A Child of God

God moves in mysterious ways.

So do toddlers.

Perhaps that is why the scriptures tell us to become like a little child.

Let me tell you about the last hour of my life (note: it ends here, me frantically blogging and praying the baby sleeps through his sister's screaming fest while also hoping that screaming fest ends in a nap).

It's been one of those days. The baby won't sleep, the toddler is cranky, and all I've heard come out of her mouth today is, "I want daddy!"

I'd finally gotten Sly to calm down by placing him in his crib and winding up his sports star mobile. He loves that thing. It has gotten more smiles than me today. The problem is, the music only lasts for about three minutes before it has to be wound again (which, if I am really fast, is enough time to go to the bathroom but not really enough time to do anything else). 

Kevin came in and after me telling her no to another ridiculous request, she falls on the floor and starts crying. "I want daddy!"

What followed was not one of my best mothering moments, but dang it felt good.

"I want daddy too!" I told her. "I want him to take you away!"

Understandably, more crying ensued.

This was followed by me dialing Scott's number on my phone, turning on the speaker, and handing it to Kevin with the instructions, "Here. Call Daddy and tell him you don't like Mommy," before I picked Sly up out of his crib. 

A few rings and then a quiet but worried, "Hello?" 

Scott has this thing about the people in the cubicles next to him overhearing his conversations with us.

"I don't wike Mommy," a quiet voice answered.

"What was that?"

"I don't wike Mommy!" She says louder.

I can tell he is trying not to laugh, because he knows this is serious business. "Why don't you like Mommy, sweetheart?"

"I was cwying..." she gives him a long explanation, then hands me the phone and walks away without saying good-bye.

"Hi, babe," I say, feeling only slightly guilty that he is having to play referee between us while he is on the clock. Of the two of us, I have the harder job. 

"You know she only said that because you told her to."

"No, she means it today."

"No she doesn't. I'll call you later."

And that is that. My phone battery is almost dead, so I take it into my bedroom to put it on the charger and end up laying next to the baby in my bed for a few minutes, trying to recover my sanity. Within five minutes, Kevin has wedged three baby dolls, two fabric wipes, a gold bead toy necklace, a purse, and toy food between me and Sly.

He starts to yawn and I realize I might actually have a shot at getting him to sleep in his crib if I work it right. I sit up, gather all the toys in my arms, and take them into Kevin's room and dump them on her bed to the tune of another meltdown. 

"I'm going to rock brother to sleep," I tell her, ignoring the crying. "You can play in your room and when I'm done getting him to bed, it's time for a nap."

"I don't want a nap! I want to stay wif Mommy!"

"You just told Daddy you didn't like me."

"I wike you!" she says, trying to convince me. "I wike Mommy!"

Trying not to roll my eyes, I tell her I will come pay attention to her as soon as her brother is asleep.

By some miracle, this quiets her down. I take Sly into his room, closing the door so that there are only a few inches of light peeking into his room. I wrap him up in his swaddle, put up the blanket-turned-curtain over his window, and settle into the rocking chair. I need to calm myself down as well as get him to sleep, so I start to sing. His eyes grow drowsy quickly and he stops wiggling and fidgeting.

Halfway through the first verse of "I Love to See the Temple," a small shadow appears in the doorway and the comes the whispered request, "Child of God song! Sing the God song!"

I keep singing the Temple song and her shadow disappears for a moment, quickly returning with her favorite purple baby doll in her arms. 

I start to sing the words to "I am a Child of God." With each line, the door opens a little wider, but Kevin stays in the hallway. I hear her high, young voice start to match her off-key notes to mine, getting one word in five.

When I start into the second verse, the door opens a little wider. "I get my baby," she tells me, and Sly's eyes flutter. "Okay," I whisper, trying to quiet her down. She comes and sits in the child-size rocking chair next to me, rocking and kissing her baby doll and singing along. Suddenly, it is easier to believe that this is the same child who came up to me first-thing this morning, gave me a hug, and said, "I wuv you!" without being prompted.

The spirit is sweet, the baby is asleep, and I feel like I can like motherhood again  for a few more minutes. I put Sly in his bed, take her hand, and lead her into her own room.

"It's time for bed," I tell her.

"I want Daddy!" she starts screaming again.

And that is the end of that.

I realized a few weeks ago that there is a reason that we sing the song "I am a Child o God" to our young children over and over and over. Everyone thinks it is a song for children--but I've learned better. This is a song for parents, from their children. Most notably, this is a song for parents who are at the end of their rope!

I am a child of God,

And He has sent me here.

Remember, God gave me to you as a gift, so you'd better treat me more like a blessing and less like a  curse!

Has given me an earthly home,

with parents kind and dear.

Remember, you are supposed to be kind and dear and nice to me. 

Lead me, guide me

Remember, your example is the path I am going to follow

Walk beside me

Remember, I need you to be there for me, even when you want to sell me on Craig's list

Help me find the way

Remember, I might just help you find the way in the process

Teach me all that I must do

Remember, I won't always be this way

To live with Him someday.

Remember, families can be together forever (and that's a good thing!)

These children, they are mine. They are Scott's. But they are also God's, and even though I love them dearly, I know he loves them more. When I would like to quit, I remember that God will never quit on His children, so neither should I.

This is the lesson I will try to teach myself the next seventeen times Kevin requests to sing the "God" song today.

(note: she's still screaming, he's not sleeping, and you should probably keep an eye out for that ad on Craig's list)