Grace for the Journey

Mornings are the bane of my existence.

Eli is in his final weeks of preschool (HOW????) and today was the big pajama-party-slash-pizza-and-ice-cream celebration for the four-year-olds.  We picked out the pajamas on Monday, and he has been counting down ALL WEEK.  Seriously.  Several times a day.  I envisioned cute pictures of him posing with his siblings in his pajamas, all grown-up at five.

In reality, he stayed in bed and whined for half an hour after he woke up, he poked around with breakfast, and at 8:05, when I was hustling Violet and Caleb toward the door, he was still in his underwear.  “Put on your pajamas and your shoes.  Now!” I ordered, before ducking into the bathroom to brush my own teeth.  When I peeked back into the room, Caleb, delighted by the chance to go somewhere in HIS pajamas, was trying to pull on upside down socks.  And Eli….was nowhere to be found.  Because he was hiding in the closet.  Because certainly it seemed like a good time to play hide and seek. (!!!!!)

I forgot all about three deep breaths and the BIG PICTURE and modeling for Caleb what it looks like to control our emotions and I lost my ever-lovin’ mind.  It was spectacularly awful.  Eli, half-dressed in his precious jammies, was sobbing hysterically.  There would be no keepsake pictures today; we would be lucky to get out the door.  I’m not one to assign blame for my children’s actions to myself; certainly Eli was disobedient when he did not get dressed.  But it was my blow-up that I quickly realized had put a cloud over his big day. 

And so, many deep breaths later, the pajama-clad Simons made it to the car.  As I started down the street, heart hurting, Caleb asked, “Mommy, aren’t you going to pray?”

I started the habit of praying through the beginning of our drive when I was working full time, and each morning found me anxious and tense.  It is a habit that I didn’t realize was sinking in with the boys until today.  So I prayed out loud an apology to God.  “I’m sorry for losing my temper, for hurting the hearts of my children, for reacting badly when I should have planned ahead.  Please forgive me and help their hearts.”  Then Caleb said, “It’s my turn to pray!  God, thank you for wearing jammies (laziness for the win!) and for Grandma bringing the car stickers and for the Day One song.  And I pray that we will see construction on the way to school and that we will swing when we get home.”

Then Eli joined in.  “Thank you God for everything I’ve learned this year.  And thank you for pizza at school.”  (That’s boldness right there, thanking God for something that hasn’t even happened yet!)
 

And Caleb interrupted, “Thank you that I pooped this morning.  And thank you God that I am potty trained and Eli is potty trained (Can I get an AMEN?), and thank you for Eli.”

“And thank you for Caleb!”

“It’s MY turn, ELI!”

“But I was thanking God for YOU!”

And then we had a nice little fight, a flimsy explanation about how God can hear all of us at once, and then a favorite song came on the radio and the back seat forgot their differences to sing along. 

Cause I am for you,
I'm not against you.

If you want to know
How far my love can go,
Just how deep, just how wide,
If you want to see
How much you mean to me
Look at my hands, look at my side.
If you could count the times I say you are forgiven
It's more than the drops in the ocean.*

And there was God, not only forgiving me for my anger, but giving me such a privileged glimpse into the tender hearts of my little boys.  Caleb, who rages agains his own emotions so often, has learned how to give thanks.  And he is so grateful...even for things that, well, it never occured to me to be grateful for.  My boys.  They love each other.  They love God.  They love to pray so much that they're willing to fight for their turn.  All in spite of me.

I have been given so much grace.

Grace for the journey.

*Hawk Nelson, "Drops in the Ocean"