Yesterday I posted a little poem about the truly sacred place where many moms discipline their kiddies, the bathroom. Truth is, disciplining a child doesn’t usually look so “poetic”. At least not in my house, which is why I didn’t use the first person in my poem.
The poem was actually inspired by a difficult week that included more discipline than usual. I was growing weary. I was growing weary in my battles with my own heart to just want to manipulate their behavior, or to judge them self-righteously, to grow impatient, to give in to anger. I was growing weary with their resistance to correction, their repeated infractions after corrections, their trying to manipulate me. Poetry? no. not at all.
But at one point when one of my twins was doing what we do (sometimes this is hard fought for on both our parts), hug while he prays in repentance, the Holy Spirit helped open my eyes to the beauty of the moment. This boy is getting so big. I won’t be so intimately involved with his process of repentance. I will one day really miss the somewhat robotic, but childlike faith-filled prayers he prays with his arms around my neck. I marveled, for a moment, at the privilege I have every day to bring my little ones – who aren’t so little anymore – to the throne of grace. And it just struck me as funny that this process also happens on a “throne” in the bathroom.