17 Oct On Redemption

This is my firstborn, she of the sometimes blue, sometimes pink hair, sweaty cloud of curls, and the outsized personality a mirror of my own. We are warring these days and the only winners here are my sin and her tears, and oh how my heart is aching. I don’t feel redeemed when I raise my voice at her again.

My intentions, they start noble. I want to teach my image-bearer how to live well, to love Jesus, to clean her room.  Simple things, that make a life worth living. But somewhere the narrative changes and the lesson is lost when she stumbles, because the recounting is of her wrongs, and I list, impatient, all the ways she failed.

Sometimes, when she is crying, she wails out “I’m the worst daughter ever” or some variation there-of, and I’m stricken, I’m breaking. What do I say to convince her otherwise in the thick of battle.

THERE IS GRACE HERE

But there’s grace here, in the moments worn thin, and so I wrap my arms tight around this girl of mine, this gift. And the reasons why I’m frustrated don’t matter anymore as much as telling her the infinite ways I love this living fragment of my own heart. I curl up with her across her twin bed made up just so – she seems impossibly long now for someone who fit neatly under my ribs once. Our tears fade away to laughter and there is redemption in the grace my daughter shows me. There is redemption in our goodnights when we talk about tomorrow and her job is to listen better and my job is not to yell.

THERE IS REDEMPTION HERE

And I am my daughter to my Father-obstinate, obdurate and unwilling to listen. Still, He whispers His love for me across the pages of His story, and from a splintered cross.

There is no yelling in the hushed echoes of an empty tomb.

And so when tomorrow comes and she wanders away mid-instructions, when my words settle unheeded in her heart and my sin comes roaring up in my throat, grace willing, I will choke it with a whisper, with the echoes of a Heavenly Father who teaches me to love this daughter of mine the way He loves me. And there is redemption in the choking.

I will own the narrative in this home again, one skirmish at a time. And I will try each moment we live here together to whisper a story of grace, and of redemption {hers and mine}, to live the story of a Savior who gives no condemnation to those He has redeemed.

Mama friends, I am praying for your whispers of grace and redemption this week. I’d love for you to share your own moments in the comments.

(All photos courtesy of Kathryn Lee Photography)