Isn't parenting the ultimate power trip? I mean really--there's this tiny little person (or people) who can't quite talk yet, can't dress themselves, can't feed themselves any more than some crackers from the low shelf in the pantry. They can't drive themselves anywhere, they can't dial a phone number. They have to listen to you, and you technically can {try} to make them do so.
Parenting is the ultimate power trip. Can you imagine if I, or any parent, capitalized (in a bad way) on this place of power? If I allowed the fragrance of complete and total authority to get to my head? What if I chose to rule and reign in my household, and whip these little ones into shape?
I'm telling you--not a pretty picture.
My job as a parent is to shape and correct my child, of course. Out of love, and in love, I am to "pull weeds" and strive to mold my child into the person God has created him or her to be. Most days I don't know what I'm doing. I've read some books, sought some counsel, but in the heat of the moment, I'm often slack jawed and grasping at straws. What DO you DO when a two year old throws books down the stairs, burst into tears, and blabbers something unintelligibly ending in ".... mine, Daddy!" while you're glued to the couch, nursing the one month old who chooses that moment to projectile spit milky goo everywhere, and then bless you with a cross-eyed grin?
Jeremiah 10:24 "Correct me, O Lord, but in justice; not in your anger, lest you bring me to nothing."
As Joshua travels through the so called "terrible twos" (I strongly dislike that label), I am challenged every day to correct in justice, but not in anger. To follow God's example and administer justice because it's the right thing to do; not because it feeds my power trip and fuels my anger. I could so easily "bring him to nothing"--which is a terrifying reality as a parent. I am physically huge relative to my little boy (which won't last long I know!), and relationally in charge. How easy it would be to misstep and reduce my son to nothing. Shame him, ignore him, look past him, yell at him ... way to easy. I know myself, and not only can I snap once I've reached a certain point, but I also easily (and often gladly) carry a grudge.
Again, I have to keep Christ in mind, and when my little boy quickly flips the switch and moves on from his tantrum to sunshine, butterflies, and toddler love, which he can do astoundingly quickly, I must move on too. Holding a grudge against a two year old is, well, stupid. Just about as stupid as if God held grudges against us trantrum-y human beings.
So here's to a day without anger, but full of justice. Justice carried out in love with the end in mind. Because my son is practically asking me to correct him in justice, but not in anger--because I truly could reduce him to nothing. Instead, I'd like to think that every minute of every hour I'm with him, I am pouring into him, building him up, pulling out weeds, tilling the soil of his heart so that 20 years from now I can say to myself and Erik, "Job well done."
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