Intentionality

My life is an exercise in living intentionally. Everyday. Making the better choice on an arduously difficult level. Every step taking the path of most resistance. Every parent works their bodies and their minds to this same extent. Some with more fervor than others. Regrettably I have not always recognized this need, often letting emotion, anger rule my heart and my home and now I find that I'm going backward in retraining little hearts to not imitate that which I once was. I cannot stand alone in this, I have covered a space in every room with God's wisdom that I might not sin against him and these precious little people. What a high and daunting responsibility it is to fill little hearts with a love of virtue over a love of self. To deliver into them cases of positive moral choice, to create a warehouse of soul defining options for daily living. Oh how my soul and body ache for some affirmation that when they arrive into adulthood they will rise up and call me blessed.

scratching

I just have a few thoughts bumbling about, scratching at the surface of my limited ability for conscious thinking in between husband, house, kids, church, playdates, blah blah blah. This idea of the redemptive love of Christ, that what he wants more than anything from anyone who claims him is love. Love for him, for our Father, love for others more than for ourselves.

We don't live this way much in America.

I want to be different.

I want to make EVERY decision based on whether or not it will show his love and mercy to my fellow man (or mostly likely, mom). I don't just want to scream and shout about how great God is through this blog or social networks, I want to prove it by being like Him to those who have never seen Him for themselves and especially now, for my children. And this is hard, this ebbing and flowing between conviction and losing track. I go weeks in patience and love with Asher, then one night of sleep deprivation and I snap, I lose control. I yell and damage his fragile heart and I wonder if a seed for the evil one isn't stored in that moment. That frightens me, those invisible seeds. Sometimes that wave of fear is more like a delicately splashed puddle, other times like the after math of tsunami.

Every day I try to remember "we can do no great things, only small things with great love."

I can send out hurt, but I can also say I'm sorry in humility, genuine and unassuming. I can hope that those smalls acts of redemption are enough to carry us all through.