It had been a long morning with her. Now 2. Now preferring her ways over mine.
I slipped into her room at naptime. Watched her peacefully sleeping. Sucking her thumb.
And I fell to my knees. “God, help me.”
I’m not fighting her. Not fighting them.
As I watched her chest rise with each breath I remembered anew. Satan is the enemy. Not our kids.
She has sin. I have sin. And her sin collides with my sin, and sometimes it can feel ugly.
Every day we fight against him for them. And it drains.
This sin nature makes me angry. For them. Satan attacks our kids. He attacks me. He “prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (I Peter 5:8).
“God, help me to remember who I’m fighting. May I approach our kids with love not anger.”
We are all sinners fighting the same battle.
Her little foot with pink toenails wiggled out between the crib slats. And I kissed it. Held it close to my face while she slept.
“And God, one more thing…make me content to wash feet. May I serve as You have served me.”
“Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him.” (John 13:5 ESV)