Somedays I go to sleep thinking that someone is busy somewhere preparing to stage an intervention because my parenting skills are shockingly lacking. As I review my day, I regret my tone and my tiredness and my overall non-awesomeness.
I heard a sermon recently (sorry for the incomplete citation...Mama hears a LOT of sermons), I don't remember the context (Luke, maybe you do) but the gist was that we can't let God down because we were never holding God up. Wow!
So, my failures are there. They are mine. I hope I grow through them. So do my kids.
But today God reached down and gave my heart a hug; today, I have the to right to brag.
Today I watched my children embrace the deepness and abundance of life and radiate the very image of their good and mysterious Creator.
I watched Annabel climb up on the lap of a homeless grandfather and embrace him with no reservations. She didn't care that she couldn't fix him, she didn't have a plan to rehabilitate his brokenness and she didn't evaluate his needs. She freely gave what she had--pure, simple, exuberant love.
There is a beautiful community of faith not far from our house that loves simply. It offers food to the hungry and clothes to the naked. It offers a place to pray and sing and have a voice. It is a place of deep connection and shared wisdom. Theologians and vagrants come to the same table and receive the same nourishment. It can be complicated and messy, but it is vital and raw. And today my son tugged on my sleeve and asked if he could serve communion. A child. Four years old. I was worried. We hadn't arrived in time to set it up before the service started. Maybe someone would think it presumptuous and precocious. Maybe...maybe...maybe
Let the children come to me, Jesus said. So I did.
My little Laine walked all the way to the front of the church and asked for the privilege of serving communion. And today I received the true and potent grace of a living and powerful God from my son.
And I am bragging about it!