The Heart of Parenting

Bringing up conscious kids is a practice in itself. How can we nuture their spirits-and renew ours at the same time?

Our daughter Sarah was eight years old when we moved from the San Francisco Bay area to rural Pennsylvania. We enrolled her in public school right away, and four-year-old Megan eagerly began prekindergarten in an interdenominational, intergenerational program. Although our whole family immediately took to the beauty of our new surroundings, it soon became evident to all four of us that we didn't exactly fit in. Our first clue came when Megan returned home from her first day at school, visibly upset. I asked her what happened. She told me that all the kids had to bow their heads before lunch and say a blessing. Granted, we had never made that a practice ourselves, but I didn't see any particular harm in it. When I pressed her for more details, she angrily said, "At the end everybody shouted, 'All men!' Mommy, what's wrong with women?" As I explained to her what they had really said-"Amen"-I couldn't help but think that, in our rejection of our own Roman Catholic backgrounds, Jim and I had inadvertently failed to teach our children the rudiments of a tradition that is as much a part of American culture as it is a religion.

Sarah's own experience soon underscored my fears. Way too creative and outspoken for the rural public school, she lasted only two months there before she entered a private, 200-year-old academy about 17 miles away. Reputed to have a much more culturally and ethnically diverse population and proud of its innovative approaches to education, this school would be right up our alley-or so we thought. After she'd been commuting back and forth for a couple weeks, however, Sarah told us about a puzzling discussion her teacher had initiated in English class. "So, what are you?" the teacher had asked. Sarah, the first one picked to answer, didn't have a clue what her teacher meant and launched into a long monologue about who she thought she was. The teacher interrupted her and said, "No, dear, are you Catholic, Lutheran, Jewish, what?" Stunned and embarrassed, Sarah simply whispered, "I'm nothing."

Jim and I certainly never intended for our children to grow up as "nothings." We just didn't want them to grow up Catholic, as we had. In fact, neither of us had been part of the Christian community for many years, and we weren't too keen on reenrolling. So our challenge became, how to raise two children to be compassionate, moral, and ethical people without returning to the very traditions we had rejected years ago.

While I unequivocably bought into the whole mid-'50s Catholic dogma in early childhood, I began questioning the Church by the time I hit junior high school. I remember getting into an argument with my catechism teacher when I was about 12. She told me I had sinned by attending church services at my friend's Lutheran church. When I protested that we all believed in the same God anyway, I was banished to the hallway, where I had to write the Act of Contrition (a Catholic prayer) 20 times.

This punishment only fueled my inquisitive fires, and I began asking many more questions. The answers I received reaffirmed my fears that organized religion too often bred intolerance and sought to divide rather than unite humanity. By the time I left the Church in my late teens, I had vowed that I would never subject my own children to such beliefs.

The problem was, by the time I became a mother I didn't know what beliefs to "subject" them to. I had thrown out my religious roots and didn't know how to replace them. Even more to the point, I didn't know how to define or talk about the spiritual connections I did feel.

TRADITION OR ECLECTICISM?

Coming of age in the '60s and '70s, my adamant antireligious beliefs were hardly radical. All our friends shared the same convictions. Many of us sought answers-and comfort-in the spiritual traditions of the East. I first dabbled in Hinduism: I learned to meditate instead of pray, traded in my rosary beads for a mala, got my own mantra courtesy of the Transcendental Meditation movement, and began to study Sanskrit. That didn't really work for me, either, although it wasn't a complete bust. The meditation instruction was invaluable. The power of the Sanskrit language still bowls me over every time I have an opportunity to hear it or chant it myself. But the rebel (or cynic, maybe) in me couldn't embrace the Hindu religion completely. It was too much like Catholicism to me: too many gods (I had had enough trouble paying obeisance to just one), too many rules, and not enough tolerance.

Next I studied Buddhism, a tradition I could spend a lifetime trying to figure out. Despite its mysteries, its mind-boggling logic, and its often complex practices, no other tradition spoke to me as Buddhism did. It still informs who I am as a person, a mother, and a friend. But Buddhism-at least up until a few years ago-had no place in its tradition for children. Our children certainly weren't up for sitting silently for long periods of time, and Buddhism seemed too complex and remote to answer their simple questions about life and death. When Megan was about eight years old, she said to me, "OK, Mom, I get all the kindness and compassion stuff, but what happens when you die?" A good question, but one I couldn't answer without stumbling. Instead I simply admitted I wasn't sure myself and asked her what she thought.

