He’s our youngest. Our grand finale. The baby of the family.
And he’s trouble.
From the moment his feet hit the floor to the moment his eyes close: trouble.
And after only 3 years of trouble, I’m a tired mama.
He’s the kid who dumps my coffee all over his sister and her new power wheelchair, then the table, then the floor. The kid who stands on the table to look at his havoc with a victorious grin. The one who loudly refuses to get dressed like his clothes are made from pine needles. The boy who, while waiting at his brother’s Tball game, grins at a cute little girl just before chucking a handful of rocks in her face. He’s the wee precious one who chases his brother, trying to hit him while his brother yells, “In your anger do not sin! In your anger do not sin! You is sinning! In your anger DO.NOT.SIN!!!” The cherub who hits his sister in the head, goes to time out and apologizes, then hits her again. Then again. The creative inventor who sees board game pieces and immediately thinks they would do much better if only they were floating in a cup of ice water. The curious little monkey who pulls 3700 tissues from a tissue box then throws them behind a lamp that’s behind a chair and can only be accessed by a 3ft tall toddler. The little brother who attempts to throw a battery operated car into his brother’s bath water, and when his plan is thwarted, chooses instead to throw in bath towels instead.
This, all of this, in one day. One.
He also happens to be the boy with eyes like mine who curls up in my lap with his blankie at the end of the day and rests his head on my leg and looks at me and says, “lub you mommy,” then falls asleep with his arms wrapped around my leg while I melt into a pool of feelings.
He brings me to the edge of insanity and back almost every day, several times a day.
And I love him with a depth and fierceness I can’t explain. A love that, given the chance, would choose him again and again even if I’d had the foresight to know he’d be trouble. A love that would see him and smile and say, “That one. Right there. That’s my kid. The one I want. That’s the one I love.”
I feel like that is how God sees us: disobedient mess makers, hell-bent on running away and running amok, blissfully naive to the catastrophe we’re creating. Mess makers who, at the end of the day or the season or life, curl up in His word or in His presence or in prayer, wrap our arms around His Truth, and rest in His love.
A love that sees our brokenness and wandering. The hurtful words and lies that fall from our mouths in moments of pride and anger. The ungrateful heart as we look with envy at our neighbor’s new car or friend’s Facebook pictures. The gossip we share, the judgement we pass too quickly, the forgiveness we withhold.
A love that chooses us, knowing full-well what we are capable of, how we will break each other and His heart, a fierce and deep love that would see us and smile and say, “That one. Right there. That’s my kid. The one I want. The one I love.”
He sees you like that. Even when you run. Even when you fall apart. You belong to Him. He chooses you when you still don’t yet choose Him. And He’ll choose you again and again for an eternity of tomorrow’s.
Long before he laid down earth’s foundations, he had us in mind, had settled on us as the focus of his love, to be made whole and holy by his love.
Long, long ago he decided to adopt us into his family through Jesus Christ. (What pleasure he took in planning this!) He wanted us to enter into the celebration of his lavish gift-giving by the hand of his beloved Son. ephesians 1:4-6 (msg)