On Snails and Heaven

Naomi has been a handful today.  She’s tired, waaaay over-sugared, and fairly under-napped as well, since Malachi just HAD to go get his light-saber rightthisminute and forgot she was asleep.  We went to an evening church service tonight. After church the kids ran around in vicious circles screaming and playing and knocking stuff over and sticking their hands in my water (Just, why?) until I was dun-dun-DONE and we left. Titust cried all the way home (poor, sleepy baby). When we got home and it was time to go inside, Naomi was dawdling and then turned around to look at the snail on the sidewalk.

There’s this awkward commercial (here it is) where the guy opens with, “Has anyone else been experiencing a snail infestation?” and I always yell, “Yes! ME!” because every time it rains we get tons of them all over our walkway. It was raining on the way home from church so when we got home – snails. Everywhere, snails.

Naomi: turns around
Jeremy: Naomi, don’t step on the snail!
Naomi: crunch
Me: Naomi! Daddy said no! You killed the snail! It was alive and now it’s dead.

Yes, I actually said that. I shouldn’t have – but I was mad and tired and stressed out and really, really ready for bedtime.  Naomi sauntered proudly into the house with quite the unfazed smirk on her face and I started the “Jackets off! Shoes off! Someone get the baby his paci!” routine when I looked up and noticed Malachi’s lip was quivering.

“What’s the matter, buddy.”

“I’m sad because Naomi stepped on the snail!”

And then he burst into tears.

You guys: this was heartbreaking. 99% of the time if my kids are crying it’s because they’ve been hurt or they’ve been punished. They are little, they haven’t experienced any kind of death yet, and it’s rare that true, genuine, innocent sadness happens. But here it was, sitting in my lap (barely fitting), crying on my shoulder because his sister killed the snail.  After a few minutes he asked me,

 

“But why did Nani kill it?”

“I’m not sure, buddy.”

At this point I notice that Naomi is staring out the window, refusing to look at Malachi and I, completely expressionless. It scares me a little how she can detach herself from things. I turn her face towards me.

“Naomi, you need to tell Malachi you’re sorry.”

Two big tears roll out of Naomi’s eyes, and she quivers, “I’m sorry, Malachi.”  I pull her into my arms and let her cry.

Me: “Naomi, I forgive you.  This is why Daddy told you no, and why you should listen when we say no. He was trying to save the snail and to save you from being sad about the snail.”

Malachi:  “But I’m sad Nani killed the snail.”

Me: “I know, buddy.  It’s sad when something dies.  But you know what?  Jesus tells us that every time a leaf falls, or a bird sings, or a snail dies, He sees it and He cares.  Because He made the world and He loves it.”

Malachi: “How will the snail get un-dead, Mama?”

Me: “Well, it won’t, buddy.  It’s dead now.  But it’s ok – there’s lots of other snails.  God made a lot of snails.”

Malachi: “But I want ALL of the snails to be alive!”

Me: “I know, buddy.  But if snails never died the whole world would be full of snails!  Sometimes animals die to make room for new animals.”

Malachi: “But if Jesus loves the snail, why did He let it die?”

Me: deep breath… “Well buddy, even when Jesus loves something, He still sometimes lets it die. Everything that is alive dies sometime.  Animals die.  People die one day.  Flowers die.  It’s how the world works.”

Malachi: “But isn’t Jesus really sad about the snail?  That Nani killed His snail He made?”

Me: “I’m sure Jesus is sad that the snail died.  But you know what?  He’s more sad that you are sad, and that you are sad, Nani.  He cares a lot more about you than about the snail.”

Malachi: “But how can Jesus love Nani if she was bad and killed the snail?”

Me: “Malachi, have you ever done something bad?”

Malachi: “Yes.”

Me: “And did I still love you?”

Malachi: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, Jesus loves us, even when we do something bad, he still loves us so, so, so, so much.  And Nani, just like I forgive you and Malachi forgives you, Jesus forgives you, too! And he wants you to be happy.”

Naomi: “But it was an accident, Mama.”

Me: “No, you didn’t step on him by accident. You stepped on him on purpose. But you probably didn’t mean to kill him, did you?”

Naomi: “No.”

Me: “Why did you step on him, Naomi?”

Naomi: “I wanted him to move out of the way.”

Me: “Well, next time why don’t you just step over the snails, ok?”

Naomi: “Ok.”