Not surprisingly, just like her sister a few years before, Megan thought religion would tell her what she wanted to know. Before that time, she had never much bothered about church and god and prayers. Suddenly she was saying her prayers before bed at night-mostly prayers asking that nothing bad happen to her or her family and friends. She felt that if she just started going to church or temple like all her friends, she'd understand more about what it's like to die. It bothered her that Jim and I didn't have any answers, and she wanted to find someone who did. I offered to explore different religions with her. We could go to a Christian service and maybe even talk to the minister, I suggested, or to temple to speak with the rabbi-or we could even tap into the rather small, local Hindu community.

Since most of her schoolmates were Jewish, Megan attended services at their temple a few times, but that didn't last too long-she said it made her sleepy and she couldn't understand what they were talking about. We thought about going to other services but she lost interest soon after that. What she really wanted was the reassurance that death wasn't scary; that there was something akin to life everlasting; that there really was a god that would take care of us all-now and forever. But she didn't like the idea of that god being so large and remote, often angry, and "all men." So we shelved the church quest for the time being, agreeing to try again whenever she wanted. Instead I taught her visualizations to use at night, encouraged her to continue saying the prayers that comforted her, read her stories from different traditions, and gave her lots of hugs to assuage her fears.

I talked to many of my friends during that time who faced the same dilemma as I did-organized religion might not be for them, but what about their children? Do they baptize the kids just in case the teachings were right all along? Is it worth angering their parents or grandparents by refusing to have their sons circumcised or bar-mitzvahed? What about Sunday school? What about tradition? How does all this fit with their own spirituality? Is it presumptuous or arrogant of us to think we can teach morals and ethics without the underpinnings of a religious tradition?

A lot of our friends chose a different path than Jim and I did. Many of them returned to their church as their children came of age. Many felt their children needed to be grounded in a particular religion; others felt it was not worth alienating their own parents by shunning the tradition of their birth. We didn't feel comfortable going that route. Still, I couldn't help remembering what an old friend had told me about his own experiences. He grew up in a family that never went to church, did not consider themselves of any particular faith, and never really discussed religion. He said he felt sad looking back at his childhood, knowing that he didn't have any tradition to rebel against; he couldn't even knowingly roll his eyes and chuckle when one of his Catholic friends talked about what it was like growing up under the watchful eyes of the nuns.

Some of our friends created their own hybrid religion that seems to work well for their families-a blend of Judeo-Christian orthodoxy and New Age spirituality. Others found that they looked at their old tradition in a new light-through the eyes of their children-and gained a renewed appreciation for its teachings. Still others chose to keep many of their old beliefs but modify them somewhat. For example, they may believe that there is a god who protects and guides us, but feel more comfortable referring to that entity as the Universe, Truth, or the Spirit.

Jim and I didn't do anything like that with our kids. At first I believed that we had failed in that department-that in the absence of a particular brand of spirituality, our kids were really growing up as "nothings." But I don't believe that anymore. Rather, they're growing up in an eclectic, nontheistic household, with respect for tradition coupled with a healthy skepticism toward the world's religions.

Although we don't talk about God or even the Spirit or the Universe too often, we have instilled in our kids the important elements inherent in all traditions: kindness, compassion, mutual respect, and a belief in the interconnectedness of all things. Over the years we've also made it a point to talk about the mythology of different traditions (we didn't want our kids to be part of the 12 percent who believe Joan of Arc was Noah's wife-a Harper's Index statistic). Jim shares his love for poetry and liturgical music, and I give them visualizations to help them sleep or mantras to say when they're afraid. We talk about how our actions affect other people-and animals and insects, too-and we're forever opening our home to kids who need a safe place to be.

Our children have met a number of people over the years who have acted as "spiritual role models" for them-including Buddhist monks, green witches, devout Hindus, and Christians like my grandmother-and have learned valuable lessons from them all. We honor my family's need to celebrate Easter and Christmas; we attend Seder with close friends in town; and on more than one occasion Sarah and I have spent the day together at Thich Nhat Hanh's meditation retreats. But most importantly, both girls have grown up with room to explore, ask questions, and be who they are in a family that focuses on mutual respect, openness, and, above all, laughter.

