People have asked the question: How do you know God exists if you can’t see him?
There are many answers to this question, some theologically deep, and some that use analogies to help us understand this phenomenon.
Last week, I had one of those experiences where any doubt I might have had about God’s existence and his involvement in my little old life was completely dispelled.
It had been a tough week for our little family. Toby’s sleep schedule is less than desirable, with between 2-4 wake-ups a night that usually include nursing. He has been teething and had a nasty cold and was just a mess. I have been overtired and have less patience than usual, especially when dealing with a dramatic and emotionally verbose 3-year-old.
Asher has become more adept at verbalizing what he wants and using his up-and-coming negotiating methods to try and get his way. When I don’t give in, he resorts to vocalizing (different than verbalizing) his angst dramatically with a rather exuberant display of physical antics that usually involve rolling on the floor and flailing while wailing. One can imagine how this is taxing on a mom who is running low on sleep.
One morning I was particularly drained and could already tell it was going to be one of those days. During my morning shower, I prayed mightily. I remembered hearing somewhere that instead of just asking God for patience or love, that we pray that he (the ultimate in Patience and the definition of I Love) live in us and fill us and work through us. It is a distinction that is important because it acknowledges that I am not enough. And just asking for a boost to my own patience isn’t enough. To truly love and be patient in a powerful and exceptional way, it takes something beyond myself.
So I prayed specifically for the Spirit to fill me and love in and through me. That His patience could overflow out of me in interactions with Asher, specifically.
The morning went surprisingly well, so I decided to venture out to the Mall of America (a place we frequent) so we could get some walking in. They have this cool LEGO play place outside the LEGO store. We usually end up there if the walk goes well. All had gone smoothly, with Asher running alongside the stroller and listening and obeying quite well.
At the LEGO place, I nursed Toby while he played. Then it happened. The unthinkable. The unimaginable. The worst possible thing for a 3-year-old.
He walked away from a structure he had built to play with something else, and some other kid came over and took a piece off of the previously constructed item to use on his own creation.
It started with a look of disbelief on his sweet little face. His face scrunched up and he let out a slight screech and said in a high pitched voice, “No! No! No! That was MY thing!”
I took a deep breath and said, “Asher, I know you were playing with it, but you walked away and now someone else gets to...”
My well articulated and pretty patient monologue got interrupted by an explosive, “NO!!!! It’s MINE!!!” This was accompanied by real tears, a decibel of sound that is unpleasant, and a dramatic fall to his knees. He covered his face with his hands and as I walked toward him, he threw himself on the floor and proceeded to roll about.
Two thoughts entered my head at this moment:
1. Things were going SO well! Whyyyyy must it go so bad?!
2. That floor is FILTHY and he needs to get off it right now.
The mom of the other kid was startled by Asher’s sudden and disruptive response and began to tell her son to give the piece back. I looked at her and said, “No, he doesn’t have to give it back,I’ll take care of this.” Which at that moment, I had no idea what I was going to do.
I could feel those emotions rise up in me. I was clenching my jaw, preparing myself for a showdown. I was so frustrated and impatient in that moment. All these scenarios ran through my mind. Do I try to talk him down? Do I grab him up and walk out? Where is the closest bathroom so I can discipline him without prying and judgmental eyes watching?
As I unlatched Toby and gathered our things, those thoughts and feelings swirled and magnified in my head, building up pressure til I was sure I would explode.
Asher was going limp so I put Toby in the stroller and gathered this too-big toddler into my arms, all set to do...something...? He flailed and continued screaming. My panic and anger levels were rising.
Then as soon as it all came rushing in, it dissipated. I don’t remember if I prayed in that moment or was completely unable to form a coherent thought. All I know is this overwhelming sense of patience and love for Asher drifted down over me like a cloak. The desire to snatch him and run vanished. The unpleasant thoughts of giving him a spank were replaced by this dawning of a new thought. I knew what he needed in that moment.
I glanced down at Toby in the stroller where he sat, miraculously content after being wrenched away from nursing. I walked to a quiet corner by the LEGO store and parked the stroller and slid down onto the ground, Asher still in my arms. He was fighting me, screeching for me to let him go. He was simultaneously crying, trying to explain why he was upset and asking me to let go. He was a blubbering mess. My heart melted. This sweet boy was struggling. His behavior was not acceptable but he was obviously struggling. So I did the thing I know calms him down immediately. I sat him on my lap facing me, pulled him close to my chest, lifted up his shirt and began scratching his back. And as if by magic, he softened against me, stopped thrashing, ceased crying and just sat.
For several moments we sat like that. People milling around, some oblivious, others side-glancing to witness our drama. Toby happily gnawing on the stroller strap, me with my back against a cold marble wall, Asher, taking shaky breaths and cuddled in as close as he could get.
I began talking to Asher, asking what had happened, talking through different choices he could have made, letting him know it is never okay to scream and throw himself on the floor, as it isn’t safe for him or others. He nodded, said he was sorry and then said, matter-of-factly: Mommy, I think I am SO hungry.
Ah. Yes, sweet boy, hanger can affect even the best of us!
He said, “Next time I will make a good choice and won’t scream and cry when someone takes a toy I like.”
I said, “Sounds good, buddy. I like that idea!”
We said, “Goodbye and see you next time!” to the legos.
Then we walked to the car and came home.
On the drive home I couldn’t help but feel this overflow of gratefulness for how God had answered my prayer and how one little parenting moment went so well, thanks to Him. I felt enveloped and filled with the warmth of His presence and power. My boy got the best me in that moment because it was the part of me that was allowing God to do His thing. The depth of that truth playing out in my life in a tangible moment is not one I will soon forget.
I share this detailed saga because to me it is the proof that there is supernatural power in this world, accessible to me. God heard my prayer and replaced my own failing attempts at parenting with this deep love for my son. It was His love. His patience. His strength. The change was like a switch was flipped. I don’t even remember trying to “calm myself down.” One minute I wanted to spank him and yell at him, and the next, it was the furthest thing from my mind.
This moment will always be an Ebenezer to me. A reminder that I will continue to try and will continue to make mistakes as a mom. But my ability to parent with love, grace and patience is directly tied to how much of that I am placing in God’s hands. He has offered to help me, and with those results, why would I ever try doing it on my own?
I can guarantee you I will mess up. I will try to be the best mom all on my own. I will desire to take credit for the great parenting moments that happen. But please feel free to remind me of this story and how it isn’t me at all. Any good parenting moment, any victory or loving reaction to the hard things is directly by the grace of God.
