It is very important to me (as I assume it is to most moms) that my children LISTEN to me. They will need to be able to submit to authority when they are older so it’s my job to teach them to submit to my authority while they are younger. Which I understand to be one of my roles as a parent based on verses like Proverbs 13:24, “Whoever spares the rod hates their children, but the one who loves their children is careful to discipline them.” All good things. Except when I get 100% focused on their submission to my will and marginalize everything else, you know, like their well-being, feelings, opinions, thoughts.
That single-minded pursuit of their submission to my authority had the drivers seat this morning. While we were trying to get out the door no one except the baby was doing what I asked them to do and, so, I lost it. Fully. My voice is actually hoarse from yelling so much. The problem I ended up losing it around? Noah was pretending to be a ninja and hiding in blankets, waiting patiently for me to notice him missing and come searching. He was being extraordinarily stealthy and another day I would have found his imagination funny and engaging. However, since I was coming fresh from dealing with being smacked by a three-year-old for not “allowing” him to buckle himself into his carseat (which he is not even physically able to do at this point), I was not in the mood to play along. Suffice it to say, no one could have done anything right after I started in on the yelling.
We all eventually got in the car and most of us were crying and my eyeballs were boiling. We made it a couple blocks from the house, the volume of my voice and their voices getting progressively louder, before I whipped the car to the curb with a foot stomp on the brake and barreled out of the door, fully intending on berating Noah in his face for whining so loud. Maybe I’d even spank him. As I rounded the bumper of the car on my way to his door, full of righteous huff, God allowed me to walk into the fullness of shame in my actions. My insides were liquid regret. I was behaving like a child who was a lot bigger than all the other children so EVERYONE SHOULD LISTEN TO ME. I slowed way down as I opened the door and looked in at Noah. I was at a loss for words. Here I am, looking at the tear-filled eyes of my preschooler, and I have nothing to say. I had literally just yelled their ears off before stopping the car so we were all a little in shock I think. I heard myself ask Noah if I could say a prayer. He sniffled and said yeah. So I grabbed his little hand and reached over to touch Micah and I asked God to forgive me. Then I asked Noah to forgive me. He said, “Okay. I forgive you, Mom” (Oh man, to be able to forgive like a four-year-old).
I got back in the car and we went on our way. The intricacies of who had disobeyed and how and what needed to change fell behind us and when I looked into the rearview mirror I saw all of us chewing on grace.
I hate that I treated my children so terribly this morning. I hate that it’s a part of their story now. But I love that we got to talk about how Mommy let anger win in her heart, instead of compassion and patience. How Mommy raised her voice when she shouldn’t have and how Mommy was wrong. I got to see the wheels turning in Noah’s head and knew that the next time he lashed out in anger we would be able to talk about the time I lost it and had to apologize to everyone.
My humanness is so heavy-handed but God’s grace is so miraculous.