So as I tend to begin my mornings with coffee, of course, I usually then proceed with a certain curiosity for what the day may unfold. I begin to wonder about what we will do. Will there be a sufficient amount of activities for the kids? Will I have done what I needed to mold and teach them the age-appropriate education that is expected of them at this age? Am I going to be a better example today for them than yesterday? Are they finally going to get what it means to be a 'good boy' today?
Those are just a few of the many expectations I put on myself. I know. I need to just take a chill pill. I know.
J tells me the same thing. Essentially.
Then I read this the other day - -
"
And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength. And you must commit yourselves wholeheartedly to these commands that I am giving you today. Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up.
- Deuteronomy 6:5-7
Over the last few days I feel that those bags packed full of these expectations have begun to lift from my shoulders. Instead of just doing things with the boys, I've tried to spend time with them. I'm not just reading a book or two, I'm enjoying the stories, their reactions, the imagination. When we play or learn or whatever, I'm watching them. I'm stepping into 'aha' moments and basking in them.
My change in attitude has provided a wonderful lack of frustration that would have normally found its way to the surface by the end of each day prior. Now, whether it was to try and get 'x' done while cj wanted me to put his trains together and tj tugged at my pant leg, I felt free from frustration and even guilt.
I want to teach them how to be godly versus good. I want to build a relationship with them instead of adding to the number of activities in a day. It's been freeing. Now, I am free to enjoy the time with them. And though I know there will be days and those harder-than-ever situations, I can now confidently leave the ownership of who they are / will be to God so I can enjoy these moments in the meantime.
The other day, Colin patted the seat beside him and beckoned : "Mommy, come sit on the couch and tell me about God."
Seriously. Who taught him that?
