The other night I sat upright in Luke’s bed. His three-year-old body had ran, jumped, sprinted, hopped, danced, giggled, wiggled, peed, pooped, ate, drank, sang, three-wheeled, squealed, swung, slid, not napped and disobeyed for nearly thirteen hours. And he was still going.
I was so tired. Oh my word.
Brent was working late and it had been an “I’m about to lose my mind” kind of day.
It isn’t everyday I feel as if I have “three boys,” but this day…I had three boys.
Three busy and boisterous boys.
I lay against Luke’s head board, propped up against a patchwork pillow sham, “Are You My Mother” laying against my chest, Luke jumping on the bed, my eyes closed.
“Lord, I just have to confess. I didn’t really like my kids today. I love them. I would do anything for them. But right now, in this moment, I must say didn’t like them. I feel as if I have been beaten up. Resisted. Rejected all day long. I am restless. I just didn’t like being a mommy today.”
I hated that prayer. But if we are to come to the Lord with everything…I can’t deny this one. Overcome with guilt I lay there, head back and eyes still closed, convincing myself that I am all alone in this honest prayer.
Mommy faces started coming to mind…moms whom I admire. Mothers to whom I hope my parenting would liken. “They never feel this way.” I thought. “Chances are high they are working puzzles and baking cookies right now. And here I am. Beating my head against a pillow sham. Sulking in fatigue and frustration.”
After two Dr. Seuss books, one I Spy and a Bible story, Luke had given it up. My baby boy tuckered. His breathing soft. I stared at his face for a long time before turning out the light.
But when [Jesus] saw the multitudes, He was moved with compassion for them, because they were weary and scattered. Matthew 9:36
I can only imagine how Jesus sees me. His daughter. Busy and boisterous. Resistant and restless. But He has yet to throw His baby out with the bath water. No. He doesn’t toss back His head back in frustration at me. He never complains. Instead…He has compassion.
Compassion for the weary.
Compassion for the scattered.
Compassion for the resistant.
Compassion for the restless.
Therefore be imitators of God as dear children. And walk in love, as Christ also has loved us and given Himself for us. Ephesians 5:1, 2
Since my honest prayer, I have talked to several moms about this “not liking my kids” moment. One mother I spoke to was one I pictured baking cookies and working puzzles….and you know what? She sometimes feels this way, too.
Praise the Lord, I’m not alone. You aren’t either.
It is time to stop condemning myself for being the worst mom ever and start remembering the mercy that will be new tomorrow. I need to start remembering that I am not alone in my “losing my mind”kind of days. And I most definitely need to remember that my Heavenly Daddy is one of the greatest compassion.
I want my parenting to liken Him.
Lord, let me be an imitator of Your compassion. Let me parent in Your power and in Your strength today. Thank You that I can bring my most rawest emotions to You and You aren’t scared or offended. Thank You that you meet me exactly where I am. And You have COMPASSION on me. Amazing. Thank You for being, most literally, the best Daddy in the world. I am a thankful daughter. Amen.
Thank you Beautifully Rooted for hosting me today! What an honor!