On Grace and Cookies
Not long ago I sat and waited for my then 12 year old son to finish up with an assignment. His tablet kept dropping the wifi connection and in a blink, all of his work would disappear. After what seemed like hours of frustrated groans and pencils slamming on the table, we plugged in the laptop and he set to work. By this point though, finicky technology and the overwhelming crush of what had become Middle School homework reality had combined with the exhaustion and constant state of hunger that comes with growing 6 inches in 6 months to. Growling, over-reacting, and stalking like an underfed lion, our sweet boy was over the top. Off the chain. Cranky.
It would have been easy to respond in kind, to the testy responses and literal groaning. The response would have been swift, frustrated, and angry. In fact, I was gearing up for it, when a tiny thought began to grow in my mind. He's probably just hungry. Feed him. And just like when he was a tiny babe in arms, I sought to comfort him with sustenance.
At 8:30 at night I found myself searching for the simplest cookie recipe possible. Preferably one with low sugar and lots of fiber. (Because I can't help myself. Cookies at 8:30 can still be somewhat healthy). Twenty minutes later the kitchen/dining area were fragrant with the caramel smell of baked goods and golden oatmeal cookies emerged from the oven.
As I soundlessly laid the cookies next to him and turned to walk away, a quiet, little boy voice, one I hadn't heard in what seemed like years, simply said, "Thanks, Mom." The lion had been subdued. Grace had been extended and received.
How often has God seen our indignation and our anger, and rather than respond in kind, rained down blessings upon blessings on our heads? How often has He put before us a feast of joy and mercy, in order to turn our heads away from shadows and towards light. A kind soul to soften the heart. Or simply clearing rage colored vision long enough to enjoy the beauty of a sunset. Most likely, we probably didn't even notice.
What an incredible Creator we have. A loving Father. May we, as parents, strive to recognize so masterfully, the difference between those moments when law before grace is key and when grace alone is what is needed.
Some nights, you righteously take on the battle. You arm yourself with great parenting technique and biblical truth and wade into the murky waters of discipline. Boundary lines are drawn and life lessons are learned. And this is good and right and as it should be.
Other nights, you make cookies and remember what grace looks like.
It would have been easy to respond in kind, to the testy responses and literal groaning. The response would have been swift, frustrated, and angry. In fact, I was gearing up for it, when a tiny thought began to grow in my mind. He's probably just hungry. Feed him. And just like when he was a tiny babe in arms, I sought to comfort him with sustenance.
At 8:30 at night I found myself searching for the simplest cookie recipe possible. Preferably one with low sugar and lots of fiber. (Because I can't help myself. Cookies at 8:30 can still be somewhat healthy). Twenty minutes later the kitchen/dining area were fragrant with the caramel smell of baked goods and golden oatmeal cookies emerged from the oven.
As I soundlessly laid the cookies next to him and turned to walk away, a quiet, little boy voice, one I hadn't heard in what seemed like years, simply said, "Thanks, Mom." The lion had been subdued. Grace had been extended and received.
How often has God seen our indignation and our anger, and rather than respond in kind, rained down blessings upon blessings on our heads? How often has He put before us a feast of joy and mercy, in order to turn our heads away from shadows and towards light. A kind soul to soften the heart. Or simply clearing rage colored vision long enough to enjoy the beauty of a sunset. Most likely, we probably didn't even notice.
What an incredible Creator we have. A loving Father. May we, as parents, strive to recognize so masterfully, the difference between those moments when law before grace is key and when grace alone is what is needed.
Some nights, you righteously take on the battle. You arm yourself with great parenting technique and biblical truth and wade into the murky waters of discipline. Boundary lines are drawn and life lessons are learned. And this is good and right and as it should be.
Other nights, you make cookies and remember what grace looks like.
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