When my child takes my joy
It’s a struggle for me in how much to share about my children. Not because I want to paint a perfect picture, but because I want to be sensitive to their privacy. The problem is that I’m an open book, totally transparent type of person. So is my husband. We just aren’t private people.
We all struggle. We all have major issues. We all have insecurities. I know that when we are open with each other, true friendship takes shape. Real doors are opened. Here on this blog, I hope to never tell a story that my family has it all figured out. We are just like you- trying, failing, getting up, dusting off, and going at it again. Always knowing His mercies are new everyday. Grace upon grace upon grace to infinity is required to do family well.
My youngest son, Andrew, is definitely my most difficult child to parent. When he was a toddler, I remember crying to God and asking why He couldn’t have made Andrew easier for me to parent. Why did I feel I had to battle this child in every waking moment? But then. A moment of glory would dawn. God would do something through Andrew that would hush my moaning mouth that wanted parenting to just get easy. I would see the heart inside this child. A heart that was hungry for truth, for God’s Word.
God’s response to my cry for Andrew to be easier to parent, “I could’ve made Him easy for you to parent, but you would have missed the greater gifts I have in store.” Andrew became a major refining tool in my life. He still is.
When Andrew was about 4, I’d had a string of horrific days with him. At one point I lost all control and began screaming in the car, pulled over, opened the car door, stepped into an empty parking lot and continued screaming at the top of my lungs. I was so filled with anger and fatigue, the only thing I could was was scream.
When Steve called to see how the day was going, I blurted before having time to think about my words, “Sometimes parenting him sucks all the joy out of me.”
The other end of the line became eerily quiet. “He isn’t in control of your joy.”
No, my children don’t control my joy, but there are days that finding joy in parenting is like a scavenger hunt that just won’t end. Now I’m learning to find the glimpses along the hunt. These end up as reminders of the Supplier of the only joy that lasts.
Despite how strong Andrew’s personality is, He is incredibly sensitive to God’s Word. He truly thirsts for it.
A couple of nights ago I shared a picture on instagram of Andrew sleeping with His Bible. He has done this for years. I never placed it in his arms, I never instructed him to sleep with God’s Word. God drew him to Him.
The day after I posted, the enemy struck. We’ve had a hard 2 days with him since I posted that picture. Honestly, I often feel that when I voice a particular bent towards God in my kids, the enemy is like, “Oh yeah, watch this go down.”
Monday afternoon from the moment Andrew got in my car until the moment he went to bed, we battled. Multiple disciplinary actions went down. It was so intense, I missed an entire afternoon with Jacob and Zachary. Steve got home and saw the frazzled look on my face and probably wanted to run and hide. Thankfully, he didn’t.
When I went to tuck Andrew in bed, I had no intention of reading to him. Something about reading God’s Word when I’m filled with anger just feels wrong. Yet it’s the most right thing I could do. I pulled his covers up, kissed him, said goodnight, and started to leave.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, Andrew?”
“Aren’t you going to read?”
“Do you think you deserve a story tonight?”
I immediately felt guilty when the words left my mouth. I mean, really? That is how I show God’s grace? Asking my son if he deserves a story based on his behavior? I don’t deserve the grace God shows me, but He doesn’t withhold His love from me.
He cast his eyes towards his feet. “No.”
My voice softened, “I’ll read anyway.”
I opened his Jesus Storybook Bible. He asked, “Can you read Jericho please?”
It’s his favorite story. He connects with Joshua. I see some Joshua in him. I wonder what Joshua was like at 2, 3, 4, and 7? I wonder if he was a pistol to parent.
After reading God’s Word, my heart softened. You know the thing is that Andrew can push me to the point of rage, then that same child can force me into obedience to God and bring about allowing me to be changed by God. God uses the hard to create the soft sometimes.
I looked back at him tucked in tightly. In his left arm, he held his Jesus loves you teddy bear. In his right arm he held his Bible.
“Mommy?”
I turned back to face him as I stood at the doorway to leave. “Yes?”
“Sometimes, I sleep with my Bible at night because it feels like I’m holding onto Jesus.”
And the soft turned liquid.
“Andrew, I know exactly what you mean.”
The very thing God uses that seems impossibly, excruciatingly painful can be the very thing He uses to draw our eyes to Him and remind us to sometimes just hold onto Him.
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