This morning I was on the phone with my Dad finalizing plans for their trip out to see us. I told him how excited we all are to see them. Dad’s voice warmed on the phone, reassuring me that we were not half excited as he and my mom were. We talked about the kids and how much of a blessing they are. I told him, “They’re so much better than I ever could have asked for.”
Both my kids are so incredibly much more than I could have thought up. They are so much more complex, layered, and nuanced then I could possibly have imagined. There are a million things about them that I’d never think to ask or include if I made a list of what I wanted my kids to be. They are exactly what I never knew I wanted. I might have known H was a girl and J was a boy, but I didn’t know how amazing they’d be. The children I imagined when I was pregnant were nothing but poor shades compared to the full, shining roundness of their reality.
I watched them in the morning light with shining eyes and imagined that if they made my heart this full, so full I wasn’t sure if I would cry, laugh, or just burst—how much more must God feel when he sees us love each other the way we should.
Then H threw tantrum number one of the day. No, she would never get dressed. Ever again. She was literally one minute away from wearing fleece pajamas to school on this warm spring morning. Sigh.
Then J decided morning naps are lame, ruining my plans to get the grocery shopping done before school pick up. That segued perfectly into H’s afternoon tantrum in the produce section of the commissary. We left the grocery store with only vegetables and the sense that, God’s gift though they might be, there are times when I could just as easily sell them to gypsies. I wondered how God feels when we don’t appreciate each other and treat each other badly. Does it break his heart as much as when I see my kids hurting?