A Soft Answer Goes a Long Way

Central Massachusetts

Last night, as I put my five-year-old son to bed, he told me he’d had a good day. I agreed, it’d been a good day. He went on to tell me that every day his heart is broken but today was a good day because he saw my joy and wanted to follow my joy. He was watching me and doing what I was doing.

I was gutted.

He wasn’t praising me for being a wonderful, joyful mom. He was noting that my joy is the exception and it stood out to him. He had a good day because I wasn’t grumpy, short, and irritable as I often am. I had consciously been far more patient, gentle, and kind with my kids than is the norm. He noticed and followed my lead.

My last post was on December 30th; six full weeks ago. I wrote about surrender. About how surrender is my word for the year as I learn to let go and lean into the uncertain. I was worried about that word, remember? Risky business. But I went with it anyway.

Enter New Year’s Eve — Darren and both kids are recovering from the flu, I’m coming down with the flu. You know, the flu that’s running for president and has knocked on every door in America? Yes, that flu. I’d already made big plans for The Shiny New Year because that’s what I do. I filled out my goal planner and day planner and all of the sub planners. And then I started The Shiny New Year flat on my back with two not-sick children climbing on me whilst I died slowly.

We lived (but the flu lost my vote).

Everything would be ok now. Onward. Huzzah. Etc.

Darren jumps off something, lands wrong, sprains his foot. ER. Crutches. Etc.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Only we have head colds now and fevers that won’t go away. You see the pattern here, right?

I’ve been struggling in this (not so shiny) new year to get on my feet. Truth be told, if I’ve surrendered to anything, it’s giving up. For months now, one or the other kid has been waking during the night. Then the kid who slept gets up early. This all sounds like an endless string of complaints, I know. But what I’m struggling with the most in all of it is that I can’t seem to get ahead of my kids enough to meet with the Lord. And when I can’t meet with the Lord, everything else seems to crumble. I can’t do it. I can’t catch my breath or hold my tongue. I can’t meet all the needs and demands.

So I gave up. I stopped trying. I told the Lord that if he wouldn’t help me have the time I need with him, then I was going to stay in bed. Might as well be as rested as possible. I did this for weeks — sleeping as late as I could and not even trying to get up and meet with the Lord. The kids will just wake up as soon as my feet hit the ground anyway so why try?

It didn’t work, of course. If things crumble when I try to meet with the Lord but can’t, they ignite and burn when I don’t try at all.

We’ve had months of hard. Months of tears and frustration and fighting. And yesterday, I finally hit a wall. I decided to get up and pray because I needed help too much to not at least show up and see what happens. I made coffee and slipped quietly to my chair in the living room — waiting all the while for the patter of little feet down the stairs; they didn’t come. For the first time in a long time, I prayed — I cried tears and cried out to God. I abandoned my stubborn stance and asked for help. I surrendered.

I don’t like typing any of this. It’s really hard to tell that story about what my son said. It breaks me heart — but fortunately, it broke my will too. God answers our prayers in funny ways sometimes. This time it was by showing me myself through the eyes of a little boy who is always watching and learning. I couldn’t figure out what his problem was these last few months. Why does it have to be so endlessly hard? Then he told me about his good day and I realized maybe his problem is me.

Right after I put him to bed, I talked on the phone with my best friend (this happens maybe twice a year). I got really honest about how hard things have been and how much I’m struggling. I told her I haven’t really prayed for weeks and I’m frustrated with God for not making it easier. It wasn’t pretty.

But you know what she said? It’s going to be ok. She reminded me that I love my children and the Lord — and they all know that. She pointed out that I get up every day and try again and that’s worth something. She put this hard season in perspective simply by reminding me that it is in fact a season. When she could have corrected and condemned, she instead came beside me and lifted me up.

Both these conversations with my son and friend show me something — a soft word goes a long way. A soft word with my kids when I’m frustrated and overwhelmed softens their hearts in turn. A soft word to a friend who feels like a failure gives the courage to try again. Our words have life and death in them. How thankful I am for hard words from my son, gentle words from my friend, and the endless love of God through it all.