At this point both kids are in my lap, with one arm around me and one arm around each other, having completely forgiven but still sad.

Me: “You know what, guys? We don’t have to be sad anymore. One day when go to Heaven, nothing will ever die, and nothing will ever be sad! Because Jesus will be there.”

Malachi: “But what if there’s snails in Heaven and what if Nani steps on them there?”

Me: “Well, God won’t let that happen because sad things don’t happen there. And we can pray tonight that he will bring us a new snail friend tomorrow!”

Malachi: “But what if Nani steps on the snails tomorrow?!?!”

Me: “Are you going to step on them, Naomi?”

Naomi: “NO! I’m not.”

Me: “That’s good!  See, Malachi?  It’ll be ok.”

This whole time Jeremy was putting a crying, over-tired baby down for bed, so we finally went upstairs and got ready for bed. Naomi went potty all by herself without any prompting (this is HUGE) and that helped everyone feel happier and gave me a good reason to act (and be) super, super proud of her. We read our bedtime story with both kids cuddled up together in Naomi’s bed. When we prayed, we thanked Jesus for dying on the cross and rising again so we could live with Him forever. We asked him to take care of our snail in Heaven and send us a new snail friend. Malachi got a little teary again because that boy is MADE of sensitivity and Naomi got excited that she gets to put another sticker on the chart for going potty.  All ended well.

I know more things were said that I left out – something about the snail turning into dirt to grow food for new snails to eat (which Malachi quickly interpreted as cannabalism #backpedal). And most of what I said was directed at both kids equally – Naomi listened intently to Malachi’s questions and my answers.  Now I can hear them snoring through the monitors and hopefully soaking up all the sleep their bodies need.

For children, disobediance seldom leads to true remorse or repentance, but when her actions gave pain to those around her Naomi’s heart truly grieved over and repented of her sin.  If Malachi wasn’t so sensitive, the whole thing would have blown over.  If I wasn’t so stressed, they probably would never have known that the snail actually died. And even though it was sad, sitting on my living room carpet cuddling with my teary babies and talking gently about Heaven and forgiveness and the cycle of death and new life was such a gift.  He makes all things good.  He makes all things new.

Happy Easter.

 

Advertisements

The Fruits of the Spirit for a Mother’s Heart

Dear Father,

The further I journey into motherhood, the more grateful I am to call you my Father. When I am overwhelmed, tired, and clueless on what to do next, You are there to show me how to parent with grace. When I wrestle once again with my attitude and temper, and I wonder where the gentle and quiet Spirit I pray for daily has gone, You remind me that the fruits of the Spirit are not the fruits of my Spirit but of Yours, living and breathing inside of me.

Lord, fill me with love – a divine love for my children – a love like Yours. A love that loves without selfishness, without agenda, without limits. Fill me with a love that drives me to do the hard things for the greater good, and to offer grace no matter how undeserved.

Lord, fill me with joy – the kind of joy that transcends happiness. Joy that soaks in the precious moments and presses on through monotony and struggle.

Lord, fill me with peace – a peace that is deep and unshaken by a chaotic home, a tantruming child, or a lack of sleep. Fill me with a peace that breathes in and breathes out, accepting and giving thanks for each moment.

Lord, fill me with patience – the patience I don’t have on my own. The patience that can see the forest for the trees. The patience that recognizes my children look to me for guidance, help, direction, and security. Patience that sees my children looking up at me and bends down to speak to them in a way they can understand – just as You came down to live in our skin and guide us home.

Lord, fill me with kindness – Teach me to be kind in the face of backtalk, bad words, squabbles, and rudeness. Teach me to treat my children as my neighbors. Fill me with the type of kindness that kneels down to wash their feet. Let my kindness be an example.

Lord, fill me with goodness – fill me with You. Fill me with pure motives and a true heart.

Lord, fill me with faithfulness – the kind of faithfulness that prioritizes You no matter what is going on around me. The kind of faithfulness that holds on to Your Gospel in the moments when things seem to be falling apart. The kind of faithfulness that disciples my precious children even when I’m worn and tired. The kind of faithfulness that makes time to rest in You but does not turn away those who need You when they come.

Lord, fill me with gentleness – Lord, how I need Your gentleness. Fill me with gentleness rooted in wisdom and empowered by Your Spirit. The gentleness that speaks slowly and listens quickly, that makes room for vulnerability, that creates a home of safety.

