Oh Me.

Today has been one of those days that can fall into a myriad of categories all at the same time.

- Very bad
- Really good
- Painful
- Therapeutic
- Beautiful
- Grotesque
- Hellish
- Heavenly
- Breaking
- Building
- Spinning our wheels
- Making great strides
- Oxymoronic
- Just plain moronic

This is July 20th, 2007.

It all started with a pinch on her arm. Which led to an elbow in her cheek. Which was enough to crack the dam of a Lake Superior of emotion, screeching, stomping, squalling, sinning, crashing down,
swirling around,
sweeping us up,
bashing us to the ground.

So we found our separate corners, the four of us. We called our friends and canceled plans. More weeping and gnashing of teeth in my direction.
Couch time. Family meeting. CONSEQUENCES.

The Sequence of consequences:
A pinch for a pinch,
an elbow for an elbow.
Now... don't you feel loved?

Momma brings out the big guns:
Be devoted to one another in brotherly (sisterly) love.
Honor one another above yourselves.
You feelin' loved? You feelin' honored? You lettin' her know you're devoted to her with that elbow?
Think about it, talk about it, pray about it, copy it.
Yep, the big guns.

Those chores you're doing tomorrow... do them today.
Mom, why are you being so harsh? Why so many consequences for one
small
sin?

Is there any such thing as one
small
sin?
Let's ask that man on the cross, shall we?

There's a Biblical theory here, my dear, it's called storing up wrath.
It's called the Day of Judgment.
On a maternal scale, mind you.
It's called reaping what you sow.

This one
small
sin
is evidence of a pattern, an attitude, a treatment, a perspective and a lifestyle.
Time to root it out.
Time to breathe deeply and dive to the bottom of it.

The consequence of consequences:
One child crying in my arms about missing her best friend. (This is a deep, deep well.)
Same child asking if she can go to bed earlier at night. She's too tired and irritable these days.
She asked me.
Another child takes a nap on her own. Runs into my arms for unsolicited affection. Contemplates the effect of sin on her own heart.

We're purging out the bilge water.
Very bad, really good, painful, therapeutic, beautiful, grotesque, hellish and heavenly
Spinning our wheels, making great strides, oxymoronic, just plain moronic,
Breaking
Building

I reflect on this in the quiet of my separate corner.
And soon hear screaming, scuffling.

It all started with a pull of her hair.
Which led to a slap on her arm.
Oh
Me.




Post Script.
5:17 PM, July 20th, 2007
Sometimes a mother's love expresses itself in funky ways. Like pink hairspray.

Restoration of Fellowship