Strict Parents


we are those parents.
the ones who won’t allow their children to watch certain movies. even some cartoon movies
the ones who won’t allow their children to play by themselves in the front yard. (sorry. don’t even trust the ice cream truck).
the ones who won’t allow them to have dessert until after they eat their vegetables. every. single. day. (thankfully they actually like vegetables…and dessert).
the ones who won’t allow them to go into public restrooms by themselves. no way.
the ones who won’t allow their bedroom doors to be closed. especially when friends are over.
the ones who won’t allow them to have their own cell phone. or computer. or television.
the ones who won’t allow them to have an intagram, facebook or any other social media account. until they are (at least) 30 years old. 
the ones who won’t allow their children to have sleep overs. (with the exception of very rare occasions)
we are those parents. 
the hyper parents. 
the over-protective parents.
the controlling parents.
the boundary setting parents.
the strict parents. 
yes. we are. 

most of the time, we feel like our family is out of this world, like we don’t belong here. [and we don’t]. 
we don’t live under a rock. or wear amish clothing. 
call us old fashion.
call us weird and different.
we are living opposite of mainstream culture. and glad to be.
when i was in the 5th grade, my parents allowed me to have a sleep over [after i begged them]. a small group of my girlfriends came over and the fun began. later, we went into my room and closed the door. unbeknownst to me, a few of the girls had invited over a few boys (one of them was my neighbor) to my house. my bedroom was at the front of our house with two slender windows. the next thing i know, they are in my front yard, tapping on my window, sneaking into my bedroom, thru the window. it happened so fast, i didn’t know what to do. i was internally panicked. i felt uncomfortable, but didn’t have the guts to kick them out. 
thankfully, my mom did. 
she knew. she came to my door and knocked, “Leslie, I’ve made some popcorn. Come and help me with it.” 
whew. she came to my rescue. 
she came in the way of grace, compassion and care. 
she knew.
she knew i was uncomfortable with the boys being there. 
she knew it was not my idea. 
she trusted me enough to know it would never happen again.
she took me out of my room so i would not be embarrassed when she confronted me about the boys being there. 
she then cleared them out and made them go home. 
she bore the weight of the whining and complaining from the girls whom (i thought) were my friends.
freedom was not my being allowed to have a sleep over with boys sneaking in my room and us girls being able to do whatever we wanted. 
in one bold move, my mom showed me what rescue and true freedom look like. 

so yes. 
we are the parents who won’t allow our children to have or attend sleep overs. (with very rare exceptions).
we gladly rock the label of strict parents. 
we know our kids. we communicate constantly. we answer their endless ‘why’ questions… to help them understand the fullness of our decisions. we are protecting our family and our home. kids need boundaries. our kids are not being denied freedom. they are freely living under grace-filled guidelines. deep levels of trust, honor and respect are being built between us.  
even as adults, we need a rescuer. we need a protector. we need JESUS. and we need to be parents who will protect and set boundaries. no one else will be that for our children. in HIM, rescue, boundaries and protection will bring true freedom. a freedom that comes from death and brings forth a life we can truly, freely live.   
In Him, Leslie
*It’s your ball – What are your thoughts on strict parenting? Please share… 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s