Lord, fill me with self-control – In the moments when none of these other fruits come easily. In the moments I want to yell, be sarcastic, or ignore. In the moments I want to forsake the dignity of my children and vent their failings to the internet community – please give me self-control. Teach me to control myself by surrendering completely to Your Spirit.

Let the fruits of Your Spirit be alive in me, that by drawing closer to Your heart my children might do the same.

Tick Tock

It seems like the best definition of being a stay-at-home-mom is being busy all day, exhausted at night, but still having no idea what to say when asked, “What did you do today?” I used to be proud of myself when I could accomplish my whole to-do list in a day. Now making a to-do list at all is an accomplishment. It amazes me that any day I have to grocery shop automatically means: exhausting. And heaven forbid they don’t have a car cart because the consequences are the toddler has to either 1. walk (i.e. run a 5k down every aisle and fill the cart with canned corn and fruit snacks) or 2. get covered in groceries that he may not touch, eat, sniff, crush , rearrange, or throw. Also, your legs are numb, offspring? Suck it up or tough it out – I literally have no other options. You may have a free cookie from the bakery, or 4 if the bakers aren’t looking.

Bribery is your friend.

I wouldn’t trade my role as a stay-at-home-mom for the world, but these young years can be tough. Hilarious, sweet, fun, rewarding, but tough. There are days when all the busyness is exhausting not only because it’s a constant rotation of squat, lift, bend over, carry, repeat but because reading children’s books, playing restaurant, and explaining over and over that brown grapes don’t have dirt on them is far from mentally energizing.

My church teaches this principle of the pendulum. In the first century, grapevines were given three years to rest before they were allowed to grow grapes. The vine dressers knew that without enough rest they wouldn’t be strong enough to bear fruit. the same principle applies to us – we need to work from our rest, not rest from our work. Our life is like a pendulum constantly swinging from rest to work, abiding to fruitfulness, tick tock. Neither can exist alone. A clock can’t stop at one hour and keep ticking and you cannot stop on one end of the pendulum and keep living.

I used to take this literally. Without enough sleep I get short-tempered and sad so I need to make sleep a priority. Not a bad idea, in theory – extremely hard to maintain in practice. Babies get sick. Toddlers have nightmares. Laundry piles up and thunderstorms happen and sleep is no longer a constant. It used to be discouraging to think I’d always be operating on 50%, always fighting off frustration and bad moods and apathy. I was trying so hard to get enough rest and it never paid off, so why on earth was God nudging me to start getting up early again to spend time with Him? The baby still wasn’t sleeping through the night. Wasn’t this the grace period? But finally I did, and I realized oh. Physical rest, though important and something to strive for, isn’t a constant. But spiritual rest can be. Resting my mind and heart in Him every morning lets me “go to work” yawning and tired, but renewed and at peace. Does it always “last”? No. Do I still lose focus, roll my eyes, yell at my kids, or pretend I can’t hear them sometimes because I just need a break? Yes. But giving up a little physical rest to invest in spiritual rest every morning makes me feel like a new person.

The days are long, but I want each morning to be a fresh start, not another “Here we go again.” And on the nights when I stay up too late, bending over to pick up the pieces of a day that blew up in my face, those are the nights I KNOW I need to take some time to rest in the Lord, not just to recover but to prepare for a new day investing in my children. If my job description is to parent my children with grace, to teach them about a God who adores them, and to gently shepherd them towards His heart, they need my example more than my words. They need a Mommy with rings under her eyes who showers them with grace and patience, much more than they need a Mommy who got 8 hours of sleep but is tiring under the weight of all the yesterdays that she is dragging into today.

Maybe it feels more like your life pendulum swings from cuddles to tantrums, from Caillou to Dora, or from goldfish to Oreos. Maybe your baby is precariously wedged between your arm, your husband’s back, and somehow your left knee and if you twitch she WILL wake up. Maybe you’ve given it a fair shot and decided that mornings just do. not. work. for you. I’ve been there and I get it. He understands, too. But carve out some time. Find a way to wake up and get some rest. He can restore your heart and prepare your mind for another day of tea parties, crayons, The Hungry Caterpillar, and squat, lift, bend over, carry, repeat. There is no guilt in abiding and no greater productivity than pointing (little) hearts towards Him.

Anger and compassion may be two sides of the same coin.

