The Look

The Look

My mind has stored many memories from those first fuzzy, dreamlike days following the triumphant drive home from the hospital with our newest baby. One of those is my five-year-old looking closely into her new sister’s squirmy face as her eyes fluttered open for a brief second. She turned to me and announced in disbelief, “Mom, she has blue eyes just like me!”

But her eyes, though similar, were not exactly the same. Still in the cool family, her eyes were her own shade of blue, and we have watched over the months as they have taken a yellowish turn, making us think they may become green over time.

It is incredible that each member of our family, though similar in many ways, has his and her own hue. We’ve gotten a strange pleasure from naming our particular shades. Like the labels on a pile of crayons, we’ve named each other; ice blue, denim blue, Chicago River blue, Lake Michigan blue, and Arizona Desert Sand. There is something about being a family that ties us together. A similar sense of humor, the way our bodies are made up, a tendency to like or dislike the same things. But, though we may all be of the same genetic makeup, our shading is all our own, and it affects the way we do things and even our style of parenting.

One characteristic in my family that was not passed down universally is “The Look.” We can only trace this trait as far back as my grandfather with his steel eyes and intense expression. My mom inherited those eyes almost without variance, which is how she got The Look. Her eyes are sweet and caring most of the time, but step over the line and you’ll get it. The Look can stop you mid-sentence, mid-reach or mid-jump (in my brother’s case). It makes you think again about whatever it is you are doing. You can even feel The Look if it is given from behind.

I, being an overly compliant child, rarely needed more than The Look in the form of discipline. I knew that what followed was never good, and I had observed this life-principle many times in the lives of my older brother and sister. I knew better. It was a wonderful tool, and I am thankful in retrospect for it. It was a warning, like the tide rolling out before a tsunami.

When I became a parent, I realized pretty early on that I was not my mother. Strong, decisive, organized. I had always idealized the amazing woman who had poured her life into me. Initially, I figured I could follow in her steps and do what I always did…learn from watching. But my memory, good as it was at storing childhood memories, was not enough. I found quickly that I was a different person with different strengths and that my mom’s strategies would not work across the board for me.

“You need to get ‘The Look,’” she said to me one day as my precious little two-year-old tested me at her house, embarrassing me with her iron-willed determination to touch whatever it was she wasn’t supposed to touch.

“I know,” I said discouraged. What she didn’t know was that I had tried the look, given the look, and even practiced the look with no results. What was the problem? It worked for my sister, why not me?

Then one day I realized why. Since I was a small child, my mom always told me that I looked like my dad. She attributed most of it to the wavy hair and likable smile I got from him. What she didn’t realize was that although the color of my eyes came from her, the set of my brow was that of my father’s. It was one of the things that drew her to him, those sweetly set, wet hazel eyes. But it was also the thing that made it impossible for him to relate to us the way she did.

Without The Look, Dad’s authority had to come from elsewhere. Not immediately imposing, we had to learn over time that he may not look serious, but he would always follow through on the important things. His disappointment was not something to be feared, but his approval was attainable and was to be treasured.

Eventually, we all get our own style and confidence in parenting. Over time, I’ve learned to find my own strengths and use them to my advantage, compensating for the lack of other tools. Being childlike, I have a way of understanding a child’s world and connecting on a different level. When I talk with children, they understand me. This has been tremendously useful in my relationships with my kids. What strengths do you have that help you work with your kids? Are you funny, patient, consistent, organized? Ask God how you can use those gifts to pour into the lives of your kids.

We are each created unique, and God has an intimate knowledge of our makeup. He knew exactly what he was doing when he planted your children into your family. And he knew exactly what they needed when he gave you to them. He has given you the tools you need to teach them what they need to learn in their young years. Just ask him for wisdom to see what they are.

I just dumped out our tub of crayon nubs and found 49 blues. I would never want to be stuck with only one shade when I undertook a major work of art. God made each of us as individual as the colors in a box of crayons. Though sometimes similar, we are all unique. He uses each of us for a different purpose in the work of art He is creating in our families and communities. Be proud of your hue, and be willing to let God use you in his masterpiece.

Psalm 139:13-14 (NIV)
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.