LEARNING TO DANCE

To me, spiritual parenting is more than bringing your kids up as good "somethings"-Christians, Jews, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, Goddess devotees. It means giving them the tools they need to make their own choices and expand their own awareness. It involves being present to them in every aspect of their development. It means learning to speak their language, providing them the emotional foods they need to grow, and treating them with as much respect as you would an adult friend or family member. It means putting them first-above everything else in your life.

As developmental psychologists and family counselors Sambhava and Josette Luvmour are fond of saying, "We don't bring up children, we dance with them." And as we share in the dance we learn not to step on each other's toes, to lead sometimes and to follow other times, to pay attention to our partner's needs, and to sing along.

Learning to dance-as many of us remember from sixth-grade ballroom dance lessons-is not always easy. In fact, it takes commitment and perseverance to figure out the steps, and daily practice to improve. Parenting is like that, too, except the steps are forever changing. I find if I stop paying attention-even for a moment-I lose my footing and stumble, sometimes hurting myself, other times hurting my dance partner. My daily Buddhist meditation practice helps me pay attention, grounds my energy so I can listen to the "music" more carefully, and refreshes my sense of balance and humor. All this puts the bounce and sense of rhythm back in my step, and I'm ready to go around the dance floor again.

Although Jim and I can't offer our children a definitive religious tradition to fall back on, we can provide an environment for them that fosters love, respect, and the freedom to try on new ideas, feelings, and experiences. By offering them this gift, we open up space for them to grow emotionally and spiritually. We've seen what happens when parents limit that space and trade love for their child's good behavior-anger and resentment replace the love and open communication children need to thrive, and both sides lose.

Being a parent is not always easy. There's no manual that comes with the territory-each one of us must "learn on the job." In fact, being present to your children-and all their ups, downs, and in-betweens-can be a huge challenge. There have been (and will continue to be) many instances when I wanted to step in and fight my kids' battles for them, fix their hurts, make their decisions, and I knew I couldn't; times when I wanted to stop listening because it was too hard, and revert to "because I told you so" instead; times when I wanted to lash out at one of them because I felt betrayed or injured. There has been many a night when my meditation practice was the only thing that got me through missed curfews, misunderstandings, and tearful arguments.

One of the things that has kept our relationship thriving is our family's commitment to honesty. I've never been above admitting that I was afraid or angry, worried or sad-or just in a bad mood. That actually helped both kids understand my point of view as I struggled to understand theirs. All four of us love and trust each other a lot, and while that doesn't prevent our daughters from rebelling and pushing out on their own (which they should), they both have enough respect and genuine affection for us that they don't intentionally do things to hurt us.

A great example of this respect happened right after Sarah graduated from high school. The ink was barely dry on her diploma when she decided she had to move out on her own-immediately. She had a list of reasons why it was a good move; she had figured out how she'd finance it and where she'd live. I, on the other hand, was not too keen on the idea. After all, she'd graduated early and was younger than most of her friends, certainly the ones she'd be living with. She had never been on her own (although she had always been pretty independent), and we'd all miss her if she left. But after we all talked about it several times, Jim and I agreed we couldn't stand in her way, and she made plans to go.

Two days later I found myself feeling very sad and lonely. When she came home I told her how I was feeling and admitted, "I know you're ready to move out, but I'm not so sure I'm ready to let go." She thought about it for a while and came up with a compromise. She said, "I'll tell you what. I'll live in the city three or four days a week and here with you the rest of the time until you're ready." A few weeks later when she moved out completely, I knew it was the right thing for her to do. But I've always been grateful that she gave me that extra time to adjust!

SETTING LIMITS

Jim and I hear all the time how our kids' friends are often "grounded"-restricted from their usual activities because of something they did wrong, like talking back to their parents, violating curfew, screwing up in school. One young friend got grounded for two whole weeks; as a result, he missed an activity he had looked forward to attending for months. His crime? Feelingangry and slamming the door as he left the house. Did it accomplish what his parents hoped it would? I doubt it-he just spends less and less of his time at home. When he is around, he takes care not to show his feelings. I'd say his parents lost.

While Jim and I both concede that all kids need limits set for them, we agree with Tharchin Rinpoche, a teacher of Tibetan Buddhism in Aptos, California, who cautions parents not to set the limits too small. The only time we ever grounded one of our kids was when she had gotten so scattered and out of control that she started neglecting her family obligations, her school work, and most of her friends; she was staying out too late and forgetting to check in with us. Every time we'd bring up her behavior, she'd apologize and feel terrible, but it continued. Finally, we all sat down and agreed that she needed a "time out," a few days of quiet time to center herself and regroup. So her "grounding" consisted of spending time with her family, writing, drawing, and catching up on her projects. Instead of viewing it as a punishment or a restriction, we saw it as a way that we could help her, and she welcomed it (after a short grousing period, of course).

