This blog post comes from Carol’s online community of parents who have (and often homeschool) highly distractible, even ADHD, kids. It’s a place where their energy and unique qualities are celebrated. With almost 5,000 moms in this group, you’ll find here a group of people who “get” your child, and understand why you find them delightful. Get teaching tips, encouragement, and laughter by visiting the Sizzle Bop Blog.

Here’s a conversation you should have with your Sizzler.
Not so much, if they’re the dreamy, mind-just-sort-of-wanders type of child.
But rather, with the child who talks a mile a minute about each and every thing that pops into their heads (which is constantly full of such pops) and is absolutely compelled to share it all with you (or whomever is within three feet of them) in a non-stop, rambling, even tenacious fashion, complete with sound effects, hand motions and above all…en-THU-siasm.

That is the child to whom the following thoughts are dedicated.

Let me explain.

It is rare that I meet someone who talks faster than me. I have always been a very fast paced speaker, whether in front of a microphone or just sitting down over tea. Not only do I speak quickly, I sometimes seem to be almost grabbed by a subject or idea and then thrown onto a train of thought that I simply must share with you, in its entirety, with every exciting detail before the train pulls into the next station. Feel the urgency. So…when I actually DO meet someone who thinks and talks faster than me, I’m amazed at my reaction.
You would think I would be delighted, connected, or at least supportive.
Instead…
It makes me tired.
I want to listen. Really I do.
They’re so earnest and smiling and full of interesting information.
But nonetheless, there it is. It makes me tired.

I have to try to process ever so slightly faster than my processor wants to accommodate.
And soon, I’m squinting with added intensity of focus.
I’m nodding my agreement just a bit too slowly, like one of those movies where the sound track lags just slightly out of sync with the video.
While I’m still nodding, they’ve left behind the thing I’m currently nodding to, segued into another topic I’m trying to follow, and have leaped heartily into yet a third topic that, while fascinating, is nonetheless queued up FAR behind in my chain of thoughts processing machinery.

Realizing this then made me wonder…do I make people tired?
And the conclusion I came to is YES, I can and I often do.
Since I tend to punctuate most of my conversation with lots of humor, I think people tolerate the break neck speed with which I deliver information because they know, if they just hang in there with me, I’ll eventually stop long enough to let them laugh at something.

But the truth is, my fast non-stop speech can overwhelm people a bit, or at least cause them to need a few moments of silence once I’ve passed by.
I have had to learn to work with this truth.

I haven’t had much luck actually slowing down.
But I have learned to separate my ramblings with questions of my listener that allows them a chance to speak.
I have learned to allow them to complete their thought (even when I’m absolutely certain that I know what they’re going to say and I could simply finish the thought for them and we could all move on to the next one. Whoosh!)
I have even learned that I don’t have to share every single thought that comes into my head. I can actually let one of two of the ride by.

It’s not their fault.
They think fast.
And because the thoughts are usually interesting, they naturally want to share them.
They’re just sure you’ll find them to be as interesting as they do, which indeed is often the case.
They need to know that this is actually a good thing about them.
There is nothing wrong with having lots of interesting thoughts and wanting to share them.
In fact, that fast pace of thought which makes sudden leaps into seemingly unrelated areas is actually a treasure trove of innovation and out-of-the-box thinking. This quality may serve them very well over the years.

But they also need to know that many people may be overwhelmed by this fast pace of thought-outpouring.
And when people are overwhelmed, they get cranky.

So sweet little Bobby is rattling away non-stop behind Grandpa, not pausing to take a breath.
Grandpa is trying to be patient but is also trying to get some things done around the house and needs a bit of his own thinking margin.
But Bobby doesn’t notice, and continues to jabber incessantly, sometimes even punctuating his commentary with, “Ya know, Grandpa?” “Isn’t that cool Grandpa?” “Would you ever do that Grandpa?” (Think of the movie The Birds.  Peck.  Peck. Peck-Peck-Peck.)

Eventually (and completely unexpectedly for Bobby) Grandpa sort of snaps.
He says something curt and dismissive– completely shutting little Bobby down.

So in your conversation with your Sizzler Bobby, he needs to be told that his gift of fast-paced thought must be guided and delivered carefully.
And he needs to be compassionate toward the people that he may be overwhelming. It’s not their fault either.
We’re all just wired differently.
There are things he can do to still share his thoughts, but deliver them in a way that allows people time to process.

And don’t let little Bobby think this is about being bright while the rest of the world is not.
Make sure that he knows this is not what is at work here, although I will confess, it took me a few years to figure this out myself.

