Sometimes I Get It Right

Sometimes I don't.

Yesterday, two incidents occurred which served to remind me that, although sometimes as I walk this path of motherhood, my actions--and reactions--are good and right, other times they are not.  I have so much farther to go in the process of being refined.

Example 1:
David had gone outside with my mom to give the chickens the scraps from the applesauce we made; and when he returned to the house, he went into the living room to play.  After a little while, as he was moving around on the floor, something rolled out of the pocket of the sweatshirt he was wearing and made a strange sound as it hit the floor.  It was an egg.  My beloved, absent-minded son had gotten the egg out of the chicken coop to bring into the house for me, and he had done it without me asking him to do so.  Give him a bonus point for that.  But when he got to the house, he forgot that the egg was in his pocket, and so he didn't give it to me or put it in the kitchen; consequently, as he was playing, it rolled out, surprising both him and me, and cracked a little as it made contact with the wood floor.  Take away his bonus point for that.

My reaction?  I chuckled a little at his forgetfulness, thanked him for getting the egg without me asking, gave him a kiss on the forehead, and made him smile by telling him that if the egg had broken all the way, he might have really gotten messy, having it in his pocket like that!  He obviously knew he had done wrong, and his facial expression and body language clearly communicated his sorrow, so I didn't see the need to "rub it in," so to speak.

Example 2:
Tobin was standing on the stool at the bathroom sink, brushing his teeth before bed.  He was distracted by watching Shav, who was also in the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth; and when the time came for Tobin to spit, rather than facing forward and spitting in the sink, he left his body in a sideways position so he could see Shav; and he ended up spitting in...can you guess?...the top drawer that was open beside him--the drawer that holds the toothpaste, as well as my pick and comb, etc.

My reaction?  Only one word came out of my mouth, but I shouldn't have let even that one escape.  I said, "Tobin!" but my exasperation was unmistakable.  His shoulders slumped dejectedly, and his face crumpled into tears as he began to cry.  "You spoke harshly to me, Mommy!"  *sigh*  "I'm sorry, Tobin.  I should not have spoken that way.  I know you didn't mean to spit into the drawer.  Will you forgive me?"

As I type this, I'm laughing at the thought of him so innocently spitting in the drawer.  I know there was no forethought or malice attached to his action, just simple carelessness.  But at the time, I was tired from the day and ready for all the boys to be in bed so I could relax, and I didn't feel at all like laughing then.  If only I could have summoned up my strength, drawn deep from the reserves of grace with which God has anointed me, and extended that merciful compassion to Tobin!

Yes, sometimes I get it right...and sometimes I get it terribly wrong.