It’s so easy to call these people monsters. I’ve done it, I’ve felt it, and I’ve fought it to no avail. Developing compassion for abortive mothers took me a long time, and then I had to do it all over again when I became a mother. But I can understand – I can understand the desperation and the hopelessness and even the ignorance that could lead to that choice. I can’t understand the blatant selfishness, but I want to believe that’s not as common as it probably is. I have no sympathy for the “doctors” who took the vow to do no harm and who murder helpless innocents every day in the name of choice and personal autonomy. Who chooses that job? I mean, even if you believe with all your heart that the death penalty is justifiable, who would volunteer to pull the trigger? All day? Every day? If you believed with all your heart that you needed to bomb a building to end a war, but you knew there were civilians inside, who jumps at that opportunity, necessary though it may be? So even if you ideologically believe that abortion is not only justifiable, but right, who wants that job? Maybe they don’t want it. Maybe they’re stuck. But still, who can do that day in and day out? How can you live with that dichotomy?

If you watched this video, you probably remember the part where the abortionist, who is graphically and untruthfully describing the development of a 24-week old fetus, tells the mother “I don’t want you to torture yourself.” I don’t even know how to process that statement. Don’t torture yourself over your decision to end the life of this child who, yes, has organs and a face. Or, don’t torture yourself with a baby – torture the baby instead. Or maybe, in a very twisted way, this woman actually had compassion for the mother. She really wanted her to live a life free of guilt. She really didn’t want her to suffer. Maybe there is something I can relate to in that. Maybe if I had lived a different life, grown up in different circumstances, maybe I would be in her shoes.

Yes, she is a monster. It takes a monster to kill babies every day. It takes a monster to kill a child while her own child kicks inside of her. It takes a monster to look at a person and say, “You do not have enough value to live.” It takes a monster to look at a person and say, “My life is worth more than yours.” It takes a monster to call someone else a monster from a seat of superiority. It takes a monster to look at someone and say, “I don’t know how God’s grace could possibly cover you.”  

I am a monster. You are a monster. She is a monster. And truthfully, the word monster just means “human.” But Christ died for all of us. He put on flesh to set us free. And His grace is sufficient for all our sin. Praise God that he didn’t leave me in the mud and blood I was wallowing in when He found me. Praise God that he can pull any monster out of any mire and that He loves us enough to reach down and lift our faces towards Him. Praise God that the same Father who rocks the murdered babies of millions of mothers is waiting with open arms for those mothers and their doctors to come home.

You can always come home.

A Secret

Last Fall I went through Beth Moore’s Bible study on secrets. The entire summary of it is this: Secrets manifest. They always do, in one way or another. Bad secrets that are never told in words are exposed in the lines on our faces, the way we treat others, the dreams we live at night, anxiety, eating disorders, anger. But there are good secrets, too. Things we keep to ourselves so that God can get the glory later.

Sometimes we confess something before the Lord privately, but we never talk about it. We carry the guilt as a secret – even though we think we’ve dealt with it, we can’t even whisper the words of it out loud.

That’s what happened to me a few months ago. It was time to go and we were late – really late. And I was tired – really tired. Malachi had been at his worst and today was no different. No matter what I told him he did the opposite. I pulled out his brown sneakers and he insisted on the white ones. I asked him to walk to the door and he had to stop in his room to get things. And then we walked to the front door and I saw it – the pile of toys I’d bought on sale for Christmas that I had accidentally left on the couch. Well of course he rushed over and absolutely ignored my every call for him to come to the door. Finally I lost it. I got angry – really, really angry. I was stressed and late and none of that was his fault, but I took it out on him. He burst into tears, upset and scared, and immediately my stomach dropped and I realized how awful the whole thing was. And for whatever reason, even after I apologized to him and prayer journaled about it, I carried that guilt for weeks. I could not get over it.

So I told my husband, thinking maybe that would help. And he understood my guilt and did not condemn. He told me he thought Malachi didn’t even remember. But it didn’t help.

I told myself I was making a bigger deal out of it than it was. I told myself that Malachi had forgiven me and I needed to forgive myself, too. I ignored the guilt that wouldn’t go away.

Then I remembered something we’d talked about in the Bible study – the power of spoken-aloud prayer. I am an avid prayer-journaler and rarely pray aloud for that reason, but one day I was in the shower and I just couldn’t take it anymore. No one was around and I just poured out my heart to God. I told Him about my guilt, about how confused I was over it. I told Him how I just couldn’t get over it and begged that He would help. I just verbally gave it over.

