Mean Mom

The peace of morning is saturating
Deep breaths fill the quiet
The sun lights my shoulder and casts shadow over the Word as I read
And then they get up

I love them more than I ever imagined possible
They're unique
They make me laugh
They force me to think
And they wear me down
Irritating noises
Quarrels
Disrespect

It's the little things that strip away at the peace, the joy
Swallowing the bickering
While addressing the unkind word
And sly punch on the shoulder
Pressing down the disappointment in their disrespect
While requesting quiet, refocus, forgiveness

Until there is no more room for swallowing
Filled to overflowing and ready to burst from pressing it down day after day
And I'm no longer gentle, or in control
I'm a mess of my own emotions
And too often yelling

I don't want to be the mom who yells

He is a fortress, quiet, and brooding at times
He doesn't break
Not that I want him too
But sometimes the realization that I'm getting through would be nice
Arms crossed and face hardened, he's good at rationalizing, excusing, blaming
Aren't we all
But in a rare moment of exposure
I realize how shallow my perception
For beneath the crossed arms is a heart bleeding with the realization of inadequacy
And his hardened face hides the harsh self-judgement contained in his mind
He is harder on himself than I will ever be

And in that moment I know what he needs
Grace

So, I hold his weeping body and he lets me
I kiss his hair, as the tears roll down my cheeks, and breathe out a prayer
A prayer for peace
A prayer that speaks truth
A prayer that claims promises for his life
A prayer that builds him up
A prayer that asks for forgiveness
A prayer that is his lullaby

I don't want to be the mom who yells

I want to be the mom who prays
The mom who sees what they need

I know I can't save them
I can't make them love each other

But I can pray

And so I will...