I’m a trained educator. I hold degrees in general education and special education. I constantly hone my skills through coursework and self-study. But none of this matters.

No, it doesn’t matter one whit  – not to my children. To them, the number of degrees I’ve earned is irrelevant. The plethora of parenting books I’ve read is unimportant. They’re not impressed with my college GPA, my principal’s professional evaluations or the impressive list of references I can muster. No, my children employ a much different standard when it comes to my interactions with them: this feels good or this feels bad.

That’s it. Deceptively simple. But by no means easy. Too often, I forget this, falling back on my impressive arsenal of knowledge – and then getting aggravated that my kids are markedly less enthralled with it than I am.

Every once in a while, though, like the Israelites exiting Egypt, I experience a miraculous parting:  the myriad information swirling through my mind rolls back for just a moment providing a pathway to stillness – and in escaping that inner chaos, I am finally able to hear a new message. One that comes through my children.

Tonight, Faith was struggling with a disappointment. It was time for stories and snuggles, but she wanted neither. No problem, I thought.  I knew what to do. I used reflective listening and empathy, letting Faith know I understood how she felt and was there for her.

But Faith stayed upset.

I moved on to plan B: accepting the full range of her emotions. Piece of cake. I let Faith cry while I stayed by her side, reminding her that we all feel sad sometimes.

But Faith stayed upset.

By this time, I was feeling the clock ticking while Katy waited for stories to begin. The pressure made me impatient. I decided to set some boundaries, letting Faith know that I’d be starting the stories in five minutes, and that I hoped she would join us. I then turned my attention to Katy, who needed help locating her latest installment of Junie B. Jones.

Faith stayed upset. But…

At this point, something changed. Katy, who had seemed fine, was now angry and upset as well. More puzzling still, she seemed angry at me. Me! After I’d just executed three skillful parenting moves, had remained calm and empathetic, and had made sure to attend to Katy’s needs in a timely fashion. It was right about then that it hit me: I could validate myself all I wanted, but it was clearly a tune I’d be singing solo.

In that moment the waters parted, and I could hear a still, small voice whispering to me, encouraging me. It urged me to set aside all my accumulated knowledge, to stop trying to be the expert, and to turn to One who knew a better way. And He was lending me a skinny seven-year old with a slight lisp for this particular life lesson.

It’s a humbling thing to hand the reins over to a half-pint who has no degrees whatsoever, and 33 less years experience. Nevertheless, it was clear that this kiddo knew something I didn’t.  So I plopped down next to her on the floor and, gesturing toward Faith, asked Katy, “Got any ideas?”

She did.

First Katy fetched a long section of toilet paper and offered it to Faith, for eye-wiping, nose-blowing, boo-boo blotting purposes. Next, she grabbed a box of odds and ends and started digging around. Her first find, a long-ago earned medal, which she ceremoniously placed around Faith’s neck, didn’t do the trick. Undaunted, Katy rummaged around some more, this time coming up with some finger puppets. Handing one to me, she began a slapstick style comedy which included a generous dose of farting sounds directed at my character.  As the puppet’s bodily functions grew steadily louder, I noticed that Faith’s sounds of distress were growing quieter. A moment later, she was smiling and reaching for a puppet to join in the fun. And a moment after that, Faith declared herself ready for stories and calmly hopped into the big bed, book in hand.

Reflective listening didn’t do the trick. Showing empathy missed the mark. Quiet acceptance got us nowhere. Setting boundaries just made matters worse. What worked?

Farting finger puppets.

But of course, there’s more to it than that. What really worked was this: no agenda but connection. No motive but to restore what was broken – whatever it took.

It’s no wonder, really, that Faith stayed upset and Katy got upset. They could see right through my bag of tricks to my heart. And to be honest, my heart wasn’t really all that engaged. It was getting late, there were stories to be read, and I really just wanted to get on with it. Not them. They knew there was something more important than stories at stake. They knew, in a very real sense, that our relationship was on the line. They knew that I had a decision to make: connection or coercion. And they knew it way before I did.

I’m a trained educator. I hold degrees in general education and special education. I constantly hone my skills through coursework and self-study. But none of this matters.