I did feel lighter but still not great when I sat down to do my Bible study homework that day. We were supposed to read a passage from Hebrews and as I picked up my iPod to use my Bible app, the Lord whispered, “Use your regular Bible.” I’m reading through the amplified Bible right now, and to be honest, I find it more exhausting than encouraging most of the time. So I wasn’t too excited, but I did it anyways. And this is what I read:

For we do not have a High Priest Who is unable to understand and sympathize and have a shared feeling with our weaknesses and infirmities and liability to the assaults of temptation, but One Who has been tempted in every respect as we are, yet without sinning.
Let us then fearlessly and confidently and boldly draw near to the throne of grace (the throne of God’s unmerited favor to us sinners), that we may receive mercy [for our failures] and find grace to help in good time for every need [appropriate help and well-timed help, coming just when we need it].
Hebrews 4:15-16, AMP

Tears streamed down my face. Mercy for our failures. Mercy for our failures. This was what God was trying to tell me – Yes, you did fail. But I have mercy for you. I have forgiven you. His grace isn’t just sufficient for my imperfections – He has abundant mercy even in my failure.

When I closed my Bible study book I moved on to my daily Bible reading, which passage happened to be my favorite story in all the Bible – John 21. When Peter – crazy, overzealous, relate-able, wonderful Peter – sees the Lord on the beach. He hasn’t spoken to him since before His death, and their last interaction was the knowing look Christ gave Peter right after he denied Him. Can you imagine the utter guilt Peter was feeling? So instead of helping the disciples paddle quickly to shore, Peter puts on his coat and jumps in the water, swimming for all he’s worth to reach the sand. Later, when they were walking, Christ asked him,

“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these do?” He replied, “Yes, Lord, you know I love you.” Jesus told him, “Feed my lambs.”  Jesus said a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” He replied, “Yes, Lord, you know I love you.” Jesus told him, “Shepherd my sheep.”  Jesus said a third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was distressed that Jesus asked him a third time, “Do you love me?” and said, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.” Jesus replied, “Feed my sheep.”

And in that moment, after I had spoken my ugly secret into the open and laid it before the Lord in our beautiful secret place, He whispered to me, “Your children are my sheep. Shepherd them.”

God had walked me through the restoration process, and there, sitting on my bed, crying tears of joy and resting in the arms of my Father, for the first time in weeks, I was free.

He has mercy for your failures. Trust Him.

Night terrors and a Father’s heart

Malachi just woke up from his nap crying again. This has been going on for weeks now. He wakes up about an hour in, confused and mostly asleep, scared and clingy. I brush his sweaty hair out of his eyes and hold him. I pray with him and sing to him. Eventually I put him back in bed and usually he goes back to sleep for a good long time. But sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he just cries and clings and sobs, “See Mommy! See Mommy!” and clutches me as tight as he can. Those days I let him get up and then watch as he slowly eases out of his sleep state, watches a show, and then starts melting down a couple hours before bed because he’s so exhausted.

Most of the time the pray-sing-rock system works for us, but a couple of weeks ago he was having a really rough time and I started searching online a little bit. Several moms were saying that the best thing you can do is to ignore it. Going in, rocking, or otherwise interacting with your child can apparently make it even worse and harder for them to get through. They don’t remember it when they wake up anyways so even though it’s hard you have to let them get through it.

Well….. that sucks. Like really sucks. It made my stomach turn to think about ignoring my boy while he was crying and even saying “See Mommy!” I didn’t choose to go that route and I’m glad, but it did get me thinking about the way God relates to us as Father. I wonder if sometimes when we are crying and scared and wondering where He is, if He is really right there, standing outside the door, with tears in His eyes because He hates to see us in pain. I wonder if He knows that we feel abandoned, but He also knows how incredibly unabandoned we are. That in the moments when we wonder most where He is, that He is hyper-alert of exactly where we are. And if when we think He is making it a million times worse for leaving us alone, that He is actually right outside the door choosing to let us cry it out, losing sleep with us, crying with us, joining in our pain, and rejoicing over us the first time we get a full night’s sleep.

I’m no theologian, but I am a mom, and every time my heart breaks over my children I get a clearer picture of what it looks like when the Father’s heart breaks over us.

