Well, tonight I had my usual bedtime routine with my daughter: mayhem, panic, disaster. In the midst of all of our metaphysics, theology, puppy games, and glasses of water on our way to getting her to sleep, we had another one of our… shall we say… run-ins. I just don’t know what else to call them: but they are raw. Me against her. I wish it was different, but every now and again we just degenerate and it’s all I’ve got. This time it ended with me saying: “That’s it, I’m done,” and walking out of her room. A quick glance during my exit told me what I already knew – she was twisted into a miserable ball with the sheets over her head, a tricky combination of defiance and neediness. I squelched my compassion and left.
Ah but the tug on my mommy heart. So I took I deep breath, prayed a fleeting prayer that evaded most conviction, and went back in. Back to relationship, back to her.
“I love you. Good night.” I straightened out her covers, tucked her in, and smoothed back her hair with my fingers (how many times tonight? 7? 490?).
She wasn’t buying it. (That’s my girl.)
“Mommy, I just….” her voice trails off into the jungle of self justification, a hint of wisdom, and complicated feelings she doesn’t understand. Heck, when I’ve felt what she’s feeling I don’t understand either. I understand less every day.
“Honey, I love you. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying your best. I’m trying my best too. That’s why we need Jesus, he makes up the difference – he fills the gaps.”
pause. “Well, I just think I’m the only one trying my very best.”
And she’s done it for me it again. She’s taken an attitude that runs through my head every single day and put brave words to them as only children can. She’s learning from me – like it or not, good and bad.
I think that too, of course. That I’m the only one trying my VERY best. And, of course, it’s not true.
Thank you Jesus – for filling up all my gaps. Don’t stop.
Faith and Sight 