The other night, K and I were sparring at bedtime. You know the drill – tired mom trying to put active 6-year-old to bed. I’m generally more impatient than I need to be, she’s generally just six. It’s a guaranteed path to destruction. After managing to escape her room, there was the inevitable waiting period to see what she will supposedly “need” in order to lure me back in.
Sure enough, within moments, a quiet voice emerged… “Mommy?”
“Yes?” I replied, feeling my blood start to boil.
“I can behave better than this.”
What did she just say? Kel and I looked at each other and I quickly ascended the stairs, my temperature suddenly cool.
“Kathryn, what did you just say?”
“I can behave better than this. Sometimes I just forget…”
I can’t be sure she wasn’t stalling, but regardless, what ensued was a sweet conversation where I found myself relating to her confession. Me too, kid, me too. How often do I, a grown adult, admit that I should be able to do better, I just don’t always choose to?
My confession to her: I can’t always behave better. Sometimes I try so, so hard to do better, and I just can’t. I need Jesus to help me. And that’s why I have to say I’m sorry a lot.
And suddenly, the great divide between us was immediately gone. No longer was I a self-proclaimed “wise” mommy and her an unknowing ignorant little girl. Instead, we were just two people… admitting our imperfections in trying to figure life out. Together. Recipients of a grace we don’t deserve.
True Courage
Days later, I’m still marveling at her courage in that moment. The courage just to admit that she was missing the mark. I want to be more like that. I want to be quick to admit my bad behavior, my bad thoughts, my bad words… to apologize, to beg for God to help me do better. Instead, I typically find within myself a reason to excuse the bad behavior… to justify my harsh words, my bad attitude, my unwillingness to help another. Instead, I am quick to lay blame… Well, if he hadn’t…
To be fair, the majority of the time K is still your typical 6-year-old. And I suppose, I’m your average 41-year-old. And maybe that was the beauty of the moment. A true mirror of my own moments. That while most of the time I’m digging my heels in, there are these instances where I catch the bigger picture of how I ought to be living/thinking/being. Moments of surrender and humility, confessing that how I’m actually living isn’t always matching up to the way I say I want to live.
Sweet moments where God reminds me that while I can’t, He can. Moments where all I can do is say, “I’m sorry”.
The teachable moments are never just for K – it seems God always has something for me, too. May he find me as tender-hearted in those moments as she was. Willing to admit, to listen, to learn, to long for better, and to trust him when I simply cannot.