Some Days

Okay, today: rough. I’m talking, I-might-be-throwing-tantrums-with-my-kids rough, because goodness. It is hard to love your kids when they want to defy your authority, begin climbing on top of everything (FINN), talk back, ask the question “Why?” 50+ times a day, or just want a whole lot of energy from me. Some days I just long for peace. Three boys do not merit that very often (if ever).

I didn’t have a moment. I wasn’t profoundly moved by the gospel alive in me while I was trying to keep a sliver of patience because I just wasn’t. I was exhausted from being a mom. From meeting needs. From getting a pair of shorts in the mail that were too small, even though I know they were my size. (Small case of denial.)

Some days are just like this, where everything feels like walking through molasses, no real “The gospel, everyone! Isn’t it so good?!?” moments. Just a whole lot of tired and the hope that bedtime will give me the peace I hoped for.

And then bedtime does come. This evening, my oldest had a meltdown. He had just slipped and bumped his leg on the ladder leading up to his bed. He got scolded by me when I thought he was picking his nose. And he was exhausted. He lost it, succumbed to his tears, and I just felt like I was watching myself. I felt like that. On our drive home from the store only 20 minutes earlier, I angrily said, “They just make me feel like a freakin’ terrible mom,” because I had, for the zillionth time today, corrected my son, who immediately started to throw a fit and cry. Some days, you guys. I just wish I could throw those fits too.

I climbed up into my son’s bed to hold him, because I needed it just like he did. It was a hard today; we were constantly butting our heads over silly things, and it was as though we both reached a ceasefire. I couldn’t fight him anymore. I just wanted to love him hard, and remind him that at the end of the day, especially this day, it didn’t matter. I loved him too much to care that he picks his nose sometimes. I love him regardless. I snuggled him up, and I knew that even if I can’t carry the weight of the world for him, at least I could hold him in my arms for now. Someday when bedtime comes, he won’t care for it.

Despite this day and the uneventful struggle of it, I can picture these moments I have with my son and know that I am guaranteed the same comfort from God. It is marvelous to me how I can hold my boys close, and it is enough to give them peace, for it seems that as a adults, we lose the ability to trust others enough to comfort us in such a profound way. I have to remind myself that the Lord loves me in a grander way than I love my sons. It puts it into perspective, it gives me room to sit back and watch Him love me, instead of thinking that His love is a limited thing, something I can fully perceive, or something that I can measure. Every expectation I have of Him, He shatters and surpasses. He holds me, and just like that, the comfort overwhelms my soul.

He gives me the peace I hope for. It’s miraculous, but He also gives me peace when I am in the midst of this chaos of mothering. I love that about the Lord. Shattering expectations and making room for higher ones. He is beyond me. I like that about Him. It gives me comfort, knowing I can give Him all the room He needs to love me.

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