Nora Joy has two sweaters. She has a tan sweater, and she has a red one. Church, school, play, those are her sweaters.
So of course, at 6:30 AM on the one morning a week that we're rushing to get dressed, eat breakfast, do hair and get everyone out the door for the Friday Program, she doesn't want that one.
Either one.
MOMMMM, she wailed dramatically as I tried to shove her little arm into the first tan sleeve, I don't WANT to wear this one. I don't like it! I want my KHAKI one!
I didn't even know Nora knew the word "khaki."
Dear girl, I said with more patience than was to come, what khaki sweater? Khaki and tan are the same! You don't HAVE a different khaki sweater. You have two sweaters, this one and the red one. Which one do you want?
We were going back and forth the third time about the imaginary, magical khaki sweater when Lily, who frequently lives in a 12-year-old-storm cloud lately, charged into the kitchen screaming.
BEN! she genuinely shook with rage as she flew at him, WHERE DID YOU PUT MY NECKLACE? I KNOW YOU HAD IT! I NEED IT!
Backing away wide-eyed, he thought for a minute and said, I did get it.
WHERE IS IT NOW??
I got it. ANNNNNNND. I dunno. he shrugs, looking a little terrified and a little confused.
Outright wailing, Lily stormed and slammed and stomped back upstairs to return to her search, and no more than three minutes later when Sofie asks me where HER sweater is (this child wouldn't know where her head was if it weren't screwed on) I was ready to lose my mind.
By the time I got everyone eating, Nora no longer liked eggs. Not at all. For the first time ever. Not going to eat them, so there.
Lily starts in again, this time about her mask, the pink one. NOT the gray one already around her neck. The pink one. Sooooo frustrating. Can't find ANYTHING. She doesn't have ANYTHING.
Day four of my head cold and coffee still brewing, by the time they all had lunchboxes in hand and headed for the car, I was ready to crawl back into bed and cease.
These children you have given me are SO ungrateful. They take responsibility for nothing. They think it's my job to do absolutely everything for them! They treat me like a housemaid. I have worked SO hard to teach them to be polite and responsible and kind and considerate children, and they're a disaster!
As soon as I articulated my complaint to the Lord, my thoughts echoed my Bible readings the past two weeks in Leviticus and Hebrews. I've heard Moses vent the same many times.
Man alive, do I hear my own sin in the wails, stubbornnesses and complaints of my children.
The laws.
There were SO MANY good guidelines patiently handed down from the Lord through Moses...detailing every last practice and plan. Laws to give life and health and holiness to one and all, patiently, carefully were they carved and scrawled and protected. Many, many, many times were they read and reviewed and studied and memorized.
And yet the law is only a shadow of the good things to come, but it can never perfect the worshipers Hebrews has told us, the Old Testament and life has shown us.
They cry out, and He hears, and He saves, and they complain. They return. They fight. They wail. They harden their hearts.
I cry out and He moves and provides and He draws close, and I pity. And stubborn. And lose my temper. And give in to despair.
He holds out a red sweater AND a tan one, and I cross my arms and wish for the khaki one that I'm sure someone else has and that I NEED.
I read somewhere a few months ago that while only God can light a fire in the hearts of our children, it's our job to provide all the dry sticks, leaves and kindling around their hearts that we can.
As I'm tending to their stubborn and sinful hearts, I see my own sinful heart in theirs and I cry out to Jesus.
I am so ungrateful. I take responsibility for little. He has worked so hard to teach me His ways and His heart, and my attitude is a disaster.
Ah, how much more does the blood of Christ cleanse our consciences from dead works so that we can serve the living God! Hebrews 9:14.
If I had forgotten it, my children remind me every day.
It's Jesus and nothing else, it's His blood and none of my own righteousness. It's His strength and none of my own. It's His hope and none I can muster.
My kiddos are not going to be enough. They are like their mama. I am not enough. No where close. I can't light fires, I can't even hold faithful, not on my own.
But Jesus, His blood, His sacrifice, His righteousness, He is enough.
As we bring our human hearts before Him again and again, and He loves us painful and costly and clean; as we work to bring dry kindling to the hearts of others, let us lean in hard to the Father, holding on to the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who has promised is faithful.
As He continues to hold out hope, we must not give it up for one another, nor for ourselves.
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