Recently, one of my children accused me of wanting her to be perfect.
After the initial denial, I realized she was right.
Mamas are supposed to hold the standard high, aren’t we? If I do, maybe they won’t fail in life. Maybe they won’t suffer through the school of hard knocks like I did. Instill some discipline, establish healthy eating habits, set them on the straight and narrow and they’ll turn out okay.
Or so goes the thought.
But tucked somewhere in all the ‘shoulds’ and the ‘going against the grain’ and the ‘doing hard things’ needs to be something else: A fat measure of ‘knowing their frames.’ Without that, our best intentions are tyrannical and will only produce heartless, judgmental automatons.
I think of this especially as I watch them sitting next to me in church, a huge line of children, my children, all so beautiful, all needing love, each with his or her own struggles. Maybe it’s because sitting in church is one of the only times they sit still enough to observe them. Maybe it’s because in church we’re all a bit more vulnerable, a bit more impressionable, a bit more aware of our weaknesses. It’s also a place we should be, despite all these things, more aware of the grace lavished on our parched and broken souls than any other time in the week.
But, for tonight…grace.