Looking back over the notes in the journal that I don't fling out into cyberspace, I came across the following entry. For some reason it touched me today as a thing to raise in concentrated memory.
"I am spending the evening reading in bed, an early bedtime, but not for sleeping...hot chocolate, piles of books sprawling all around me on the bed, my most comfortable pajamas softly hugging me...While reading, I heard my 4-year-old in the hallway. He was so excited a few minutes ago, as he came to tell me he was going to wrap a "present" for me. But now, as I hear him wrap, he struggles. He mumbles "hopelessly" to himself that he's no good at this. As he goes from the vision of the gift he'd give me to the actual preparation for the presentation of it, and as he notes his own ineptness, he grieves deeply. I grieve for him.
My heart turns up to You, God. If my mother's heart can see him, feel for him as he tries to give a gift--not for the sake of a return of praise, but simply out of his love for me--if I can look at him with a love even more tender because of this "imperfection" that disturbs him, how could I ever doubt that You look down on my clumsy, confused offerings with the same recognition of the heart-love that prompts the gift. Why do I assume that You demand excellence, when I myself will settle for love?
So I did what I know You will do: I went to His rescue. I "blindly" (so as not to ruin the surprise) wrapped my own present. Then opened my eyes and unwrapped it. We were both overjoyed.
May I always value this memory from my experience with parenthood.
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