In my shoes

My daughter is all things girl, which I love. She adores jewelry, dresses, taking care of her babies, and shopping (even more than I do--which I guess isn't hard to believe, for those of you who know me).

In addition, putting on my shoes is a favorite pastime, even if they aren't the slightest bit feminine... they're mom's. That's all that matters. Admittedly, I'm not as bad as my husband, but I do tend to leave shoes by the door. My goobie girl found them and proceeded to clomp around the house.

As I watched her, I paused what I was doing and listened to my heart's murmurings. She's going to be fitting into those shoes before you can blink an eye.

And...

Are you ready for her to wear your shoes... to imitate your movements, your words, your attitude?

My heart responded to the last questioning and it wasn't pretty. God convicted me, showing me how I'd been acting lately.

As confession goes, yesterday was especially ugly. I fumed, unraveled, and raged. Aaron was around to see most of it, and the embarrassment was acute. I felt like a fool. Later, I apologized to my daughter for the lunatic mother who ran volatile at times. True to her nature, she responded with compassion, hugging me and telling me she forgave me. Honestly... few things humble you more than having your two-year-old say, "Forgive you, Mommy."

So, here I fall, failing more than I should, remembering that I'm weak in the same areas my daughter is (sorry sweetie), and sometimes I have to remind myself that I too need a time-out for my choices. Hopefully, my children will remember the love (not the scorn), the laughter (not the yelling), the instruction (not the impatience). And someday, when they are walking in my shoes, I'll be able to rest more fully, knowing that they are following the Lord and not just me.