I brought my grandson to school today; he’s in his second week of half-day kindergarden. We stood in the air lock waiting to go into his classroom, surrounded by kids laughing and gabbing. We were next to a bench piled with boxes.
A mom came through the doors carrying another box like the ones on the bench. She dropped it on top of the pile and pulled her son next to her. He apparently wasn’t behaving as she expected, which she told him with her face centimeters from his. She proceeded to sit him down hard on the floor and commanded him not to move. She went in search of another adult about the boxes. He turned from the crowd, hiding his tears from the rest if the students.
My heart hurt. He couldn’t have been over 8 years old. When the other kids went to ask him about his backpack (very cool Lightning McQueen version) he had tears tracked down his face. I wanted to cry.
I’ve been that harried young mom. Overburdened, trying my hardest and nothing seems to be going correctly. I’ve lashed out at my kids. I wanted to throttle her, but I also heard in my Spirit to pray for her. And him. And my own kids.
I don’t want to forget this. I grieve the times I did not speak to my kids in love; I confessed, yet again, how I’ve failed in the past. Jesus is merciful. I pray for his mercy and grace to penetrate the heart of that young mom and her boy. And give me courage, Lord, to offer a prayer in person. For now, You know who they are. Ease their hearts this day.
Take the time to reach out today; bless someone.
Dream big and Soar high!