When Weak Knees Bow
Tears that formed and fell from the corner of her eyes revealed the despair that I’d read as anger, moments before.
“I just can’t do it, Mommy,” she said, with eyes on the floor. “I keep messing up.”
She’d prayed with us, just that morning, Lord, help me love them well. Those siblings of hers — the ones she’d only had for a year — pushed buttons she didn’t know she had. Loving them wasn’t always easy. In her heart was a “yes” but her actions often fell short.
I’d given her a soft correction and some time to think it over — this one needs time, with childhood rails that were laid void of love’s correction, and now foisted onto a new track.
Days before, her response was on the other end of the spectrum. “But, Mommy! …” she’d attempted to interrupt, as I brought a similar sin to her attention. She had a list. She rattled reasons. “I never asked for siblings,” she said. Her error was justified, in her book, or maybe it wasn’t even error from her perspective.
She’d forgotten that prayer.
Had she been hiding out in the corner [Continue reading over here on Mothers of Daughters -->]
