Literally.
And I hate to use the word literally.
Kids have gotten sloppy, lazy, bored. Stir-crazy from being inside because the average temperature is 105 degrees. Beds don't get made. Dishes sometimes don't make it from the table to the kitchen sink.
And the clothes...
The clothes make it off the body and onto the floor. I call it The Rapture Syndrome. Shorts, shirt, socks make a perfect little flat person on the floor. But no body to be found.
While the kids were getting ready for bed last night, I was making the rounds on a nightly pick-up that makes the mornings easier to embrace. I walked into the girls' bathroom to switch on the lamp for some night light and was met with...a perfect little flat person on the floor.
At the end of the day, we will just say that my patience is not usually what it was when I started out and I could feel myself getting worked up.
How many times have I said it?
When will she do it on her own?
Will she ever learn?
I walked around the corner and even though I would love nothing more than to say I channeled June Cleaver and whispered a gentle reminder with a reassuring 'dear' on the end of it...
That is not what happened.
I can't remember the exact words I said and they don't really matter.
The tone was clear.
The judgment in my 'Why?' left no question.
The big sigh when I exited her room needed no translation.
The evening continued without a hiccup and not another thought was given to that clothes scene which happens daily at this house.
Until...
Until too early this morning when the Lord put His hand on my shoulder and whispered me out of a deep sleep, 'How many chances do I give you to get It right?'
Sleepily, I think 'What?'
'How many chances do I give you to get It right?'
I stir. Wide awake now.
The number is limitless.
I never learn so much about how God must love us as I do from my own children.
I love knowing that God knows I am going to do this thing I do, my own version of throwing my clothes on the floor, 843 times. And instead of scolding me each time I do it wrong, he rejoices when I get to time number 349 because I am getting closer to the moment where I will get it right.
God doesn't take a tone with me.
He doesn't ask 'Why' with narrowed eyes.
I don't ever feel the hot breath of a sigh sitting on my shoulders when I've messed up.
Again.
Just grace. And love. And joy.
I will get it right.
I will get it right.
But until I do, my heart beats at this knowledge:
The LORD is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.
Psalm 103:8
I could have written this! (figuratively, not literally). I found myself asking why with that same look in my eyes, and I heard that same sigh from my own daughter as I left her room. Thanks for giving me perspective! And thank you to Kristi Crowson for introducing me to your Blog.
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