"I hate you!"
I'm daily and often reminded that my children are sinful. Little sinners that are in as much need of Christ's forgiveness as I am. But it is easy sometimes to see their sins as sins of youth. Trying to sneak an extra cookie without permission. Not wanting to put their toys away. The occasional push to a sibling to get a toy back. Not listening for the hundredth million time. But I hate you is not some youthful folly - it is anger. It is an innocence lost.
And I wasn't ready for it.
I wasn't ready for the fact that my relationship with this child now seems tarnished in a way that can never quite be undone. Like a rip in fabric, it can be mended, and still be wonderful, and useful, but still that tear remains. It may be expertly sewn together so that only the most trained eye can find it. But it is still there. And we both knew it. And it felt different. And we both felt that difference.
Apologies were rendered. Forgiveness freely given. Hugs handed out. Words of I love you readily spoken. We have mended our tear as best we can for now and over time it will only continue to be mended until it is tiny and minuscule. Nearly forgotten.
But yet still I cry. I cry for that loss of innocence. I cry because I know that it will take time before I can look at that child without my first thought being "oh that's the one that hates you." And I cry, because my first instinct was not to comfort my child who instantly regretted those words the moment they left their lips. It was to hurt them back. Thus proving that I am even more of a sinner than they are.
Still, in the midst of my tears there can be some joy. I didn't hurt them back with words even more awful and hateful than "I hate you" or even offer to give them something to truly hate me about. Instead I simply said "Okay. I love you anyway" and walked away.
And there is joy that the words once uttered by my child were regretted. How much more painful it would have been if they were not? If we lived in the kind of house were I hate you was just another thing people said? Something that no longer had the power to cause pain? Something barely worth noticing?
And there is joy in knowing that we are already headed down a path of healing the rift that those words caused. Already I'm thinking about how much I want to hug this child in the morning. To assure them that when I said "I forgive you" that I truly meant it.
And there is joy because I have been given a husband who was there to comfort me in this moment. To talk to our child about the hurt they had caused. To encourage repentance. And to get ice cream for his heartbroken wife. The kind with coffee - two shots of espresso to be exact. The kind that keeps you up until the wee hours of the morning, providing you with ample opportunity to reflect on this moment.
And there is joy in being able to share your burden of guilt and sorrow with your best friend who doesn't judge you or criticize, but empathizes and tells you it is going to be okay. And that ice cream is always a good idea.
The greatest joy though is that some day that rift, that tear, will be expertly mended. Not by me, not by this child - for what hope do we have to accomplish this? No...it will be mended by Christ. And He will do more than mend this tear, He will take all my imperfect, broken, and battered relationships and He will replace them with pure and perfect ones. Ones that will never be torn, never tarnished, ones that will never cause tears or sorrow.
Tonight I pray for that day a little more fervently than I usually do.
No comments:
Post a Comment