Driving Home Thoughts

Sometimes I feel like loving them will be the death of me.

This is not true, I know. They are the life of me, really. The highest and purest life I've known. But death is definitely involved.

To mother my boys well, I must "die to myself" a thousand times over. The big deaths -- career compromise, geographic compromise, a crappy car from now till 2029 -- don't seem so hard for me as the little ones. Being "the bigger person?" The grown-up who doesn't meet anger with anger, who doesn't take offense easily or take hurtful words to heart, who shows PATIENCE through and through? Now that's difficult.

I think maybe I'm selfish enough that I don't like being this "good" -- and even when I try, I find I'm often not that good at it.

Today I was irritable with my exuberant, insuppressible Owen on the way to school. This kid is an energy bar wrapped in caffeine dipped in candy coating. Truly -- and objectively! -- he's a pretty adorable 3-year-old, with a big vocabulary, a ready, winning smile, bouncing red curls, huge blue eyes and the clenched-fist gait of a little linebacker. But his in-your-face adorableness also reads as bossy, willful, stubborn domination of everyone else's time. It's the yin-yang of Owen's particular humanness -- all the things that make him beautiful and unique also make him a challenge for others to live with. ;)

So today I succumbed to my own humanity and got grouchy. I was DONE with the demands and the commands and the non-stop stream of commentary from the back seat. When something small happened to upset Owen, I didn't want to be rational or to explain or make it better. I really just wanted to shout, "NO. The answer is NO. ENOUGH!"

I did say "NO" to his request pretty loud, but I closely followed with an alternate plan to make peace -- not from a place of overflowing love, but more because I didn't think I could stand any oncoming whining or crying.

And this is how I ended up sitting in the parking lot of Chick-Fil-A at 8:05, blowing on a mini chicken biscuit to cool it off before introducing a completely new junk food for Breakfast No. 2 and a Morning Reboot.

The chicken detour went pretty well. Well enough for me to realize my blood pressure had just spiked, then subsided over bickering with Owen. And that my kid's behavior was a lot better when my heart rhythm was normal.

Sounds all positive, touchy-feeley, "I-learned-a-valuable-lesson" -- I know! But I relate this morning's events more to say, "Sometimes this job really stinks -- ya know?!"

It's aggravating. And defeating. And painful to look at my own non-progress as a mom. Because I freely confess that I probably haven't learned anything about managing Owen's extra-needy periods I won't have to learn again next time.

...I just don't GET the small stuff very easily.

But, driving home, I realized I do "get" the big stuff.

I will never be Jesus for my kids. I can take captive every stray thought and think only on what is pure, noble and lovely and still I won't be Jesus.

I'm just a girl who screws things up and muddles her way back to equilibrium and who needs a Savior from herself, most every single day, and who occasionally, not always, can funnel enough Holy Spirit to shine some light.

I lose my temper. I am not patient enough. I often don't get it right the first time. But, when my kids need mercy, my soul deeply wants to pour me out for them.

I can never be what I am not. But I can use my best flashes and revelations, little sparks in the dark though they are, to point out something higher to Miles and Owen. In this way, it's OK that I am not a "perfect mom" (ha! ...as if that creature exists). My job is not to be perfect, just to point to it. When I am kind and selfless, when I do God's justice and love mercy, I help illuminate real love -- sacrificial love -- where it daily dwells. And it lives between and betwixt all of us, in every space and nook and cranny where common, flawed people exist in a state of common, flawed, happy, healthy "family."

Owen and I didn't have a smooth or perfect morning, but we had a mercy-filled one.