As a mother comforts her son, so will I comfort you.” ~Isaiah 66:13a

DSCN1216

On revelations, pain, prayer, and hair-raising shivers

I was just about to get Malachi set up for lunch when he walked into the room saying “ouchy.” He was holding the left side of his forehead. I said, “Is your head ouchy, baby? Did you bonk it?” And then he scared me – he started saying “Ouchy, ouchy, OUCHY!” and grabbing at his head. He was in obvious pain. He started screaming and looked at me with panic in his eyes, getting more and more upset. In my gut I knew this was not good. He was in serious pain – it was probably a headache – but why did it come on so fast and so strong? I carried him into his room, shut off the light, and rocked him. He clutched at his eyes and cried. It seemed like a fast-onset migraine but it didn’t feel right, and I was scared.

But then something happened. With a feeling inside me that I’ve never had before, I put my hand on my son’s head and said, “In Jesus’ name, take the pain away. In Jesus’ name, take the pain away. In Jesus’ name, take the pain away.” I’ve never felt like that – it was all authority and faith and helplessness and confidence and eye-of-the-storm calm. And my crying, screaming, panicking boy sat up and stopped crying. I said it again and he slowly opened his eyes. I said it again and he looked at me. I carried him out to the living room and gave him a snack and some juice. About five minutes later he started saying “ouchy” and grabbing at his head again. And again, I walked up to him, laid my hand on his head, and said “In Jesus’ name, take the pain away.” And again, he immediately stopped crying, opened his eyes, and relaxed. And then he said, “Ouchy all gone.”

I don’t really know how to describe what I felt. I’ve prayed for healing and seen answers before, but never quite like this. Never so immediate, and never in response to a command (not just a request). I watched him like a hawk all afternoon and he was absolutely perfectly fine. My hair stood on end every time I relived my prayer for him and the Spirit I felt inside me.

My sophomore year of college I got paired up with a prayer and accountability partner who is still one of my closest friends. My relationship with her that year was one of the most spiritually profound of my life. Every week – every. week. – she and I would each, separately, hear extremely specific and out-of-the-blue things from the Lord to pray for each other. We would write down the day and time and then find out from each other what happened when we met again. Once I started praying as fast and furiously as I could for safety, safety, “Keep her safe, God!” And then about five seconds later my heart-rate slowed and I prayed, “Now give her peace.” When I asked her about it later I found out that she had almost been in a car accident and she had to pull over to calm down afterwards. Once when I was in one of the happiest times of my life I was privately struggling with some major doubt about a specific relationship and that doubt was tearing me apart. No one knew and I was too embarrassed to admit it. It came to a head while I was out of town, I prayed for the millionth time for clarity and peace, but this time – boom – it came. And I had complete and total confidence in the way I should move in the relationship and complete peace that it was the right decision. Beka had prayed in that exact moment that I would see truth. And she had prayed that all week for me until God let her go.

Much to my sorrow, this prayer relationship only lasted that one year. But occasionally we each still feel pushed to pray something very specific. After Malachi’s headache I texted Beka and asked her what she had just prayed for me, and she told me safety and calm.

Well then. If she felt led to pray for safety then maybe the gut-feeling I had that Malachi’s head pain was not a small thing was true. And the calm – Lord knows I needed that.

A couple times that day Malachi talked about what happened again. He would say, “Mommy Jesus ouchy all gone.” And I said, “That’s right, baby boy. Mommy prayed and Jesus made your ouchy go away.” And now almost every time he hurts himself just a little bit he immediately folds his hands and says, “Mommy, Jesus!” because he wants me to pray for him.

God has given me this incredible responsibility and opportunity to guide my children up in the way they should go. With my husband, to shepherd their hearts and lead them to salvation. Is there any greater responsibility in this life? Any greater privilege? It weighs on me and it’s a good weight most of the time. But lately it’s become too heavy and Jesus says His yoke is light. The incredible thing is that now my son associates both healing and comfort with prayer. I know that he will have to face pain. I know that there may be times when he begs God for relief and instead of being met with healing he is given a hand to squeeze through the pain. But in this moment, God chose to heal him. And in this moment, God taught me that my responsibility is not to do His job. It’s to point my son’s attention to the ways God is already working. God will reveal Himself to my son, and that is magnificent to behold.

Mommy, Jesus, ouchy all gone.

Image