I'd like a new name please, for my blog. This is all going to be about Jesus. So I'm just a Broken-Down-Jesus-Girl. That's the name I choose. I'll wear it with honor.
I'm learning the way to my little boy's heart...is beating him up. On the bed. On the couch. In the morning. Before bed. At naptime. Wrestling. Holding. A regular Throw-Down. Well, what did I expect when 2 people whose love languages are physical touch had a child? Except it has taken me awhile to realize what "feeling loved by physical touch" means to a 4-yr old. Much to a nurturing-Mama's displeasure, it does NOT mean kisses and hugs always. Although those are just gonna happen. Our week has gone better this week for the times this strong-willed child has gone amuck when I have just let explore through the woods, raced him on the bike, and engaged WITH him in the physical. I let him make me a hot dog sandwich (with all kinds of ingredients) with pillows stacked on me on the bed. I wrestled him before school this morning. I still haven't been able to chase him since my joints protested about a year ago, but I may get there.
Thanks God, for the lady in the Kroger parking lot who saw me crying in my car yesterday with my head in my hands on the steering wheel who came over & tapped on the window and said, 'You're a good Mama. I thought you were gonna spank him when he was acting so bad, but you hugged him. You hugged him and it just blew my mind." Thank you for letting me pray with her, who remembers and longs for the day I had yesterday, in the throws of strong willed preschooler, but who is now dealing with a teenager addicted to drugs. Thank you for sending me an angel who wasn't afraid to talk to stranger at the end of herself. The way you work is mysterious, but how you love me, OH how you love me. OH how you love me so.
Thanks, God for the opportunity to go to Manna House last night and let my little guy stand on a stool to give out loafs of bread to those who are hungry. Even though I got the time wrong and they closed 30 minutes after we got there, and I felt the whole thing was a failure. There was good. My little one--who is as addicted to stuff as I am-- chose a train from home and he found a little boy who looked like he could use a new toy and he gave it away.
And Thanks God that even though I feel my past attempts at mentoring seem to have failed, and how she won't return my calls or texts makes me feel like she never really believed in me, you don't see it as a failure but a seed. I wanted her to know I was different. I wanted to be the person that actually follows through with what I said. But I can only do what I can do. And God knows my heart.
Thanks God for convicting me in the worst way about the sin in my own life, through my study of your word and through my most intimate soulmate (that hurt like a fire!) You gave me just what I wanted - to see my sin. I didn't realize it would make me so wretched sick inside. Then you gave me the push to message two old comrades who had a bone to pick with me, for some reasons left unknown. And I got to tell them I'm sorry. To do my part [as far as it depends on me] to make peace with them. It feels good to be free. I'm just a broken-down-Jesus-girl, but there's no one I'd rather be.
Life is Beautiful
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