confession and gatorade

This morning, I drove the carpool with Anna, Ellie, Jane and Hendrik and got them off to middle school with plenty of time to spare. When I got back home, I snuggled up next to Taylor for him to have a slow wake up and we read together for about half an hour.  We've decided that we are going to see how long it takes to try to read through every book that we have on his shelf together this fall.  We had some good laughs about some of our old books that he loved when he was little but that he has outgrown a bit now, and then we headed down for a quick breakfast. As we were throwing things together with this lunch, he made some Gatorade and added a bunch of scoops of the powder to the water bottle.  Jason and I both told him that he did not need that much in his water bottle.  We were trying to help him think about all the sugar that was in it, but I think he felt like we were breathing down his neck a bit too much, and he was getting defensive and began using a tone with us that was angry and not very respectful.

Taylor and I then scrambled out the door and down the alley only to hear that the bus was pulling away. We are getting used to our new routine with a new bus stop and new time this fall so we just have not figured out what time we need to leave the house to get there on time yet.  So, I ran inside to grab the keys and we drove to school.  I was certainly a bit frustrated about us missing the bus, and as I looked back at Taylor, his arms were crossed in frustration too (still about the Gatorade incident).  This was not quite the way I wanted either of our days to start. So, as we drove, I tried to break the ice that had formed and tried to help pry his arms off his chest through some gentle questions about his day ahead.  As we were pulling up in front of school, I said the blessing to him we have said for many years, "May the peace of Christ go with you wherever He may send you. May He guide you through the wilderness, protect you through the storm. May He bring you home rejoicing at the wonders He has shown you. May He bring you home rejoicing once again into our doors."  I asked him if he could push a reset button, and with a little hug in the car, I am pretty sure I spotted a smile crack on his face as he was headed out the door.

As I came home, I opened up my morning prayer book that has the call to confession as the first order of worship.  

Most merciful God, 
we confess that we have sinned against you 
in thought, word, and deed, 
by what we have done, 
and by what we have left undone. 
We have not loved you with our whole heart; 
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. 
We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. 
For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, 
have mercy on us and forgive us; 
that we may delight in your will, 
and walk in your ways, 
to the glory of your Name. Amen.

As usual, this prayer felt like taking a bath and getting to have a clean start... I am grateful for the way God invites us continually to return to Him and for us to leave our messiness and loose ends in His hands (Gatorade battles and all)... 

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I also read this post this morning when I got home as well and thought it applied too: 

When You Don’t Like What You See in the Mirror

by LISA-JO BAKER22 Comments

topics:

Daily GraceEncouragementFamilyMotherhood

He stares at me from the back seat with eyes hot, red, determined, defiant and desperate to be understood. I stare at him through the rear view mirror with eyes that echo his own blue exactly and match his mood perfectly.

I am just as angry as he is.

The only difference is that outright temper tantrums with the snot and tears and whiney mouth aren’t really navigable for grownups steering a minivan to school. I want him to just quit it. I want him to be rational. I want him to understand how mad he’s making me.

He just wants to wear the red striped shirt instead of the orange one.

Last minute battles when we’re all but out the door crush a day before it even begins. The rehab can take ages. Even when he’s finally found his way to a small island of calm and the teacher has hugged him and I’ve admired his sprouting bean, his eyes are still hot and we hug each other good-bye almost angry at how much we love each other.

The mother job is hard. Because every time I look his temper squarely in the eyes I see the reflection of my own.

DNA surprises in all kinds of ways. The boy who was my 24 hour best friend just yesterday can unhinge me this morning in under five minutes.

We navigate these bumpy waters together – carefully. It is a hard crossing. I have to learn carefully when to yield and when to hold firm. The waves are unpredictable. And sometimes I have to shout into the wind, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

I have to shout it louder on the days I don’t feel it.

I shout it until my throat is hoarse and we both start to believe it.

This boy has dissected me. All these parts of myself I’ve never recognized, let alone acknowledged.

He is a mirror and I don’t like what I see.

Our kids do this.

So do our friends.

Our family.

The people who love us the most also reflect our insides the best.

And my boy reminds me that I am built of DNA and the Spirit and that I can claim this passion as a holy fire rather than one that will consume me. I want that for both of us.

The ability to look in the mirror and see a warrior for the Kingdom rather than an out-of-control, out-of-toilet-paper, out-of-her-mind mama. Because while I may be out of all those things on more days than I care to count, I also know that Jesus chose me.

Jesus chose me knowing full well all that I am and more importantly all that I am not.

“You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you.”- JESUS

~John 15:16

So when I look in the mirror I focus on seeing what Jesus sees.

So when I look at my son I focus on seeing what Jesus sees.

When I look at my family, my job, my calling, my writing, my scale – when I look at all these things I focus on the reflection of Jesus that is EVERYWHERE if only I remember to look for it.

And His reflection calls me chosen and so when I glance in the rear view mirror at the boy with the eyes and the mood that reflect my own I whisper under my breath, “Chosen,” and drive us both safely home.