I have a child who is extremely bright, maybe even gifted. But I missed this for years because she processes thought very slowly.
She is methodical, careful, contemplative and meticulous.
But once she has processed a thought, it is solid.
She knows why she knows what she knows.
She is a child who can only handle just so much input at once.
She has recently learned of and adopted a metaphor that describes her well.
“I am like a cordless drill, who can give you about a 10 minute burst of focused productivity, and then I need about a 24 hour recharge.”Sizzlers and non-sizzlers can co-exist without driving each other crazy.
But it will take an awareness on the part of the Sizzler as to the impact of their speaking habits.
Then…

It will take a little work, a little understanding, and a LOT of practice.

One more thing to try.

This blog post comes from Carol’s Church Humor Blog. When you’ve spent so much of your life sitting in fold-down revival meeting seats, taught about Jonah in 102 degree Vacation Bible School programs and consumed 4300 cans of cream of mushroom soup via church potluck casseroles, you develop maybe one or two humorous thoughts about life in church. This little piece of my writing repertoire is simply gentle and meandering musings about we church folk (as opposed to wee church folk, of which Carol also qualifies <see “Weird things about Carol” on her “About” page>.) There’s rarely any theology involved (unless you count that bit about the 95 Theses). It’s really just for kicks and giggles. Enjoy.

It’s happening again. Another local church is talking about ditching the traditional pews in favor of something more plush and comfortable. I really feel uneasy about this. I’m pretty sure I read somewhere in Leviticus a warning about the ungodliness of a relaxed posterior and the slippery slope of comfortable worship. In fact, I’ve always believed that when Noah descended from the Ark, right after he kissed the ground and gave thanks, God handed him another set of plans for turning those spent boat planks into splintery, uncomfortable seats of holiness to be placed in all the sweltering hot outdoor summer revival meetings I attended as a child. The backs of my legs still bear the imprint of the wooden slats. Through the first eleven years of my life, I thought this is what was meant when the Bible says that God will put His mark on you.

Amazingly, the idea of sitting in church didn’t even emerge until the Reformation. It’s true! Up till that time, those poor German peasants worked hard all week long and then went to church on the day of rest to do what? STAND and listen to a sermon in a language they didn’t even speak. You may not have known this, but when Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the door of the church in Wittenburg, thesis number 58 was, “It’s time to let us sit down in church for crying out loud!”

It seems odd that the stand-at-church practice ever came into being in the first place. After all, the earliest churches were in people’s homes. No cathedrals, no stained glass, no gymnasiums for the athletic outreach program. (Actually…they considered an athletic program, but during the gladiator period, this required equipment that was beyond the budget abilities <and strength of stomach> of most home churches.) Nope, there were virtually no buildings of any sort. Admittedly, it’s kind of hard to build big impressive structures when you’re on the run from Saul and his little band of stone throwers. That’s why archaeological sites only find foundations. They never got the chance to build the wall.

The separate seating of men and women was also a common practice for centuries, both in the Old and New Testament days. It’s even practiced in some places today. Folks upholding this practice will tell you that there are many unexpected benefits to this arrangement. No single or widowed member would ever again feel isolated. Teens would gather round and greet the elderly matron, perhaps even sitting with her during the service. A recently widowed gentleman would not be suddenly sitting alone, but rather would be surrounded by the fellowship of his band of brothers. And of course, the distractibility of courting couples would be minimized by the geographic separation. But by far, my favorite of the reasons offered by these separate supporters was that when speaking of sins more at home in one sex over the other, the pastor no longer had to cast his glance about the room like a tennis match judge, finding the faces for whom the message applied. They were all pooled together in one neat little package. Really. That’s what they said. I’m not sure about this, but it does explain why my Pastor wears a neck brace the day after a sermon on pride.

In some churches you’ll see kneelers. These little flip down steps of wonder were put in place for the ease of congregants whose church liturgies involved more and more kneeling. No such devices can be found in the earliest church structures. That’s because the preferred submission position was prostrate (face down, flat on the ground) and the early church architects felt a flip down panel accommodating this practice would require too much space between the pews. Besides, early attempts of this device revealed a flaw that sometimes catapulted would-be-supplicants up and over the altar.

Kneeling became the preferred method of humility. However, for quite some time, congregations needed no such kneelers. They were of hardier stock and found the cold solid stone against their knees refreshing. But then the Church Potluck was introduced and folks began having problems with the getting back up part. Enter: the kneelers. Followed by kneelers not quite so close to the ground. Then, the padded kneelers. Then ,the intricately needlepointed padded kneelers. I think heated gel pads and a lift ticket are the next obvious mutation.

Now seating is growing more and more like expensive theatrical events. Stain resistant. Deeply cushioned. Padded armrests. Sometimes even with cup holders. I fully expect this trend toward more technology will eventually include an electronic circuitry panel embedded into the backs of the seats in front of us allowing us to provide constant assessment and feedback of the pastor’s efforts.

My current level of interest….hmmm…my mind did wander just a bit there. I’ll give him a 4. Clearly he’s trying. But that passage about Cain and Able could have used a bit more action and drama. A video clip would have been nice. Well, maybe just a 3 then.

