Tangled Thoughts

A few weeks ago we stumbled upon a kids sized broom and mop set at the second hand store. The item instantly became a “need” to a certain two year old, and since I really had no reason to say no (I mean, I had PLENTY of reasons just none that were justifiable), we are now the proud owners of a mini broom and mop set. These things normally run around $40 and since it was only $4, I decided to say yes for once, with the strict instructions that if the broom or mop hit anyone, they would be returned to the store.

The past few weeks sweeping and moping have been, lets just say, interesting. As if trying to sweep with a one and two year old is not interesting enough, now I get to dance between a tiny broom and dust pan as well. Whenever I sweep he grabs his broom and yells out “Wait for me!” while I admit, I quickly try and sweep as much as I can before we begin our dance. Me sweeping dirt into a pile, him unsweeping said pile, happily declaring “Look mama! I do it! I do it too!” But in the name of memories, and training, with a few deep breaths, we have gotten through. I love that he loves to help, in fact, it is the one thing that pushed me over the edge to say yes to the tiny broom and mop, even though I knew it would be in the way. Even though I knew it would make my job harder, I said yes because I knew how much he loves to help and I love to invite him into that, even if it makes things more challenging.

Last night after we finished our nightly dance of sweeping, he propped his broom up against the wall next to mine and balanced the dust pan just so. So now I have even more things to trip over on my way down the stairs, because that’s where my broom, and his, currently live. “This will pay off when he is a teenager, right?” I joked to my husband. Who lovingly shook his head and said “Nope!”

This afternoon I was downstairs attempting to do a load of laundry while Elias and three of his little day care friends leaned on the gate yelling at me making sure I wasn’t running away or partying it up with unicorns, or whatever they think I do when I disappear to the basement without them. I heard one of his friends ask “What’s your broom there for?” And without missing a beat he cheerfully replied “Because I wanna be like mama! I put my broom with hers too!” And for once I was glad to be alone in the basement, because hot tears rolled down my face. Look, I know all two/three year olds want to be like their mom/dad and I know in a few years this will pass, as will the little brooms and willingness to help. I get that. I’m not ok with it, but I get that. But that isn’t what stung.

Just last night as I ushered the same two year old off to the bathroom for the umpteenth time after putting him to bed, I snapped a little too much and he responded…with the same snappiness. Snappiness that kind of made me want to put his beloved puppy in timeout. Which is when it hit me. He was imitating me. He was snapping back with the same tone that I had just used with him two seconds prior. Offda. I told him I was sorry I snapped. That I would try harder to be nicer to him. But that night after I got in bed, I prayed that I would be someone worth imitating. That I would be someone whose actions would point him to Christ, and not away from it. That I could clean up my act so he had a better role-model. Because not going to lie, that stung a bit.

Then today, hearing those words “I want to be like mama” just drove the point home even harder. The words that came to mind, however, after beating myself up about it were from Ephesians 1. “Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children; and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma.”

The only way I can be someone worth imitating, is if I am an imitator of God. If I am walking in love. If I am showing Christ to my son.

Motherhood is nothing that I expected it to be. It is both better and harder. There are so many parts I was not prepared for, nor could I ever have been prepared for. The two’s are kicking my butt and as a result, I am snappier. I am not walking in love all the time. And so many, many nights I go to bed praying and pleading for protection for my boys hearts and minds, because I feel I am messing them up. Motherhood, for me, has been a walk in humility. A muddy dance through the streets of my own sin. Proving my own inability over and over.

Instead of trying to lean on myself and my own power, I was gently reminded that I need to instead lean on the arms of Jesus. Lean on his power. And instead of trying to teach my boys HOW to act, I need to start showing them. I need to be disciplined and corrected, so I can model for them what it looks like to walk in love, like Christ. Because what a glorious thing it would be, to see them being imitators of not me, but of their own Savior.