It's amazing to think that sometimes parenting actually goes the way you want it to.
Frankly, I think it's pretty hard work, overall. And I fall short oh-so-many times. Like with the chore chart or the TV time limits or the losing my temper and making empty threats.
On the couch, talking with my girlfriend, we lament the attitudes of our oldest daughters as they play upstairs. Not bashing them, just earnestly sharing how we choose to teach and guide and them, trying not to scar them along the way. Wondering that somehow, despite our best intentions, we've let it get this far.
We don't really understand where the attitudes come from sometimes, or how to keep them at bay. And we criticize ourselves -- are we not giving enough, disciplining enough, loving enough? We are both those types that tend to drown in the negative instead of finding hope in the positive. It's easy to get down that way.
And so, as we talk, we choose to begin this Spring Break holding onto the hope that God is guiding us, that we will make mistakes, but that He can bring redemption. We make a silent pact that we will celebrate the good ten times more than we will ponder the bad. We will chase away the shadows and dance in the sunlight (that is, if it ever stops raining here). We will be excited for what the week could possibly hold instead of choosing to dread an attitude onslaught.
And because God loves the gathering of women who strive to come under His guidance, He sends down a sign from up above. No, it's not from Heaven, but from the upstairs bedroom. It's a letter that holds promise. It's power in the written form that healing happens, that truth reigns, and that love pours forth even after a stormy season.
Painting Prose, Playdates with God, and God Bumps.