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Tears stream down his face as he reaches his arms out to me. Mommyyyy! Huuuggg! Huuuggg!
My jaw, my arms, my heart are clenched. Anger pulsates through my body, and I refuse to oblige. He’s a kid, and I should know better, but in the moment I want him to bear the consequences of his disobedience. I want him to know things can’t be fixed so quickly when the relationship is broken. You get what you deserve, buddy. Grace and mercy aren’t available from me. And yet, he still reaches out. Still he pleads for the embrace.
Path - Times - Day - Times - Anger
We go down this path a million times a day, and it takes all those times for me to see beyond my anger, his disobedience, and what’s fair. For a heaven-sent second, everything slows down. His screaming quiets in my head, and I finally perceive what is good and profound through the loud fog of disciplining him. The generosity of his arms reaching out to me first, the relentless desire to reconnect — it’s the gospel, the hospitality of reconciliation.
I couldn’t see it before, but now it’s all I can see. When he resists the separation of timeout and fights to be close to me again, I learn that reconciliation means going further than middle ground. It means not expecting the other person to meet you where you’re at but taking the extra steps to meet them where they are. It means fighting against the internal struggle to choose comfortable and fair and putting aside your pride. It means being gracious and gentle and looking past differences and hurt. It means forgiving, correcting in love, and recognizing the humanity, the imago Dei in each other.
Son - Sorry - Things
My son is far better at this than I am. He is quicker to say sorry, to let things go, and...
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