We’ve had a rough last few days with our 6-year-old.
Behavior wise, it’s shown up in the form of hurtful words, disobeying house rules, and a general unwillingness to listen to anything we have to say.
Between the hours spent working on the house build and the busyness of our every day lives in this season, I don’t necessarily blame him for this behavior. His attention needs aren’t being met as appropriately as they have in the past.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t let my own anger get the better of me.
“Why are you behaving this way?” I asked him. “You know we’ve raised you to do better.”
In the heat of the moment, I found myself placing my own frustrations onto my 6-year-old child then walked away to allow myself time to cool down.
As the anger continued to bubble up in my stomach, I found myself questioning my own mothering skills.
Where had I gone wrong? Why couldn’t I seem to get this whole parenting thing right?
Self doubt and anxious worry clouded my mind and my judgment. Should I just throw in the towel?
That’s when I saw it…
Tucked away beneath the mountain of clutter on the kitchen counter.
A Valentine…for Jesus.
I’m sure I’m going to screw up in my parenting many more times over the years.
Try as I may to always remain calm, my voice will sometimes raise. My expectations may sometimes be set too high. And I’ll have to seek forgiveness, even when my selfish pride wants to do anything but that.
But I’m raising a boy who writes Valentine’s to Jesus. (Yes, even ones with bugs on them.)
And if I fail and fail and fail some more, at least I know I succeeded in this one area that matters most.
The heart.
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