Monday, October 8, 2007

Return to Sender

One thing that I try to remember,
but then end up forgetting,
but then remember again,
only to forget again,
but now I remember is:

That my children are not really mine. They are God's children whom He has entrusted me with.

Can you imagine - you're a babysitter looking for a job when your phone rings. There's this man on the other end looking for a dependable person to watch over his children. He needs someone loving and dedicated but also recognizes that this person will make a lot of mistakes. You, the babysitter, think, "Wow. That's odd. He wants me to watch over his children even though he knows that there's a good chance I'm going to screw up but he willingly hands them over to me anyway?"

Hmm, talk about faith!

My dad always said that when you borrow something from someone, you are to return it in better condition than which you borrowed it. You know, to show appreciation. For instance, if you borrow a friend's car, you should return it with a full tank of gas and newly washed.

So how do I return God's children to Him better than I received them? Especially, if I'm going to be making a multitude of mistakes while raising them? The only thing I can think of is to turn them back over right away, before I, working on my own accord, do too much harm.

I think the sooner I let go of the idea that my children belong to me, that I OWN them, the better. They are not mine, they are God's. My job is to guide them through the ups & downs of life but if I don't first direct their steps back to God, then I have made my first serious mistake.

Well, doesn't that look all well & good written like that? Problem is, I'm writing this as Kirby is peacefully sleeping in his crib and London is downstairs eating dinner with Daddy. I've had a pretty easy-going day with no major disasters to clean up after. Everyone has gotten along and at no time did two people simultaneously demand my attention.

All is calm. All is bright.

But what about tomorrow? When Kirby starts the day by fighting me while I'm changing a diaper that is only partially containing a blow-out the size of a small sedan and London is crying from the floor of the kitchen because I gave her the blue sippy cup instead of the red one? The dishes are quickly filling the sink, the trash is begging to be emptied, last week's mail is multiplying on the counter, the phone is ringing for the third time in 10 minutes and with all this noise in the house I cannot hear Joyce Meyer preaching on T.V!



Uh-oh. Those are God's kids I just hollered at. God's kids I just lost my temper with. God's kids I've had enough of 45 minutes into the day. What on earth was God thinking? I often scratch my head at the amazing and questionable choice that God made when He sent these two precious gifts to me. Does He know something I don't?

Maybe I should ask Him - daily - for His insight. No, scratch that - throughout the day. Maybe I should go to Him first and get the lesson plan for myself before I try to teach the kids about following God. Or maybe it's not so much my job to guide them as it is to accompany them. Maybe, they are here as much to teach me as I am them. Perhaps this walk is a walk we take together - hand in hand. Because, truth be known, I won't really ever complete my walk with Christ until I've been called home so why not have some really cute, adorable, kissable company as I go?

As trying as they can be at times, I really do love and appreciate these two precious gifts from God. And you can bet, I have already stamped them, "Return to Sender".

It's just that, instead of sending them back on their own, I'll be making the journey back with them.

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