My kids are so forgiving.
They treat me, speak of me and honor me as though I’m the Holy Mother.
I’m not. Believe me. And by the way, neither was she. Because she was human, too, and fraught with human frailties. Check out the interludes in scripture pertaining to how she was handling things with her rockstar Son, Jesus. Yes, the Christ. When she wanted his attention, when she wanted him to do what she wanted him to do. Even he had to put her in her place and remind her exactly who she was…and what she wasn’t.
But once again, kids are so forgiving. And it was her welfare that was his first concern and final dying wish when he was hanging on the bloody cross holding the whole universe on his shoulders, about to give up his last breath from his beaten, finished body.
“Take care of my Mama, John.”
Yep. Good ‘ol Mom. The Son’s perfect love covered and conquered any weaknesses she may have displayed to him over the years.
I have weaknesses, I do stupid stuff, I complicate things, talk too much, talk too loud, ask twice what you just said, overthink and annoy everyone with my obsessing behaviors. And that’s the short list.
But I keep showing up. And I keep trying.
And that’s the key, isn’t it?
To be there. To try. To continually make new efforts to do it better, to tweak my approach, to be willing to respond with adjustments my spirit says to make because that way isn’t working. To laugh instead of bitch. To bite my tongue instead of remind them…again. To pray silently instead of fretting aloud. To let things play out instead of controlling things to arrange my desired outcome. Little stuff like that.
It’s not hard to give grace instead of judgment to my kids because I need grace instead of judgment, too, and they never fail to express it to me.
Thanks, kids. You make me look so good.
This is your day, too. I’m so infinitely glad you’re mine.