Just as Tharchin Rinpoche says, we found that by raising children with unconditional love and genuine appreciation, we imbue them with compassion and respect for all living things. By maintaining our sense of laughter and perspective, we remind them that nothing is permanent and that to take each other too seriously is to get stuck, to be unable to let go and move on. By being as nonjudgmental as we can-and trying to see things from their perspective-we strengthen our connections to one another. And by listening carefully to our own hearts and intuition, we bring the experience, clarity, and groundedness that children need in order to grow up safely and with a healthy sense of well-being.

Now that they've grown older, I sometimes wonder if our children will gravitate toward a particular spiritual path. They both insist that organized religion is not for them-that it causes more strife in the name of god than peace, more division than understanding, more hatred than love. They even protest that they aren't really into spirituality and don't even get what it means anyway. Yet I see Megan's smile light up when she greets the first damselfly of the season; her loving attention to the older people in our neighborhood; her patience and kindness to kids her other friends have deemed too dorky or way too annoying to bother with. And I witness Sarah's sense of righteous indignation when she witnesses injustice in her community; her willingness to drop everything when someone is hurt or in distress; and her generous spirit. Then I understand that it's not the particular dogma we teach that's important. It's the examples we set through our own inner work that touch them. It's the music we play as we invite them to dance.

Linda Sparrowe is managing editor of Yoga Journal and the mother of two daughters.

RESOURCES

BOOKS Raising Spiritual Children in a Material World by Phil Catalfo (Putnam/Berkley, $12.00)

Everyday Blessings: The Inner Work of Mindful Parenting by Jon and Myla Kabat-Zinn (Hyperion, $22.95)

Natural Learning Rhythms: How and When Children Learn by Josette and Sambhava Luvmour (Celestial Arts, $12.95)

Becoming the Parent You Want to Be by Janis Keyser and Laura Davis (Bantam, $20.00)

Curriculum of Love: Cultivating the Spiritual Nature of Children by Morgan Simone Daleo (Grace Publishing, $17.95)

The Essence of Parenting by Anne Johnson and Vic Goodman (Crossroad Publishing, $14.95)

The Way Back Home: Essays on Life and Family by Peggy O'Mara (Mothering Publications, Santa Fe, N.M., $10.95)

Spiritual Parenting: A Guide to Understanding and Nurturing the Heart of Your Child by Hugh and Gayle Prather (Harmony, $23.00)

Our Share of Night, Our Share of Morning: Parenting as a Spiritual Journey by Nancy Fuchs (HarperSanFrancisco, $18.00)

If Only I Were a Better Mother by Melissa Gayle West (Stillpoint, $10.95) Mothering: The Magazine of Natural Family Living, published quarterly. $5.95/issue, $18.95/year; (800) 984-8116.

WORKSHOPS AND PROGRAMS FOR PARENTS Pathfinder Learning Center offers workshops, classes, retreats, family camps, outdoor education, and an innovative school in northern California, based on the teachings of Josette and Sambhava Luvmour, authors of Natural Learning Rhythms. (800) 200-1107; http://www. oro.net/~pathfinder.htm.

Conscious Parenting with Joel Feldman and Ellen O'Connor at Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health in Lenox, Massachusetts. (800) 741-7353 or (413) 448-3400.

Ananda Community, near Nevada City, California, offers programs based on the Education for Life teachings of J. Donald Walters (Swami Kriyananda). Contact the Education for Life Foundation at (916) 478-7640.

WORKSHOPS AND PROGRAMS FOR CHILDREN Kids Camp and Junior Counselors Program at Sivananda Ashram Yoga Camp, Val Morin, Québec, Canada; (800) 263-9642.

Kripalu Center offers summer outdoor programs for children (age 9 and up) and teens, and Communication and Self-Esteem for Young Adults; (800) 741-7353.

AUDIO No Risk/No Fault Parenting tape series.Option Indigo Press, (800) 512-7171 (10 percent discount to Yoga Journal readers).

VIDEO Yogakids with Marsha Wenig. Available from YJ's Book & Tape Source on page 114.

E-I E-I Yoga with Max Thomas. Mystic Fire Video, (212) 941-0999.