Paying the Price

Night of Frustration.  My six-year-old slept worse than a newborn the other night.  It was “too dark,” there were nightmares, she got too hot, she accidentally sucked her thumb, the covers weren’t comfortable enough, and she needed more water in her cup beside the bed.  Each instance brought dramatic screams and tears, woke the baby in the next room, and required that my husband and I stumble up and down stairs in the middle of our REM cycles.  I was left with only a few hours of sleep and a mounting stack of resentment towards my passionately emotional daughter as I rushed off to a 7 am meeting the next day . . .  while she, of course, slept in better than a baby.

The Water that Spilled Over.  I thought I was over it by the time I returned home that morning–that I had forgiven her for pitching fits at 2:30 am and beyond.  As I walked up the stairs, she innocently said from the floor watching cartoons, “Mom, I’m hungry.”  While this may be a normal statement for a Kindegartner to make, I immediately replied with Ursula-the-Sea-Witch intensity, “Well, go make yourself something then.”

Someone once said, ”A cup full of sweet water will spill sweet water, no matter how hard it is knocked.”  Or, in the words of Jesus Himself, “Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks.”  It seemed to me as I stood there at the top of the stairs in the aftermath of yelling at my duaghter to fix her own breakfast that my cup was definitely not full of sweet water of any kind.  And, sadly, it only took a simple request from a sleepy six-year-old to ”slosh that ugliness right on out” (as my mother-in-law would say).   

The Whisper.  But, unfortunately, as happens in the life of a mom with three small children, time to evaluate and apologize is fleeting in the midst of cereal bowls and finding shoes and hussling everyone out the door on time for a playdate at 10.  Yet then, in the semi-quiet of the front seat of the ol’ minivan, I heard it.  The whisper.  The Divine nudge, the holy thought.  “You are the picture to your kids of what My forgiveness looks like.  Does My forgiveness look like what you are giving to Kelty right now?”  Gulp.  Um, no.  “What does My forgiveness look like?”  And immediately I thought of loving extravagance, of forgiving without expectation, of not holding a grudge.  I thought about how Jesus forgave–forgave injustices far beyond my interrupted sleep–and how He loved without crossing His arms and demanding proof or payment.

Paying the Price.  And, so, right there at the stoplight on Hwy 67, I had to make amends to my daughter.  I had to turn around and sincerely apologize for indulging in my bad mood and not offering her true forgiveness.  As a teacher said just this week, “Forgiveness means that you pay the price.  Justice means the other person pays the price for the wrong they committed. ” (Kirk Greenstreet, Pastor of Community Church)  Offering forgiveness to Kelty in the car meant that I had to accept that I would pay the price of being tired that Thursday.  It meant that I stopped giviung her my own form of justice by inflicting emotional guilt or withholding my affection, and it meant that I needed to be the picture that day of the forgiveness of God Himself.

Amazing the transformations that can take place during the drive to a playgroup.