What is my objective?

This may seem elementary; most everything does after the "light bulb" moment.

But THIS, my friends, seems too easy-- like everyone probably already knows about this incredible mind shift except for me.

So, your welcome, for the reminder-- and maybe the giggle at my expense.

It's late. Bedtime has taken much longer than I expected once again. Every day, I say that we will start bedtime a half hour earlier to make room for the silliness, stalling and inevitable poop that needs to happen as soon as she is covered up. It never happens. We always start too late and so there I am, standing there, stressed, irritated, TIRED.

 I feel like Dr. Leo Martin vs. Bob Wiley. 

Holy smokes. YES. That's exactly how I feel at the end of the day.

 It's just too much. And I hate it. I despise myself in that moment. I have these out of body experiences where I hear what I am saying and see the tension in me and I feel so sad (and pretty pathetic too).

I just want to shake myself!

But in that gross, disgusting moment, when I was watching myself, THAT'S when it hit me. 

Thanks to my Bachelors of Fine Arts... (finally)

 I was watching the scene and I felt the tug. The gentle question -- as my teachers in school asked me so often: 

What's your objective?

BED. Bed is my objective. Cover her up-- no wait, give her a sip of water so that she doesn't get uncovered to get a sip of water. Give her a sip of water, cover her up, move her hair our of her face, give her a kiss and GET THE F OUT! That's my objective! 

Right then, I became present. She was laying down now. She was asking me if I could pray for her-- she was asking me to tell her about what we would do the next day and wanting to help make a plan for the morning. She just wanted to play-- and interact and talk-- and me? 

Moments before, I could hardly keep my head from exploding. 

Instead of standing over her, holding her blanket, forcing myself to breathe deeply, I knelt down and  I asked myself again: What's my objective?  

Connect. My objective has to be to connect. 

My posture seemed to relax and in turn, so did hers. My voice became soothing instead of sharp and threatening-- she became quieter. We discussed some concerns of the night-- feeling hot/cold, needing a bandaid etc. and we smiled about what tomorrow would bring.

I still wanted her in bed (desperately) but when I focused on engaging her, my crazy little beauty, I didn't feel pathetic anymore-- or sad. I felt strong and capable of being the mom I know I can be. 

When I stop with my external objectives and put the focus on the relationships around me-- the atmosphere actually changes.

Harmony happens. Peace. Unforced rhythms of grace.

And bedtime becomes a heck of a lot easier! 

Childlike

I am thankful to have a husband who strives to make his relationship with his children mirror that of our Father and all of his children. When our daughter was a bit younger and she would fall asleep in his arms I would think "Yes! This is what true trust and rest look like. Sleeping so soundly in dad's arms, not a care, not a worry or thought about the future. Completely at rest."

God continues to show me how I should be through my children.

Nothing like a child to learn how to be childlike!

I believe this is what He has said to me:

"Be like a child.

Carried.

Moved by her parents.

Receiving love. Giving love by just being.

Asking for what she needs in her own language until she learns the language of her parents.

Not giving up.

Observing.

Finding wonder in everything.

Learning constantly.

Wanting to be no where else but in her parents arms."

What if this is how our relationship with God went? 

What would that look like?