They are my boys, these two.

Both born of my womb, both bearing the features of the same daddy.

They carry the same blood, similar traits, and they mimic each other’s mannerisms.

But they are different, these two.




One says hello and promptly launches into his four-year-old life story, asking 657 questions about yours.

The other looks at the ground and might allow a breathy hi to escape his lips.

One bounces from wall to wall. The other is content to sit and look through a picture book.

One drinks milk like it’s water. The other never takes more than a couple sips of the white stuff.

One asks for eggs every morning. The other wants toast or cereal.

One loves kisses. The other loves hugs.

One needs to sleep with someone else near him. The other needs wiggle room.

One has a temper. The other is simply stubborn.

One keeps his feelings locked. The other displays them at every opportunity.

One is loud, bright, and colorful. The other is quiet, subdued, filled with gentle brilliance.

They are different, these two.




As their parents, we relish the varying degrees of personality and temperament. We watch carefully, noting each child’s likes and dislikes, loves and hates.

And we cater our parenting accordingly.

No, we don’t grade on a curve or change directions with the wind.

We expect the same basic principles to be upheld by both children, regardless of individual preferences: obedience and respect are non-negotiables.

But within that range, there are some variables.

One child may need more work when it comes to patience. The other may need to temper his words.

One may not be able to play with train tracks for a while because the designing of the track brings out his frustration. The other may need the train tracks to learn coordination skills.

One may require more time working on speaking kindly and we may have to be more guarded with his influences. The other may hear a arguably questionable tone and never think to repeat it.

The principles remain the same, but the practical outworking is amended for each child.

So we work with each one, individually, knowing their hearts.

And we pour a generous helping of love over all of it. Because love covers all areas of teaching and discipline.

For us. And for them.

~*~

I’ve been thinking a bit, over the past several weeks, about God’s parenting.

(Because I’ve needed a bit of help with my own. Doing this thing alone isn’t an easy task.)

I’m overwhelmed by his gentleness toward me.

How thankful that he upholds his principles, but caters, to me, the practical application of those principles.

He may know that I can’t handle a set of train tracks in my life right now, because they bring out my frustrations and impatience.

Or he may give me a little engine and a caboose, so I learn to maneuver correctly.

He may ask me to steer clear of certain influences because of my particular emotional, physical or spiritual state.

Or he may turn me toward a different direction.

And he always, always heaps more love over me. And he always, always shows me, beautifully, how to extend that love.

He teaches me to realize that he sometimes gives one child a few train tracks, and sometimes he may ask them to keep the bridges and freight cars tucked away in the blue, train-shaped suitcase for a while.

As his children, he give us his principles, expecting the same from each of us, and then gently caters them to each of his beloved ones.




And he covers it all with love. Enough to pour out on those around us.

Because love encompasses all.




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