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The Struggle Is Real- For Your Children

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I pulled the covers to his chin, caressed his still delicate skin.

“Mommy, when I open up God’s Word, it feels like I’m in Heaven.”

Lord, give me faith like a child.

Matthew 19:14 “Then Jesus said, “Leave the children alone, and don’t try to keep them from coming to Me, because the kingdom of heaven is made up of people like this.” 

I knelt at the side of his bed, placing my hand on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of the breath of life.

“Lord, guard his heart, his mind, his soul. Protect Him from anything that wars against him. Plant your Word deep in his heart. Instruct his heart with truth even as he sleeps. Keep him following you, never swaying to the right or to the left. Step by step behind you.”

Brushing blonde wisps away, I leaned down to kiss his forehead, and gently closed the door behind me.

Every single day this child shows me the battle that rages in an unseen world. Without the sweet, tender moments, I may forget this truth.

When the tantrums erupt spewing fire on all in its path, I may forget where the true fight is fought. In an unseen world. When behaviors tank, when words dart with deadly aim, the enemy lurks.

But do not fear.

1 John 4:4 You are from God, little children, and you have conquered them, because the One who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.

So we fight not against our kids. We fight for our kids. We fight the real enemy head on.

I picked up the boys from school. Long, lanky legs climb over one another, backpacks thrown in heaping piles in the backseat. Three boys begin talking at once. Everyone fighting to be heard.

Andrew spoke the loudest. It’s a baby of the family trait – they learn early on how to be heard above the noise. “Mom, did America turn back to God yet? Because I’m praying that.”

“Don’t stop praying.”

“I won’t.”

A precious window of time is given a parent to see into the bold heart of a child. As they grow older, that childlike faith begins to tuck a little deeper inside. As I listen to Andrew daily pour out his love for God, I’m reminded to cherish this time. It will pass. He will grow older. While I pray he is always tender towards the things of God, I know that with age and maturity, expressions of the heart take a new shape.

And just like that, the child so expressing bold faith and sincere love of God, can lose his little mind in a fit of rage. I get it. I can do the same thing. I can read a devotion to my children over breakfast relishing in the Word of God only to close the book and come undone in a matter of seconds.

No matter our devotion to God, no matter how long we’ve been a follower of Christ, we are still sinners in a fallen world. And back to the cross I go. Reminding myself that it’s why He came and died. It’s why I’m so madly in love with Him. Because I’m simply incapable of being good enough. Same goes for my little dudes.

Andrew wrestled with Daddy, then lay tucked in bed listening to stories. Dad closed the door sending goodnight kisses and sweet dreams. I read to the older boys across the hall.

Moments later Andrew appeared at the doorway. “I need you to come pray with me.”

“I’ll come pray after I’m done reading to the boys.”

“Praying is more important than reading. I need to you come pray now.”

“Andrew, I will be in there to pray after I’m done in here. Now get back in your room.”

My voice remained calm and gentle (not always the case), and I continued to read. He stood at the door, eyes flaming mad, arms crossed.

He continued calling out, doing his very best to ruin our story and be sure to get his own way.

“Andrew, it’s not that you want me to pray with you. It’s that you want to get your own way. I am going to pray, but I’m going to finish what I’m doing first. You are mad because you aren’t getting your way.”

The enemy is crafty. When he goes to war, he’ll even take very good things and use them as weapons against us. In this case, prayer.

Oh, my familiar friend, pride. Nice to see you again. We’ve had many flings, you and me. You never tire of a visit.

Pride likes to battle itself. It likes to raise up an equal to trade punches with. It blows breath on the fire to create a match of equal proportions. Because pride to pride creates no true winner. If pride goes down, it wants to take another pride down with it. One way or another pride knows it loses. And that’s the thing with pride. Pride will fall, yet it will battle to bring another pride down with it. It knows that if it fights against prayer or the Word of God, it’s gone. Until next time.

Andrew went into his room. I finished with the boys. I opened up Andrew’s door and held in my gasp. He’d destroyed his room in a fit of anger. This is nothing new. It’s what he’s done since he was 2, though it rarely happens anymore.

“Andrew, I came in here to pray with you. I will come back in to pray after you have put your room back together.”

I went into Zachary’s room and prayed with him, giving Andrew a few minutes to collect himself.

Opening up Andrew’s door, the eyes which met mine railed against me.

“Mom, you’ve made me flaming mad.”

“Andrew, you aren’t mad at me. You are mad that you didn’t get your way.”

Pride. Hello, familiar face.

He’d put his bed back together, but he stayed on his chair. “I’m not going to sleep in my bed tonight.”

“That’s fine. I’ll pray over there.”

I laid my body hard on top of him, holding him close as I prayed.

The enemy is not my son. The battle is not between me and him. The battle is over his soul. A  heart that loves God. A heart that we pray constantly to love God more than it loves anything in this entire world. A heart to love God in such a way that it will never depart from God.

It’s not about me. It’s not about him and me. It’s not about the difficult road of parenting. It’s all about his eternal soul. The enemy knows Who holds this child. And while the enemy can’t have this child, he will not stop at tearing him down piece by piece.

So we pray. And we never stop praying for our kids. From before birth until the day we die, we never stop praying.

