Every now and then, motherhood serves you up one of those days. The days that beat you to a pulp–before breakfast. The days that make you wonder if you should be saving for college….or reform school.
It was just a really hard week last week. And I crawled into the weekend, my heart bruised and my spirit a little bloodied. It wasn’t pretty. I wept, and I doubted, and I was mad at my little Offender who, so help me, still makes my heart sing with his crooked smile. I lay in my bed and cried, and I begged God for something–anything–to redeem this ugly day we’d had.
1 To you I call, O LORD my Rock;
do not turn a deaf ear to me.
For if you remain silent,
I will be like those who have gone down to the pit.
2 Hear my cry for mercy
as I call to you for help,
as I lift up my hands
toward your Most Holy Place.
4 Repay them for their deeds
and for their evil work;
repay them for what their hands have done
and bring back upon them what they deserve.
6 Praise be to the LORD,
for he has heard my cry for mercy.
7 The LORD is my strength and my shield;
my heart trusts in him, and I am helped.
My heart leaps for joy
and I will give thanks to him in song.
9 Save your people and bless your inheritance;
be their shepherd and carry them forever.
"The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped." These are just the words of peace I needed to hear.
Also? "Repay them for what their hands have done and bring back upon them what they deserve." If I’m not mistaken, I think that’s a Biblical way to say, "I HOPE YOU HAVE A CHILD JUST LIKE YOU SOMEDAY."
Oh, yes. I’m defininitely feeling better now.
I’m thinking these thoughts, laughing through my tears, when The Offender comes into my room and hops up in my bed. He can’t sleep. He tells me what’s on his mind, and I listen. And at one point in our conversation I tell him, "you know, you just can’t always trust girls. Believe me. I used to be one."
Used to be?
The joke hung in the air for just a minute until it washed over us both. We laughed together, and he leaned in to nudge me with his shoulder. I placed my hand on the top of his head. The rumbles of laughter silenced, and we sat there together, a cheeky pre-teen boy and his over-wrought mother. It was a good silence, the kind that patches up the holes we’d left in each other’s hearts that day.
Thank God for the sweet mercy of taking things one day at a time.