The Tomato Plant Lesson

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

-Galatians 5:22



"Do you know how long it takes to grow a tomato plant?" Mike asked with a little chuckle and a large does of patience.
The afternoon sun danced over the fenceline, casting a warm light over Mike's freshly planted garden. A gentle breeze carried the scent of dewy grass and sweet cottonwoods. Above the springtime song of Robbins and Swallows could be heard the exuberant shriek of our 13 month old son as he toddled barefoot through the grass. I smiled as I watched Landon stagger and stumble, sheer joy bursting forth from his every move.
"No," I answered Mike, "I really hadn't thought of it before."
I replayed the scenario in my head that had unfolded five minutes earlier, wishing I had caught it on video.
I could see it so clearly. Mike standing at the fenceline, holding the big plastic watering can over his beautiful potted vegetables, green stalks reaching toward the sunlight. And there was Landon, buzzing back and forth behind Mike's heals, drinking in his daddy's every move. With one clumsy step forward, Landon extended his chubby fingers to pluck the flimsy plant tag out of the dirt (his favorite pastime while in the wilds of the backyard) and....it....happened. Our darling son pirouted to the right....stepped on his own toes....then....PLOP...SNAP...whooops:) In one swift movement, Landon broke his fall directly on the tomato plant. As he regained his footing and zipped off to investigate the next garden delicacy, we got a glimpse of the aftermath. The vibrant green stalk had been severed and completely snapped in half; hanging by a thread like a loose tooth.
"How can you be mad at him, " Mike half-chuckled, half-groaned, "Look how happy he is, he's just totally oblvious."
Steeling a glance at eachother, then at Landon (now hovering like King Kong above the pepper plants) we both broke into a laugh.
Of course we couldn't be mad at him.
He's 13 months old.
He's growing, investigating, interacting, exploring, and making mistakes....PLENTY of mistakes.
But isn't that how we learn?
The whole situation got us thinking.
Is there ever an age that we are justified in being 'mad' at Landon for a mistake (like the tomato plant incident) or any mistake for that matter?
I hadn't taken the time to truly reflect on that before. That one question spurred a cluster of others to sprout into my head.
Wasn't that the perscribed role of a parent? At least a responsible parent? We need to punish our children so that they learn from those mistakes....right? Especially if the crimes are messy, inconvenient, or God forbid....done in defiance.  Then, our anger is justified.

This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.
I don't want to do this, but you've left me no choice.
That's it, this is the LAST warning!
You've really done it this time.

I cringed.
Deep down in my heart, I knew this didn't feel right....would never feel right.
This punitive 'justified' anger, cleverly disguised as a parental 'duty', was really an ugly lack of self-control; of impatience masquerading as rightousness.
I say this from a point of humility, because I am far from innocent.
I look back at my days in the classroom and I am swept up into a sheepish flury of scenes flashing before my eyes, hasty words echoing in my head. It seemed there were times when those select few tough, hurting students of mine would do anything to push my bottons, misbehave so outrageously that my daily plans were completely thrown out the window.
And boy was I frustrated! Regretfully, I probably let it show. I undoubtedly dealt with some situations in ways I wish I could have done differently.
But, you see, that's the beauty of mistakes.
We can learn from them.
I want to do things differently with Landon.
I WILL do things differently with Landon.
I can start today by not accepting the myth that children need to be 'put in their place'.
I can start today by not valuing blind obedience over relationship with my child.
I can start today by being a loving, patient authority figure who sets limits with empathy.
Above all, I can start today by dealing with my anger before I lose control and by respecting the power that my words and actions have over my child.

“I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element (in my classroom or in my home). It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. I possess a tremendous power to make life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal.”

Anger does not belong in parenting. I look into the backyard and smile at that crooked tomato plant, thankful for the lesson it has imprinted on my heart. In it's tattered clay pot, the once ravaged stalk is now sprouting new growth and ready to bear fruit (or vegetable for that matter) despite it's ordeal. Just as our children are constantly learning and growing, so are we as parents. Like the tomato plant, there will be times in our parenting when we are broken and barely hanging on by a thread; our patience tried and our mistakes plentiful. But, like the tomato plant we have a tremendous capability for resilience; an unending invitation to mend our own brokeness (or lean on our faith to do so). It is then that we can step up to a higher standard; a standard not defined by perfection or guilt but cloaked in grace and abounding with love.