Although, this is not the second part of My Story, timely it will come. My heart has been awakened to the world He loves, and I pray that God will take my story to the hurting, lost, and those that are waiting to be snatched from darkness and brought into His marvelous light. My story is still being written. It is being written as I devote myself each day to what is most important in this life. It is being written as I fail and stumble and rise again because of His grace. It is being written as I navigate my way through this life in pursuit of God. This also is… my story.
Daddy has already prayed and children are tucked in. Son has forgotten to brush his teeth. It is bedtime. It has been such a long day, even longer week. I am ready for time to myself. There are words welling up inside that are waiting to pour out, pen to paper, an offering to God, and heart displayed for all to see. I have Part 2 of My Story to write.
Son wants me to spend more time with him tonight.
Used up, I think to myself, “I am yours ALL day long.”
As if he reads my thoughts, he says, “But your calm at night. I want to be with you when your calm. You are not trying to get lots of stuff done.”
His words travel deep. My son, whose heart is more tender than anyone that I know, would never knowingly break my heart. But it is the truth of his words and the pain in his voice that convict my soul.
“Don’t leave. I like you better this way.” He embraces me.
Calm at night? What is it about night that brings me to a calmness and peace?
I sigh. The day is over. The day and all the constant pressure to accomplish more, is over. I no longer have to try to hold it all together during the persistent agitation of endeavoring to adapt to the unexpected. Mounting frustration because of my inability to execute all that I have planned, as lofty as my plans may be, has dissipated. I am no longer desperately holding on to patience as it hastens away towards the threshold of exhaustion, as I still attempt to manage it all in my own strength.
The day is over.
He speaks the truth. “You are calm at night. I like you better this way.”
They see me, hear me, feel me react. Release comes by lashing out over something so insignificant, so trivial. There is no hiding my weakness.
How is it after all this time, I still let the cares of this world,
steal me away from the joy of embracing each moment that I have
with the only treasures I take with me to heaven?
I understand, all too well, Paul’s words. “For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate.” There is a disconnect between my belief and my behavior. “God, help me.”
The same letter reminds me, I am of those who are the called. I am beloved in God the Father. I am kept for Jesus Christ. And for me, there is no condemnation.
I love him, my son, without words for as long as he needs me too. I embrace him even tighter now. I hold him closely. I breath in the moment, deeply.
He is the first to let go. He is on his way to brush his teeth. I look him in the eyes, the most beautiful, innocent, gentle, forgiving eyes of a boy I am helping train to be a man, a husband, a father some day.
“I am sorry, son. I want our days to be peaceful and full of joy. Will you tell me when you see I am not CALM?”
“Yes.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
CALM, cool, and collected. Tranquil. Relaxed. Unruffled. Unperturbed. Unflustered. Untroubled. Equable. Even-tempered. Composed. Unflappable… The words remind me of a promise.
“You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
You find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to Your word,
You let me catch my breath
and send me in the right direction.”
Psalm 23:2-3
I walk to the stairs. I linger on each step as I pray.
Help me to spend more time looking into their eyes, listening to the ramblings on of pure imagination and wonder than standing with my back to them, in front of the sink of dirty dishes.
Help me invest more energy, more time, more emotion into making sure their HEART is clean than their room.
Help me radiate grace, and allow them make mistakes, instead of barking at them when they fall short of an impossible expectation and standard I have set.
Help me to see them through Your eyes, help me to see how You’ve created them to be.
Let it be, by Your grace, by Your strength perfected in my weakness, that when they are asked, “What is the most important thing to your mama?”, they would not hesitate in answering.
“More than anything else, my mama loves God, wants us to and SHOWS us how.”
God forbid, their answer be, “A clean house.”