“Hey, Ben, hold my hand as we walk.”
“Ben, hold my hand, please.”
“BEN. GIVE ME YOU HAND.”
Repeating instructions and requests to my kids gets me frustrated as quickly as just about anything else. And, yes, unfortunately my tone of voice escalates quicker and louder than it should. It’s one of my personality downfalls I’m working on.
While traveling through the Dallas airport Monday, I answered my 3-year-old girl’s question with a snippy, I-already-said-this answer and then turned to my husband that is kinder and more patient than me and said, “Didn’t you just explain that to her?”
“Yes, but she’s 4.”
Technically, Cate’s 4 years and almost 10 months.
But, yes, she’s a kid still comprehending and discovering the world. She’s still figuring out boundaries and expectations, which change and expand as she grows up.
I’m her momma. My role is to teach her and guide her and shape her. But I’m not in this alone, thankfully. I have a husband who excels as a dad and as a leader, starting in our home. And, more importantly, we have a God who is a father. He sacrificed his son for me and Greg and Cate and Ben and you and him and her and them. Then he adopted us as his children who have an eternal inheritance awaiting us because we choose to believe his son is the way, the truth and the life. He brings us into his kingdom so we can make him known.
I believe this with my whole heart. It shapes my views and expectations.
But I didn’t figure it all out the first time God spoke to my heart. That was 16 years ago. I’ve certainly changed since then, thanks to God’s grace. I’m his workmanship. And he’s not finished.
It’s a process. And it requires God repeating expectations and convictions and ideas and truths. Over and over. It involves building upon what I know so I can be trusted with more.
And, you know, I don’t hear my Father fussing at me. May I be more like you, God, as you help me figure out motherhood. Thank you for repeating and molding and repeating some more.
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