Be my compassion

My daughter's regular bedtime is eight o'clock. Teeth brushed, potty, and everything else is expected to be taken care of by that time. Her head should be on the pillow by eight o'clock. Last night, her head was on the pillow, but I could see the makings of an all out fit brewing. First it was "I miss Daddy." Then it was "I don't know if I can go to sleep." Then it was "I'm scared." The list goes on and on.

After my shower at nine fifteen, I was standing in the kitchen with my husband having a pleasantly grown up conversation when she walked into the room, awake as ever, and announced tearfully that she couldn't go to sleep. This was no surprise to me. I knew when she first got into bed that she wasn't going to sleep. I'd listened to her work herself up in her bedroom. After commanding her not to get out of that bed again, I walked her back to her room, tucked her in for the last time and went to bed with my Bible, fuming.

This was her four year old routine; she is now seven and a half. There is no reason to revisit this craziness. I thought we were past this. But as I lay in bed with Chris and listened (how could we help it? the volume of this tantrum was ridiculous), I knew I had to dig my heels in and wait. I refused to converse with this out of control child. This was a battle of the wills, and I knew that I had to win. By this time it was almost ten o'clock. Not only was I angry that my evening had been ruined, but as the minutes ticked by and her intensity grew, she began to say deeply hurtful things. Even though I knew they weren't true, the sound of her wailing and desperate crying tortured me on some primal mother level.

"Why don't you answer me??!!" she screamed, gasping for air in between words as if someone were choking her. "When you don't answer me, I feel like you don't love me!!!"

Funny how kids instinctively know all the words that will stab you right in the heart. So I lay there for over an hour, waiting, teeth clenched, eyes closed, praying for it to end. In the end, the threat of closing the bedroom door finally ended it all. Thank God.

This morning, I dreaded waking her up. She has no idea how she hurt me, and there are no words to explain it to a seven year old. All I can say is that sitting across the table from her this morning felt like eating breakfast with someone who beat the you know what out of me the night before. It was difficult.

Do you know what breaks my heart the most, though? As I struggle to show this child any kind of affection this morning, I stand in absolute awe of God's mercy. All those times when I did the exact same thing to Him, when I cried and complained and accused Him of things I knew weren't true, how could He ever welcome me back with open arms? With no "probationary period"? His compassion shines so bright in the light of the cold shoulder I'm giving my child, and I'm both disappointed in myself and loving God like never before. He commanded us to "be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." (Ephesians 4:32) And how did He forgive me? While I was still sinning, He died for me. (Romans 5:8) Looks like I've got some work to do.

Father, forgive me for being so unforgiving. Help me to be compassionate, like You. Help me to show my child who You are by giving up my "right" to stay angry. Soften my heart, Lord. Where I find none in myself, be my strength and my compassion today.

In His perfect love,

Amy

copyright 2010, Amy Wallace