We're Lowering Our Standards

Every Sunday I have the incredible privilege of teaching a handful of 12 year old girls at church. A few weeks ago I gave a lesson about "Raising the Bar" and told them a story about Cameron.  

When our little Cameron was about 18 months old, he attempted to climb out of his crib.  The guard rail had been on it's very lowest setting, and seizing his opportunity... he threw one leg over the side, hefted himself over the rail, and added yet another bump to his perpetually bruised head.  That day, I dug up the screwdriver and went to work raising the railing.  In the middle of my project, Brooklyn came into the room, observed for a second and eventually asked, "Mom, what are you doing?"  Jokingly I told her,

  "Brooklyn, I'm raising the bar."  

"Why?" she asked.

"Well... to keep Cameron safe," I responded.

As I finished my attempts of transforming the crib, I thought about what I had just said.  

Raising the bar.  

When we "raise the bar" in our lives, we set a higher standard for ourselves.  We expect more.  We do better.  

We rise a little higher.

I think sometimes people misunderstand this concept.  They mistakenly believe that when our leaders ask us to raise the bar they're asking us to give up more freedom, add more rules, live less comfortably, stop doing things that we were allowed to do yesterday.

Wrong.

Instead, when we are admonished to raise the bar, it's partially a matter of safety.

When I raised Cameron's crib, it wasn't because I felt like being extra mean, or because I secretly wanted more control over his life, or because I never want him to leave his 3 foot by 4 foot crib and explore the world.  It's because I know the rails provide protection.

Just like we hadn't noticed any drastic changes in Cameron's height and abilities, it's difficult to notice any drastic changes in the moral nature of the world.  Children grow gradually and imperceptibly.  And the world decays gradually and imperceptibly.  As Cameron grew, it because necessary to change our old patterns.  And as the world becomes more coarse and corrupt, it becomes necessary to take offensive actions.

And so, we raised the bar.

Fast forward 9 months.

I put Cameron to bed on Monday.  I kissed his little head, loaded him up with the 14 (yes, seriously) cars/trucks/tractors/motocycles that he demands to sleep with, tucked him in, turned off the light, shut the door, and headed to my room.  A few minutes later, we heard the noises of a child playing a round of miniature golf in his bedroom.  We walked into his lighted room more amused than upset.  He excitedly told us, "I climb out of my bed now!"

Oh, yes.  We can see that.

And so, instead of raising the bar this time around, we've had to lower our standards completely.

All the way to the ground.

He's in a big boy bead now.

And no one in this house has slept since Monday.