Interrupted by Grace

Blessings come in unexpected ways. Mine came in the form of an interruption.

It was late, and my children had been in bed for hours. Big brother had been asleep for at least an hour, but little brother’s sleep avoidance tactics were still going strong. I was caught up in the sublime task of cleaning and organizing, feeling an actual sense of accomplishment, when my son emerged for the umpteenth time. The pitter-patter of little feet wasn’t sounding so sweet anymore. “Go to bed!” I exclaimed, exhausted and annoyed.

But again he emerged, this time with a sense of urgency. Apparently, he had been given the task of taking two toys to school the next day. He’d forgotten, but then in the stillness and boredom of bedtime, he had remembered. I told him he’d have plenty of time in the morning to choose the items, but he informed me his teacher had told him to do this. So like a valiant warrior given orders by his king, he trudged on at all costs to his safety.

His final entrance into my world was met by the greatest and angriest “Go to bed!” I could muster. This time I took the toy. This time I made it clear that I was annoyed and angry and maybe even a little crazy. I saw the hurt in his eyes, but I stomped indignantly back down the stairs and into my world of accomplishment.

It’s been tough lately. And by tough, I mean tantrum-throwing, boundary-testing tough. We are all weary on various levels. We are in a new country, a new house, a new culture. The boys are in a new school. We’re all experiencing our own version of culture shock, and that makes all the newness even more challenging.

That night, as I sat in half-hearted indignation, my thoughts shifted from my private pity party to my son and what he was going through. I wondered what he was thinking up there in his bed. Was he asleep yet? Had he fallen into dreamland believing I was mad at him? That I didn’t have time for him? That he was getting in the way of my accomplishments?

I wondered what challenges he was facing in his little five-year-old life, and what it was like to navigate a new school with people from so many different cultures. My heart sank as I thought about how it must feel to forge through such big unknowns and then come home to a mom who is tired and short-tempered.

I crept back upstairs, hoping to find him awake so I could say I was sorry and make sure the last thing he heard and felt before falling into slumber was love and encouragement. I was relieved to see his little head pop up when I opened the door. I told him I was sorry for being snappy and that I loved him.

“I forgive you, Mom. I love you, too, Mom.”

I decided the cleaning could wait. I got into his bed and opened my arms to him and his teddy bear. I thought about the future sixteen-year-old who wasn’t going to snuggle with a teddy bear, let alone allow his mother to climb into bed and sing to him. I held him a little tighter, sang to him a little longer, and watched as his body fell softly into slumber.

As he lay there sleeping, I thought about his heart and what the world would speak into it—the good and the bad. I thought about all the challenges and difficulties and character-building experiences he and his brother would continue to face, and the importance of home as a safe space. I thought about all the moments I had pushed aside in the interest of accomplishment, all the sharp words I had spoken in haste, and how deeply I wished I could erase them all.

To be responsible for the care and cultivation of the hearts of my children is an awesome task, and one I have often failed to execute well. I felt sadness mixed with gratitude as I contemplated the great weight of parenthood, the enormous responsibility of raising the next generation.

Parenting is full of moments that expose our brokenness and flaws, and it’s easy to allow the weight of our failures to discourage us from changing course. Parenting is also full of grace moments, where we are invited into repentance, forgiveness, and transformation.

There in that moment, I had been given a taste of grace, a gift of insight, and a second chance. What began as interruption and frustration became blessing and gratitude as I realized what a gift it is to hold my sleeping child, how grateful I am to be his mom, and how powerful grace truly is.

Jennifer Kinney lives in Shanghai China with her husband and twin sons. She works as a communications coordinator for a non-profit fighting to end human trafficking in Asia. When she isn’t doing that or playing referee to her two busy boys, she writes at jenkinney.com about her life abroad, random thoughts, and being a mom to a child with epilepsy.

Photograph © Bethany Beams, used with permission