At my core, I believe I am his beloved. I believe he has a plan for me. That he loves me. That he can take care of the sparrows and therefore of me. But the humans in my life, they don’t love me perfectly and I let those imperfections cloud my view of his perfection. Even though I label all humans as sinners, when thedon’t respond the way I want them to, they lead me away from beloved. For dwelling in the place of beloved means grace and mercy and wisdom, f imperfections hurt, I dwell on what should be. And when I sit, surrounded by the imperfections, the ways people forget me, fail to acknowledge what I do, beloved is a far away place. And when the afternoon wears long, the minutes of answering endless questions stretches past patience and settling the bickering between two fiercely loved girls who have acquired their selfishness genetically grows grating, I snap. And these beloved souls, temporarily in my care, recoil. Apologies follow and my own imperfect love glares.Perhaps the greatest gift of parenting is the forced acknowledgement that we cannot raise these gifts perfectly. That we will scar them. We must depend on the love of our Father to guide us. So we pray for grace and mercy and wisdom. And my spotlights on how others fail to help me, how they or all. Help me to dwell in beloved.
Joining other bloggers today who find words irresistible and healing. Join us for a 5-minute writing exercise on the word beloved. Check out others who do the same here.