Sometimes, we learn more from our children than we can possibly teach them.

I think that’s God’s way. He gives us children in part, I think, to show us how He sees us. Yes, we teach them, but really, we’re the ones being taught.

The older I get the more I am realizing how utterly dependent I am on God. When I was younger, I didn’t grasp the gravity of my need for Him.

Our littlest Darling is two. I wonder if God sees me as I see Darling.  Sometimes, I grasp the enormity of the lessons I’m learning. Sometimes, I don’t. When I have the occasion to understand the situation I am in, I often look wide-eyed at God for help—in the same way Darling looks at me.

“Mommy, I’m stuck.”  or  ”It burned, Mommy.”  ”Help, please.”  ”I’m sorry.”    ”But I’m not tired!”

Sometimes, there are no words. Just tears of regret for the suffering that follows a wrong decision or words that were carelessly spoken.

Truly, my two-year-old daughter is just like her mommy.

Just like her, I’m in constant need of God’s tender mercies. I’m fragile. Broken, really. The cracks show up when the light hits them just right   …   these jagged lines that life has left run their course along my soul  and occasionally they expose soft spots I had forgotten about. They serve as an indelible reminder of my humanness.

If I look too long at the jagged lines, I can feel myself begin to sink.  Thoughts that are not from Him creep in.  I wonder how I can be the mother that I need to be. I question how I can adequately serve this amazing man who loves me. I wonder how I can juggle the friendships that I’ve been blessed with. I wonder if I’m a good friend at all.

And then, I remember Darling.

She is growing. Each day, she remembers a lesson (or at the very least, part of a lesson) from the day before—just like her mommy.

Some places are sticky. It’s easy to get stuck. Don’t go back there.

Some things burn. Try, try not to touch things that burn flesh or spirit. No matter how shiny or tempting they are.

The trail in the back woods is not for Darling. She can’t navigate it safely … at least not yet.  Following an old, overgrown trail that I have been told not to travel down is unwise.  (It’s better to close the entrance to trail.)

Saying “I’m sorry” is freeing.

Rest is necessary. Like Darling, I need to learn how to rest without fear that I’ll miss something while my spirit and flesh are being renewed.

We are so much like the children that God entrusts into our care.

Learning.

Trying again.

Falling … and getting back up.

In need of forgiveness.

In need of rest.

And those broken places?  They’re part of the daily reminder that God is in the business of healing.

Healing from the past.
—Emotionally, physically, spiritually.

Help for the present
—Provision, wisdom for parenting, strength for the journey

Hope for the future

Yes, we’re a lot alike, this toddler and me.

Just like her mommy, Darling is learning how to trust, forgive, dust herself off, get back in the game, avoid the sticky places, apologize when necessary and rest without struggling.

Today as I watch our toddler … well … “toddling,” I smile. Because I know that God is watching me—His hands are open wide, His eyes dance with enthusiasm at every new lesson I learn, knowing that I desire to be, well, just like my Daddy.

That makes the journey worth taking.

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