|me and my girls|
If I hadn’t just experienced it, I would have missed it. Missed the root, I mean.
You, my oldest daughter, eight years of age, began protesting about going to swim practice. Full-blown melt down, I tell you, filled with words like this:
“You’re a mean mommy! If you were a nice mommy you’d let me stay home.”
(Tears) “Why can’t you let me miss just one class?”
“I’m not good enough. Coach Steve said “perfect” to me only once. I am so bad at swimming. Everyone else is better!”
“I’m not going. Ever. Again.”
And my personal favorite: “You don’t understand how I’m feeling!”
Oh, sweet child of mine. I understand all too well. And if I hadn’t been under the thumb of the enemy just yesterday, I would have just chalked up all of this to disobedience. But God is faithful and He doesn’t waste anything, even the bad stuff. He used my own war with the liar to help me spot the lies coursing through your mind. You see, I know that:
You think if you can’t do something perfectly, there is no reason for doing it at all.
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