I’m thinking we’ve got this backwards. The technology should be on the side of the preacher. If we begin to whisper and be distracted or start nodding off, he would have several buttons of wonder at his disposal. First offense, the chair simply vibrates. Sort of a you’ve-been-warned sensation. The second option would be a sort of elevator that lifts you up over the crowd a good three feet, so that others will know of your transgressions. For the really offensive congregants or those who’ve completely gone to sleep, I’m thinking a mild tazer is in order. You know what they say. If you laid all the sleepers in church end-to-end along the pews…they’d be a lot more comfortable.

I fear for this dangerous direction. This inevitable progression of technology and comfort should probably be nipped in the bud right now. All these concerns have motivated me to form a protest group to bring back the spartan environment of the early church. We’re still working on a name for our organization, but we’ve got our slogan all figured out. “Superior holiness can be yours through better seating.” God’s judgement of our devotion might just be on the line. After all, the mark of God most definitely is not the imprint of a lovely-hued stain-repellent polyester weave.

This blog comes from Carol’s blog for Parents of Prodigals, in conjunction with the Heritage Builders folks. Here you’ll find topics and thoughts about what to do now, now that your adult child has left the faith. If you find yourself frozen with fear or shame, or you hear yourself saying the same things to them over and over again, this is a place where you’ll get some new ideas. Carol draws insights and thoughts from her own years as an atheist prodigal from a pastor’s home. As long as there’s breath, there’s hope. Come find a place of encouragement.

You run into an old friend at church you haven’t seen in quite some time. You do a bit of catch-up, the chit chat goes on for awhile, and then, here it comes—the question you’ve been dreading—“So, how’s that daughter [or son] of yours doing?”

Paste on that smile. Take in a quick breath, but inside, die . . . just a bit.

Of course, you know precisely which child she’s talking about—the one who surprised you all by turning her back on God, then the family, then doing a 180 from all that you value, finally stepping solidly into the world and away from faith. Yeah. That kid.

You are now at a crossroads in this conversation. How will you respond?

Well, you could choose Path A—tell the truth.

My kid is in deep spiritual trouble. Her father and I are heartbroken. It’s been incredibly painful to watch her make so many poor choices. It’s even possible that we will not see the face of our child in heaven. And what’s more, we’re worried it might be our fault. Thanks for asking.

Or, you could try Path B and do that little church-speak dance.

Well, she’s finding herself, trying to determine what it is God wants of her at this point in her life. We’re still hoping she’ll become a surgeon on the mission field, but that may be more our wishes than God’s. [Insert quick laugh.] We’ll just have to wait and see. [Quick redirect.] So how’s your little Bobby doing? Is he still sending all his money to that orphanage in the Sudan? [Raise eyebrows, indicating eager anticipation.]

I completely understand if the truth model makes your palms sweat. Frankly, hesitation is justified. There’s a good chance that if you open your heart and share your pain transparently with this sister in Christ, you may get whacked for it. By that I mean, she may be very quick to let you know that you must have screwed up somehow, or your child would have been faithful to the God of her youth.

You wouldn’t be the first parent bludgeoned with the famous but misused “Train up a child . . .” passage from Proverbs. I know that many people still buy into the oft-believed but yet unscriptural interpretation that your child can’t go wrong if you’ve parented right. And they’re often filled with angst at their sad duty of being the one to share it with you.

I think these people typically mean well. But I’m also just as convinced that they are very wrong. (For a longer explanation of just why I believe this is a misreading of God’s Word, take a look at my May 9th blog piece Did God Really Promise That?)

But for now, let me suggest to you that there is an alternative response you can give—a Plan C. Like Plan A, it involves speaking the truth. But for starters, it accepts the likely outcome that your listener will unfairly judge you. Expect it. Own it. Don’t even hold it against her, because your listener doesn’t know any better.

But your sharing, in the end, wasn’t really for her. Believe it or not, it also wasn’t really for you. Instead, it was shared on the possibility that this person might . . . just maybe . . . could perhaps . . . be one of the many people who have someone in their own life they are losing. And if they are, they know exactly what you’re going through because they are going through it as well.

This person needs to hear truth from you.

There are so many people in the pews every Sunday who have struggles going on at home who will never breathe a word of it at church—especially if that struggle involves a child questioning the faith. They not only know that many people will judge them as bad parents, they fear that judgment might just be correct. It’s all too much. So they will remain silent.

But by you sharing the truth, and also proclaiming the fact that children have the ability to choose poorly often in spite of clearly loving parents, you put a small light at the end of a very big tunnel. You let them know that they’re not alone. You let them know that they can survive.

You even let them know that they can have joy in spite of such pain. Support groups for parents of prodigals are popping up all over.

Maybe it’s time for one in your church?

What about you?

Have you ever been on the receiving end of someone feeling the need to share your parental failings? Are you at a point where you’ve been able to speak the truth about your prodigal’s choices without feeling personally responsible for them?