Grace at Hip Height
My days have not been very full of grace this past week. At least not from me. I've had long to-do lists, lots of stress, and little patience. I've "gotten through" too many of the days, throwing the kids at Micah when he got home from work. It's been pretty ugly.
On one of those rough days last week, we sat around the supper table to write out our "thoughts." It's something we do most nights. We keep a little journal and each write one or two sentences about the things that stood out most to us that day. I thought it had been an awful day, full of scoldings and arguments. Henry saw it differently. His thought went something like this, "Today we played with superheroes and castles. And we played The Nebulizer. And we had spaghetti and pretended it was worms. It was a great day."
I looked at Micah and shook my head, Really? A great day? What exactly had been great about it? I'd put together their toy castle to keep them occupied. I'd given them some ideas for a new superhero game, and listened for a minute as they talked about The Nebulizer's latest adventures. I'd thrown together a spaghetti supper because it was quick and easy. And it was a great day?
I had another eye-opening moment this morning. I was clearing pictures off of my cell phone. As I flipped through the old photos stored there, I came across a series of pictures Henry took one day when he had found my phone. They were all taken at hip-height, but they captured life from his vantage point. A picture of Thomas hugging my legs. Micah coming in the door from work, his head cut out of the frame. Cora standing in the doorway, blurry as she waved at him. Micah and me standing together, only our torsos and legs visible in the shot. But the pictures, cropped and blurry as they may have been, looked to me like love. A family that loved each other, loved to be together. They captured the little moments, the impromptu interactions from a five-year-old's point of view.
I think my kids see our life, see me, differently. I see flaws, mistakes, moments that I didn't seize, discipline that was too harsh, hair that won't lay like it's supposed to. What they see is grace. Love. They see a mother who loves them intensely and is trying her best. They see the little moments I take to play baby bunny or to read a book. They don't remember the rough moments. They have an unbelievable amount of grace for me. When I'm wracked with guilt at the end of the day, my children's memory of the day is completely different. They somehow grasp the simplicity of savoring the sweet moments and letting the mistakes slip past. Not that we don't try our best. Not that apologies aren't sometimes owed at the end of the day. But the grace I receive from hip height is far greater, far closer to God's grace, than any grace I've been able to muster for myself. God bless my sweet children for teaching me, yet again!
On one of those rough days last week, we sat around the supper table to write out our "thoughts." It's something we do most nights. We keep a little journal and each write one or two sentences about the things that stood out most to us that day. I thought it had been an awful day, full of scoldings and arguments. Henry saw it differently. His thought went something like this, "Today we played with superheroes and castles. And we played The Nebulizer. And we had spaghetti and pretended it was worms. It was a great day."
I looked at Micah and shook my head, Really? A great day? What exactly had been great about it? I'd put together their toy castle to keep them occupied. I'd given them some ideas for a new superhero game, and listened for a minute as they talked about The Nebulizer's latest adventures. I'd thrown together a spaghetti supper because it was quick and easy. And it was a great day?
I had another eye-opening moment this morning. I was clearing pictures off of my cell phone. As I flipped through the old photos stored there, I came across a series of pictures Henry took one day when he had found my phone. They were all taken at hip-height, but they captured life from his vantage point. A picture of Thomas hugging my legs. Micah coming in the door from work, his head cut out of the frame. Cora standing in the doorway, blurry as she waved at him. Micah and me standing together, only our torsos and legs visible in the shot. But the pictures, cropped and blurry as they may have been, looked to me like love. A family that loved each other, loved to be together. They captured the little moments, the impromptu interactions from a five-year-old's point of view.
I think my kids see our life, see me, differently. I see flaws, mistakes, moments that I didn't seize, discipline that was too harsh, hair that won't lay like it's supposed to. What they see is grace. Love. They see a mother who loves them intensely and is trying her best. They see the little moments I take to play baby bunny or to read a book. They don't remember the rough moments. They have an unbelievable amount of grace for me. When I'm wracked with guilt at the end of the day, my children's memory of the day is completely different. They somehow grasp the simplicity of savoring the sweet moments and letting the mistakes slip past. Not that we don't try our best. Not that apologies aren't sometimes owed at the end of the day. But the grace I receive from hip height is far greater, far closer to God's grace, than any grace I've been able to muster for myself. God bless my sweet children for teaching me, yet again!