We must not lose sight of eternity. The battle rages. We play our part. But we are on the side that wins. Praise God. So we pray.

We are our child’s greatest ally. When they fight hard against us, they don’t know that we aren’t the enemy. We know the truth. We cling to the truth. We step on the head of pride and choose the higher road. The road of prayer.

Parenting is for the long run. It’s not for the moment by moments we find ourselves in. Parenting is to sanctify us, to model Christ to our child, to fight for them on our knees, to beg God on their behalf. In this process, we will have beautiful moments where Heaven seems to open up and shine down on our children. And there will be moments where we ask where that child went that once loved God so much. We must not lose sight or hope. The war is won. We have the honor of fighting the battles for our children. Not against them.

And then, just like that again, the tenderness returns. The child who acted out softens. He pours his heart out to God. He opens his mouth and God shows the glimpses of His goodness. It’s worth the fight. We just have to remember who we truly fight.

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Challenged by the faith of a child

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2 Timothy 3:16 “All scripture is God-breathed and useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness.”

For once he wasn’t the one being disciplined.  He lingered in the doorway listening to the serious tones used on his brothers as Steve and I were deep in the middle of some serious business.  Turning towards his room, he bolted, only to return moments later ready to intercede.  Quietly, he approached me while I continued speaking to his brothers.  Matter-of-factly, he placed his adult Bible, his treasured possession, on my lap announcing confidently, “I know what we need.  We need God’s Word to help us.”

Well, yes.  Umm, yes we do.  How do you respond to that?  Of course we do.  Of course we need the Bible to teach us and guide us.  It’s usually my job to remember that.  However, in the heat of the moment, I forgot what I most needed.  Instead, I had turned to myself, my wisdom, my words.  Until a 5-year-old gently reminded me I had help available right in that very moment that I wasn’t utilizing.

“Here, start here,”  his raspy voice instructed as he opened the Bible, which fell naturally open to Proverbs.  The wisdom book.  So, I read.  A peace transcended him, yet he wasn’t even the one in need of instruction in that moment.  Reading God’s Word out loud changed the tone, channeled the emotions, brought tenderness and gentleness to replace sharp tongues and deflated spirits.

Andrew embodies something I desire for myself.  The deepest hunger for God’s Word.  Like we see so often in children, faith seems effortless, as natural as breathing.  Jesus is life in the truest sense to him.  I’ve always seen a sensitivity in his spirit towards God’s Word.  At the beginning of K-4, his teacher commented to me how when she opens the Bible to read, he is captivated, soaking in every word.  Fears of his failure to learn letters and numbers quiet as I see he grasps what truly matters.  At least for this time period in his life.

Where Andrew challenges me the most is his courage to boldly proclaim his love of the Word.  The world hasn’t lied to him yet.  The world hasn’t influenced him to care more what others think yet.  Last Saturday this had never been more evident.

Saturdays are usually spent at the baseball fields hopping back and forth between games. After Andrew’s game, we piled in the car for Jacob’s game.  It’s always a mad dash, and this time was no different.  Lunch was inhaled in 20 minutes, then we loaded up.  As seat belts clicked, Andrew said, “Wait, I forgot something.  Hold on, mommy, I’ll be right back.  I need my Bible.”

“Andrew, it’s fine here.  We will be home in a few hours.”

“No, I need to take it.”

He returned with his giant, adult Bible.  The one he loves.  The one he can’t read.  The one that he sits in bed at night staring at the words.  And when I turn his light out, I find him curled up with that giant Bible.  I can only imagine the smile on God’s face at that sight.  It’s precious beyond words.

20 minutes later, we are pulling into the ball field, unloading again.  He grabs his giant Bible and his baseball hat.  “Honey, you can leave that in the car.  It will be fine.”

“No, mommy, I want it with me.”

Honestly, I felt so embarrassed.  I just knew every parent thought I was a Pharisee walking around proclaiming my holiness.  I imagined them saying, “Oh, look at her, thinking she is so holy, she even has her kids carrying Bibles to baseball games.”  I was so embarrassed that I was quick to tell every single person that Andrew insisted on bringing it.

He sat with his little friend at the fence to the field, Bible open, watching the game. Eventually, he went to play with his friends and brought me the Bible for safe keeping.  I quickly hid it under my purse.  I mean it’s one thing when people know I write about everyday faith, but it’s another thing completely when they see me carrying around a Bible. I’m not proud of this, but it’s the truth.  I care what people think.  Though, I will tell you I don’t.  We know the truth.

The clearest picture I have of a soul that can’t get enough I captured last week.  The day had been long, hard, and cruel to a 5-year-old.  So he fought back hard, until there was no fight left in him.  When I entered his room, I stopped in the doorway speechless.  A little boy who had cried for 2 hours and had the roughest evening lay as peaceful as I’ve ever seen.  His head rested on that giant Bible, his treasured possession.  He may only be 5, but his soul knows Who it longs for.

His little life speaks to me, challenges me.  I want to boldly proclaim my faith.  I want to run hard to God’s word before lashing back with my tongue.  I want to lay my head down at night soaking in His Word into the empty corners longing to be filled.

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Psalm 4:8 “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, O LORD, will keep me safe”