.

But there's a pattern.

Something to build on.

Something worthy of replication.

At least, I hope so.