THE SOFTENING

Since I was a child my whole family has had a history of promptness.  Dawdling was not permitted and punishments were harsh.  Since I grew up in a works oriented church which had a legalistic approach and negative principles, I have been critical of others who don’t measure up and have had little sympathy for excuses.

After Christ became alive in me, the Lord had many areas to work on in my life.  Still legalistic, I involved myself in many daily bible devotionals and continued strict and frequent church attendance.  Of course, I was usually the first to arrive, which afforded me plenty of time to ponder what made other people so sloppy and rude to not be punctual as well.

When Jenny was born I drove to several group studies each week leaving her in various nurseries.  It didn’t matter to me if she wasn’t feeling 100% or if I was super tired.  I was there and more times than not the first one there.

To do this I went to extreme measures.  I made breakfast the night before and set the table.  I fully dressed Jenny and even had her sleep in her shoes.  I thought it was an imposition to have to stop to change her diaper the next morning.

Should she want me or need Mommy to stop and hold her or read a story the next morning, I had no patience.  After all, the clock was ticking away.  God really made things difficult but pride told me that since promptness was a virtue it was wrong to change.  God is showing me what I needed to develop was not tardiness but moderation.

I persisted on being on time in instances where He would have received more glory had I been a few minutes late, or if I had just stayed home.

When Elizabeth was born and I had two of God’s diamond cutters trying to slow down my early morning frenzy, I was horrified to find myself yelling.  I never had seen the sin of anger in myself before this.  I became used to this as a normal part of many mornings.

Recently an announcement was made at our Mother’s Support Group about a special prayer group.  It was to meet fifteen minutes before our group each week in groups of three.  I knew I had what it took to be there on time.  Besides giving everyone a bath the night before and laying out pre-ironed clothes I had a dozen or more “helpful hints” up my sleeve.

The first week when I met with the other two prayer partners, I was the only one on time.  Sternly admonishing them about the seriousness of our prayers and the priorities of our time I left with the knowledge they would probably be punctual the next Wednesday.

During this time I had felt that God just didn’t have a way strong enough to combat my determination on this matter and my jaw was set firmly with prideful resignation that this was the way I would live out my years.

I had not figured in the softening effect on my heart of Mary Sue.

Mary Sue is a baby who was born with many difficulties both physical and mental.  Since I have been fortunate enough to help care for her, her specialness has manifested itself to me by her distinct personality and ability to relate to other people that she can hardly see or hear.

The next Wednesday I realized that there could be no excuse for tardiness.  I knew the other two girls would be there perhaps even earlier than me after the lecture I’d given them in such a sweet and pious tone.  I couldn’t bear the thought of not being prompt too.  Or better yet, beating them there.

But just as I was getting my keys to leave, Elizabeth decided to have one of her famous temper tantrums and poured her juice over her head, her hair ribbon, her ironed and smocked dress and her shoes.  That’s when Arfy the dog decided to jump on Jenny and knock her into a mud puddle.  Neatly pressed ribbons and lace would not be admired by all as I had planned.

I put the Holy Spirit on hold while changing crying children who needed rocking.  I strapped them into car seats and sped down the highway.  I yanked them by the arm and was running through the parking lot, confident that I could just make it in the nick of time.  I was determined nothing was going to get in my way.

Love got in my way.

Mary Sue’s mom, Debbie, drove up in her old van that started rolling backwards and then asked me to sit with Mary Sue while she took the kids into the nursery.  My plan had been to yank them down the hall and throw them to the nursery worker and fly break-neck speed down the road to the meeting and save the day (and save face too).

But it didn’t matter.  You see, in one instance, God melted that awful, nearly 40 year old hardened place from my heart.  Had I been the speaker for the day, had Debbie asked me to sit there for an hour – it simply would not have mattered.  Nothing mattered.  Because of who Mary Sue is.  Because of what she has suffered.  I didn’t even have to consider it.  It was not an imposition – it was a joy.  God is so good.

When we arrived neither of my Triplet’s partners even came that day.  (Again, God is so good!)

I know God has a few thousand beautiful stories to show parents of children with special difficulties someday.  I just wanted to confess this one to maybe help tide one Mommy over.

Everyone who knows God has marvelous stories from Him to tell.  Things He does with us, for us, constantly.  Listen and observe.  Then tell yours.

And that will be YOUR story!