a *seat* at His heart

With one knee on the floor and another perched like a chair, he sits.  This has always been his seat of comfort - where I hold him close, rub his back and pray the Lord's protection and guidance over him.

He sleeps late today on a day off from school and I thank the Lord, for I know he needs the rest.

Unlike the usual morning's when he's wide eyed for the day and practically running to his dresser to get himself dressed - excited for the joys of the day - today he searches for me.

I can see it in his eyes, he wants his seat - to be close to my heart.

"This child has wrecked me to pieces," I said to my Gram yesterday.  I tell her about the ah-ha moment I had last week while driving down the road - a moment of realization that God specifically intends to use children in the ministering of their parents - ministering healing, grace, mercy, love.  Most especially, I think He uses children to save their parents from the grip of chains that entangle their heart from the *mixed up understanding of love* that their story has written before they entered the world.

God does the saving, but He uses the children so deliberately - with such purpose.

As I speak aloud of this revelation, I *see* that God has purpose for my life in my mother's life, and my father's life.  And as difficult as it is sometimes to battle my expectations of them, that they should know better than me, or be wiser than me in certain aspects just because they are older, I finally see that He breathes fruit in me that provides nourishment - healing - that they can't get any other way than through their child.  He uses me.

The truth of this is so clear and my heart breathes a sigh of understanding - Jesus, a babe, saved the world; a world older than He, yet a world that was saved from themselves by a Child.

My own brokenness, anger, fear, resentment, bitterness and controlling nature is aware of how the gentleness of my own babe - gentleness that only the Hand of God could have placed in him - has touched my heart and my soul in the most personal, deep and remarkable ways.

It's like God reaches into my chest each time this child sits on his comfort stool of my knee and massages my heart like only a surgeon would, making it come back to life and beat stronger and steadier.

Oh, to be that close to God.  To search for His Son, and sit on His knee, have Him rub my back, caress my cheek, brush my hair with his gentle fingers and pray to the Father on my behalf.  To have Him whisper sweet love in my ear and tell me I am more than some thing, I am some one - some one important, with meaning and depth of purpose.

Tremors have come over my body and I don't understand them.  When stress of any form settles upon me, especially fatigue, the tremors become more pronounced.  The things I do become almost impossible - nearly debilitating.  I move slowly.  Tentatively.

This morning I comment out loud that my body just isn't functioning today.

The boy-man, the child God created to shred me in pieces, he speaks with wisdom - "Give yourself a pep talk, Mama."  And I know those are words he's heard someone else speak to him, perhaps a teacher.  I am amazed at how wisdom seems to cement itself in this child's brain when he hears it spoken.

He goes on to tell me that he tries {to give himself a pep talk}, and "it doesn't seem to work."

I tell him it does work when your eyes are turned to God and your pep talk is a reminder of the Truth.

When we remind ourselves that *He gives us His strength*, we really can do all the things He's called us to do.

He's so close and I'm nearly at His chest, feeling it beat, as I ask Him for strength to prepare this morning's breakfast, and He does provide that which I need at the moment.  The strength to provide.  The strength to teach.  The strength to find Him.

God provides our strength and He provides our freedom...He provides love and He provides salvation...
 
...Even through the littlest of these.

It is done.

He calls me from above, "Mama, I made a mistake!"

I blow a hard breath, slam the dish cloth down and run upstairs.  I think: Again?!  He was too-late again?!  He's six!

And I see - a terrible mess.  Not the kind of mess a six-year-old should be having, I think.

I shout: "How could this happen?!  No one does this!  No one!  What would have happened if this happened at school?"

(and dare I say it...and I did...)

"You'd be kicked out [of school]!"

(I see the foolishness and silliness of that last part now and [by grace] I am able to chuckle.)

It all comes clearer with a little bit of time, with each wiping and spray of the cleaner, and each toss of a sock in the garbage, and the underwear.

"I had a tummy ache," he says in between sobs.  "I didn't know..."

And I see just then.

I see that he was standing up and had to go, but didn't know just how he had to go.

I'm still mad.  Reeling.

Shouting.  In the bathroom.  A place where we said we wouldn't ever shout at him.  A place where he'd be comfortable to go, and to be.

I get him cleaned off and into the shower to wash himself.  And I am calmer now.

Softly I ask him, "Do you understand that you have to go earlier?"

Sobs.  "Yes, Mama, yes!"

"Do you, really?," I ask.

He replies with an emphatic "Yes!," and I still doubt.

A softer voice comes from deep within me.  Gentleness.

"I forgive you, honey, I forgive you."

His whimpers at this point now turn into deep sobbing again.  I can tell he feels the weight of shame, disappointment, and I hope he feels forgiveness now.

More gentleness comes from angry me.  

"It is done," are words that come from my wretched mouth.

The child sobs more.

Then, just the sound of water raining over him.  I pray it's grace showering over him.

Angry me meets Gentle Spirit.  He who saves me from breaking the fragile and still developing heart of my son.

I'm grateful that it is done.

There's no more talk that night about his mistake, and I pray he sleeps peacefully.

I didn't see it then, and I do now...his choice of words - a mistake - once came from my own mouth.

And I see that I might have taught him about grace.  Extending favor on him once or twice before when I was able to say, we all make mistakes; it's just a mistake.

Then, the very next day, my own lack of sleep breaths fire into the same place we stood the night prior.  I take my frustration out on the innocent.  

I'm asking him a question and he's not speaking in a way I understand, and so I shout at him to speak clearer.  And I hurt him without realizing what I'm doing.  Yet, I do realize.

He wails that I'm hurting him.

I'm ashamed.  

Kneeling down to his level, I hold him and apologize.  Ask for his forgiveness and he nods yes.  Knowing that he might not really know what he's nodded to, I trust that he does.  

My fear is alive that maybe this - this episode of the fiery-dragon who just spewed her own selfishness on to this innocent little boy - will be the sticking point for him.

I fear.

Lord, let it not stick.  Let him truly forgive.  Help him to forgive.

I pray he sleeps peacefully.  I pray for Divine Amnesia. 

I still feel the pain of my shame, even now, and it's still difficult to receive God's grace.

Grace for me.  Love for me.  Forgiveness for me.

It's hard to let myself believe, It is done.

These moments - the two situations I've described - they are moments that have humbled me beyond all description this week.

I've realized it is moment-by-living-moment that I need God's guidance, and His gentle hand.  And, moment-by-blessed-moment He shows me His grace - for me.  So that I can know it and trust in it.  So that I can give it away with His strength.

Again I see, all is Grace.  All.