It's been a rough parenting day. You know the kind; some crazy, awful behavior falls out of your child and sends you into a craze of pure anger and trying to find an appropriate consequence amidst the blurred eyes of fury you are experiencing. You take a deep breath, try to regroup, try to ask for God's guidance, and yet still find yourself knee deep in the ripples of the wrong words you've spoken, the wrong tactic you've taken, the ill-timing of your words in your child's tender and sensitive heart. You ask her to stay in her room, while she calms down and you climb into the shower to try and make sense of all that's happening. You're sobbing now, and you can't figure out where you've gone wrong.
Was it when she was a baby and you didn't know whether she was tired or hungry or just fussy and you were doing whatever it took to survive?
Was it when she was a toddler and you let her explore to her heart's delight in every nook and cranny of your house without realizing that you probably should set boundaries as to where and when it was appropriate to do those things?
Was it when your second child was born and he was so fussy that you never invited her into teaming with you to help you with her new sibling?
Was it when you moved to a new city and your own heart's attitude was so full of anger and bitterness that it spilled out of you onto her?
Was it when...? Was it when...? Was it when...?
Five minutes into your giant list of failures, you hear God speak to your heart, "She will never understand your grace or My grace, until she has a mother who has been changed by it."
And now I am really crying. You see, I just can't seem to understand grace. I get it intellectually. I understand that I am broken, that I'm a sinner, I'm imperfect. As you can see, I had no trouble listing my failings as a parent. But I also have spent so very much of my life trying to be perfect, believing that if I just do more, if I just follow all the rules, if I am externally perfect, then I will win the Lord's approval, and the approval of everyone else. And even though I remind myself so many times a day that it is not about perfection, that no amount of perfection will be enough in the presence of a righteous and holy God, I still rely far more on what I do for God, rather than on His grace. It is a daily battle to recognize that Jesus is my righteousness, that I am indeed imperfect. I am so arrogant and have such a hard time seeing my need for a Savior. I am good enough, I'm certainly better than that person next to me, isn't that enough?
I hate this about myself. It is such arrogance, such judgment in my heart, both of which are complete evidence of my need for a Savior. And so I am humbled, and so I am reminded of how much I need grace, and there I stand in the shadow of the cross for a good 10 minutes before my brain starts justifying how good my behavior is and how I'm superior to the next person. I don't allow the grace of Jesus to leave my heart changed.
And so here I am in the shower, back to humility, back to realizing how much I need grace to penetrate my hardened heart. Izzy will not know and feel the depths of grace until she sees me know and feel the depths of grace. If I keep going back to trying to be perfect, to being unwilling to see my sin, to thinking that "what I'm doing is enough so if you think it's not enough then get off my back", then that's the heart I'm going to reflect to my sweet daughter. I must know grace, I must let it transform me into a humble, repentant woman, if I'm ever going to show Izzy how to live that way.
The hard part is how do I teach my heart humility? How do I teach my own heart its need for grace? I don't think it is anything I can do. I think it has to be the work of the Holy Spirit. And so I get on my knees and ask God to humble me, to show me my need for grace, and to let my daughter see that process in me. May I be transformed by grace so that my children might also be transformed by it. May that be my testimony and my legacy, a broken woman, a failed mother, who allows the grace of God to redeem the fractured moments and restore them to something better than I could have done myself.
Father, please help me to teach my children that they don't have to try and be perfect, that they do not even need to pretend to be perfect. Help me to show them that You already see and know our imperfections, there's no need to hide them from You. And not only that, Your grace, Your mercy, cover them all. You look at them and see the perfection of Jesus, and they can rest in knowing You have done the work. And finally, teach them the obedience that pours out of a love so rich in grace and mercy. May they obey because they feel truly and deeply loved for who they are, Your precious, chosen children. And first and foremost will you teach those things to my heart, so that they may see those truths lived out daily within me. Amen.
Honesty
8 years ago
