Sure, there are days. Like today. When I stomp my feet more than once to get everyone’s attention. When I nearly leave a grocery cart full of food in the middle of the aisle and head home because someone insists on kicking another while the third hangs from her seat reaching for every single box of ziploc baggies in her armspan. When lunch for 2 of them consists of carrots and hummus dip end. of. story. because they refuse to eat the perfectly delicious leftover sloppy joe or chicken fried rice in front of them. (And someone please remind me that this is actually a win for mama. They’re eating carrots.).
Days like that happen.
And then we get ready for bed and the eldest throws a fit because no one is left to help him pick up the bath toys because everyone else had followed directions. And sweet, beautiful Miss M waits patiently in the bed for a story to be delivered. So H boy asks her would you please help me pick up the toys?
Yes, sure. She bounds out of bed.
Or when Lady C gets frustrated because words escape her and instead of asking for her regular seat at the table she gets Miss M in a headlock and all-out WAILS on her.
She never hit back.
Each day a childish action of contention makes my blood boil. And each day a childlike expression of love reminds me to be patient. The goodness is in there. Seeds of love have long been planted. We might have to do a bit of weeding along the way, but good fruit is growing.
We end each day with a prayer, usually thanking God for the people in our family, Abbie (at least 5x), bugs & worms & blood, dinner and at least 5 of the objects in the room. The prayer wraps up when we say, “and help me be more like Jesus, Amen.”
Last night I told Miss M, “when you help H – that’s what it means to be more like Jesus.” When she doesn’t hit back, that’s more like Jesus. When she chooses love and patience over selfishness and immediate gratification, that’s more like Jesus.
God, help me be more like M, who is more like Jesus.