“Mommy, whatcha doing?”
“Spending time talking with God, sweetheart.”
“Ok, Mommy, I am going to join you. Let me get my Bible.”
“Mommy, God is good, and I will write about Him.
He made me beautiful and you beautiful and every single person beautiful.
I will always worship Him because I love Him.
I am going to read my Bible.
This is how I fight the enemy.”
*begins to make up songs about her and Jesus fighting the enemy as she diligently “writes notes” and “reads.”
They say that little eyes are always watching and you are always teaching. I have found it to be the most humbling of spaces. I often get lost in the heavy gravity of the responsibility of parenthood. Long ago I had plans of being the “perfect mom,” though I would never have admitted that. (Who would? It sounds braggish–instead, just wear the pressure like all the others still yoked to this impossible plow). My intentions were good but irrelevant, the reality of one crazy enough to try to do the impossible. Lessons too numerous to count have stripped away the perfection illusion like removing the flesh of a stinky onion: one layer at a time.
I have modeled imperfect one-hundred-percent of the time, and more often than I want to recollect I have modeled behavior that will never bear life giving fruit. I am, most days, woefully aware of the failed moments I am presenting, and shame taunts me like the the blood-thirsty, fang-bearing monster that it is. But slowly I am learning that I don’t have to let it bite, nor do I need to offer up my flesh for its flagellation..that too bears no good fruit.
God gently reminds me in moments and spaces like this today that, while I am an imperfect vessel, He specializes in using just that very kind. I fail, I fall, but I also crawl, kneel, and seek with an unquenchable thirsty-need the God who is chiseling me through it all, and my kids are seeing that too! I do not offer up hollow lip service; I don’t pose or pretend (or at least I try not to). I model a very real sinner seeking her powerfully real Savior, and that may be the most important lesson I ever get to teach.
Tag a person who needs a reminder that God is bigger than our failures.