Happy Birthday — and Don’t Jump on the Couch

It’s become standard practice for me to leave the house and remind our youngest, now 18 years old, but still a teenager with bad ideas, not to jump on the couch. It’s a joke. It’s said with a smile. Though I can’t be certain, I’m pretty sure he never does jump on the couch and doesn’t need the reminder. I say it every time I leave the house anyway. “Goodbye. I’ll be back in an hour. I love you. Don’t jump on the couch.” It’s my way of saying, behave yourself even though I’m not here.

This idea comes directly from my own bad ideas. Confession: every single time my mom and dad left the house and told me to behave myself even though they weren’t there, I did a little jump for joy in my heart as I parted the living room curtains a smidge and watched them drive away. I was setting up to dart over to that very bouncy 70’s upholstered couch of ours and jump on that thing til they got back. Those hideously ugly green cushions had loads of boing in them, perfect for breathlessly striving to touch the ceiling with every jump. I remember it being exhilarating! Nobody was there. Nobody could yell at me to get down. Nobody could warn me that I could fall and get hurt or break something precious. The dog watched me, but he never told. In fact, I think the only reason my mom knows the truth about my sneaky jumping even now is because of my dirty kid fingerprints permanently smudged into the paint of the living room ceiling above the couch. I’m probably wrong there. I’ll bet there were other signs. She’s a nice mom, though. She never yelled when she got back.

And it’s not a big leap for me to see the parenting parallels with how God treats us. He definitely tells us to behave ourselves even though He’s not right here, and while He doesn’t explicitly say not to jump on the couch, He did leave us an entire book of instructions for how to live well, to stay safe, to keep from breaking things that are precious. He also left us here in a world of ugly green and very bouncy couches with which to steer clear of. Life is tricky. Eve had trouble over just an apple as the very first of the bouncy couches of the Bible. He said not to. She did it anyway. He wasn’t watching. He’d never know, but yes He was and yes He did. Bam. Original sin.

I’ve often been tripped up by the words in Psalm 119 and Psalm 19 where the poets proclaim the perfectness of the Law and the way they delight in it. Delight? That’s not the word I would use to describe how I felt about the rules in my house as a child, especially the one that says don’t jump on the furniture. Why the heck not? It’s fun. It really is. And when I’m looking at God like He’s my parent I have a hard time figuring why I would delight in His keeping me from fun.

This reminds me of a story. (I bet that was predictable.)

In 1991 when I first started teaching, I worked in a pre-school. I had four classes of ten four-year-olds each, and all of those guys were at the perfect age for couch-jumping. In fact, their honest blurted-out confessions to me, their first adult outside of their family life, often included lots of jumping stories: beds and couches and chairs of all kinds. In my very first year of teaching, I had two adorable little pig-tailed girls whose moms were best friends. They chattered on in layers about every little thought that came to their minds in teeny tiny Mickey Mouse-like voices of youth. They missed a few days of school in the early spring because their families had booked a getaway together, and when they came back, the smaller of the two girls had a sling on her arm. The poor little thing couldn’t participate in our usual dance rotation or run around when we got to the playground because she’d broken her collar bone. How did she do this? She actually did this in a hotel room jumping from one full size bed to the other one and missing.

I felt for this sweet girl, especially while watching her wince when she tried to wrap her jacket around her shoulders before recess and seeing her sad expression as she watched from a chair in the music room while we played freeze dance, her favorite, everyone’s favorite. I had never fallen prey to the oft-warned fate of breaking a bone while jumping on the furniture, but now I had living proof that the warnings had truly been for my own good. And I had big pangs of guilt for ever teaching my class the No More Monkeys Jumping On The Bed song. Even though all five of those guys do eventually fall off, we never sing about their trip to the ER and how they had to miss recess afterward.

When I tell my son not to jump on the couch on our way out the door, knowing full well he will have the house to himself for a few hours to make bad decisions if he chooses, I am saying I love you in a way that doesn’t sound like I love you. It means way more than don’t jump on the couch. It means, “I know you need to make your own decisions in there when I’m not looking. I know you want to do the things that I always tell you not to do. I know you know the rules and you’re dying to check out what will happen if you don’t follow them. And I know you’d like to see what it feels like to make up your own mind and do things like run in the house with sharp objects or drink out of the milk carton, but don’t. Keep doing the right thing even though I’m not here to remind you. Why? Because I love you, and I don’t want you to break your collar bone and miss the freeze dance.”

And isn’t that what God is saying, too?

If we actually do meditate on the Law, it’s daunting. There are so many rules in that book. Rules about food, about family life, about honesty, pride, work ethic, and more. It’s hard to not feel like a kid whose parent just left and said to behave. It almost feels like a screaming invitation not to. In fact, the only way to take heed may be for us to actually delight in the Law and see it as God’s I love you wrapped in warnings about how to best get on while He’s given us this time to make our own decisions.

The Law would just be meanness if there weren’t any love in it. When we see the Law as a way to control us, to keep us from fun, to make us obey on a power trip, we can’t delight in it. But when we see it as the love that it really is, then we can find our way to delight. His Law really is perfect. He gave us the key to how to live without harming ourselves. I believe that God is ever-present and truly hasn’t ever left me alone the way I’ve left my kids in the house with an I-love-you warning to behave. I recognize that He has allowed me enough wiggle room to make my own mistakes, for me to feel like I’m on my own as He’s driven away, even though He’s right here the whole time and wouldn’t need a tattling dog to give my ceiling-swiping couch-jumping away.

This is a tough one. Sometimes God’s Law is harsh. And sometimes He has punished feeble humans for misbehaving when they thought they had the house to themselves. I don’t know how to react to that. If I think of myself as a child, I see God as the rule-maker, the authority, the punisher, the one who catches me doing wrong. If I look at God through my parenting eyes, I recognize the reasons behind the Law, the reasons for the reminders. I also recognize the grace. He overlooks those smudgy ceiling marks just like my mom did, because of unmerited favor (grace, and yes, it is amazing) given through Jesus.

***THANKS FOR READING. PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT (or a happy 18th birthday message for our youngest). I’D LOVE TO HAVE THE FEEDBACK.

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