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Posts from the ‘motherhood’ Category

Song in the night.

Last night, around 2 am, Kit woke up screaming. I spent some time soothing her, and when I put her down again, she spent the next hour singing and talking.

She sleeps in the big closet in our room with the door open a crack, so we had front row seats to this spontaneous concert in the night. Right when I thought she fell asleep again, she belted out the song I sing to her before bedtime,

Holy God in love became
Perfect man to bear my blame.
On the cross He took my sin
By his death I live again.

(The Gospel Song / Bob Kauflin and Drew Jones)

Of course, it wasn’t so well articulated with her 23-month old tongue, but it was such a precious sound nonetheless.

Jesus. The sweetest song in the night.

Tummy ache.

Kit (short for Kitten; my nickname for her on this blog) is two next month. Lately, she’s been coming to me with various “tummy aches.” A couple weeks ago, it was on her chin; last week, on her hand. This morning, she came to me with a new pain.

Umma, have tummy ache.”

“You do, where?”

She limped to the couch, propped her foot up, and began patting it. “Here.”

Once I rubbed her “tummy ache” away, she was eager to play again and ran off.

A silly story but dear to me. It made me wonder how many times I go to my Father with a “tummy ache,” misdiagnosing my heart and pains, and how He kindly comforts me but also, like a good Physician, heals me where I’m truly broken.

He is adequate.

A post I never published from last March.  I’m sure many more of these moments are to come in motherhood.  I can depend on Him for everything.

Today, I was at a loss for how to deal with Cub.  I had too much of my own frustration and sin clouding my judgment, and perhaps he did, too.  I searched Scripture and my memory for things I could say, wisdom I could impart — but I came up empty.

Finally, I just went to his room, clasped his hands in mine, and wept and prayed.  For the both of us.

I didn’t know what to give my son in his rebellion and mine.  I could only pour out our inadequacies to the only one who is adequate.

My prayers will not save him.  My tears will not soften him.

But God can.

And I pray He will.

Obay.

Just wanted to record the sweetest rebuke I ever received — from my firstborn a couple weeks ago.

Pup had been wetting his pants again and again for a few weeks, making for some really inconvenient clean-up situations.  I lost my patience with him, and I yelled at him for an accident.  And as he cowered under my shouting, Cub quietly left the room and then returned shortly after with a little note in his hand.  He shyly handed it to me:

YOU MUST OBAY THE LORD.

Kapow.  God’s grace.

Little apple of my eye.

This morning, Pup came to snuggle with me and fell asleep as I patted his head. When he woke up, I stroked his cheek and looked at his little face for a long time. He looked straight back at me. Then he said, “Umma, I can see my face in your eyes.”

3.

Pup turned 3 a little over a week ago, and I’ve been savoring all the snuggles and kisses and “hold me”s I can.  He’s been crawling into my lap and just asking me to hold him lately.  Savoring it while I can — along with his chubby wrists and dimpled knuckles — while he’s still the baby of the family.

5.

Cub turned 5 a few days ago.  And the one thing I want to remember is this:

I had a sharp disagreement with one of my parents while they were visiting this week.  Feeling sick and nauseous compounded my emotions.  I went to my room in tears.

A few moments later, I heard little feet outside my door and Cub walked in, climbed into my bed, hugged me, and told me, “I love you, umma.”

Then he quietly walked back out and closed the door after him.

I was touched by his boyish thoughtfulness, showing me love and then giving me space to work out my emotions (like he often needs for himself).  I believe God used it to soften my heart in a heated moment.  It could definitely use more softening and humbling, but God was kind to use love — and not a rod.

Focus.

It’d been a rough week with Cub, and I felt like I had been talking to him all week about foolish decisions, the way of fools, everything fool related.

So this morning, I pulled him onto my lap and began to tell him also of the beautiful things I saw in his life.  Wise decisions he had made, kindness, thoughtfulness, his love for music and beauty.

And looking into my eyes, he smiled, and said,

“I want to touch your eyeballs.”

#fourgoingonfive

Equal at the foot of the Cross.

Yesterday, Cub pointed out my sin to me. For the first time. Unprompted.

I’d confessed sin against him before, but this was the first time he pointed it out to me before I confessed it.  And he did it so sweetly: “Umma, you sinned against God and against me when you screamed at me to clean up the shapes.”

Dang. He was right.  (And thankfully, he brought it up a little after the event, so I had time to cool down.)

So I had to ask him for forgiveness on the spot and pray for God’s forgiveness, too.

I’m sure I won’t always feel this way when my son unearths my sin, but at that moment, by God’s grace, I felt a sense of the beauty of the gospel.  A gospel where a son can humbly point out his umma’s sin and they can approach the cross together, confessing sin and rejoicing in God’s grace for sinners together.

A missionary mother.

From Susanna Wesley, as quoted  by Dorothy Patterson in “The High Calling of Wife & Mother in Biblical Perspective,” Recovering Biblical Manhood & Womanhood:

No one can, without renouncing the world, in the most literal sense, observe my method; and there are few, if any, that would entirely devote above twenty years of the prime of life in hopes to save the souls of their children, which they think may be saved without so much ado; for that was my principal intention, however unskillfully and unsuccessfully managed.

To renounce the world. To devote the prime of life to save the souls of my children.  To spend my energies there.  Not for myself but for them.  And not for them but for Him.

That is my prayer.