This morning David left for a 4 am airport run. By 6:15 the boys were up. By 6:30, my patience for the day seemed to have run dry. Jude woke up crazy. Lots of loud talking. He wanted pancakes, stat. He also wanted to body slam a still groggy Silas. He wanted to open every drawer and pull out the innards. Pour his own juice. And by 7am he was wake-the-neighborhood screaming on the porch because I wouldn't let him slice his own strawberries....with a steak knife.
Love is patient.
By the time David returned, the floor was covered in a thrown plate of pancake and strawberries, thanks to Silas's long arms. Jude was still in hysterics over the knife incident, and I was about to go out on the porch and scream myself.
As it would happen, when Jude was finally tucked into the school bus and I sat down to read my devotion, I had come to the break between the Old and New Testaments. Just in time for Christmas, I'm entering into the gospels after long months plodding through prophesies and the Israelites' unbelief.
The commentator remarked on God's profound and generous patience. The cycle of calling a people to worship Him, fulfilling promises to them, followed by their all to predictable rebellion. Time and time again. He gave them manna to eat, a land to call their own, sons as numerous as the stars...and finally, a Savior. All amid rebellion after rebellion. And even yet, in His mercy, we daily experience His constraint and patience amid our sin.
This is the God who strengthens me to parent. It is His Spirit I have right, through Christ, to rely upon. That knowledge heartens me to press forward with these two little men whose actions are such a mirror of my own heart.
As for my parents, they were delayed in NYC and are now stranded somewhere in the Middle East. I hope they're riding a camel or something! We're trying to have patience as we wait for them:)