Grace and gift cards

Sometimes I just don't like my kids. This is something that lurks deep and dark in the back of every parent's minds, but we just don't say it aloud. Ever. I love them deeply and I really do like them quite a bit. They're funny and charming and sweet and fun to be around...mostly. But then there are just....those days.

To be specific, a series of snow, ice, and sick days had stranded us in the house for close to a week. School was cancelled, the roads were too slick to drive anyway, and another storm was bearing down on us. Cabin fever was hitting hard, and kids were squabbling with each other, melting down over the smallest issue, and generally behaving miserably. I did not like them. One bit.

Salvation came in the form of a late Christmas present from a dear friend. The mailman delivered a package containing Toys R Us gift cards for each kid. Perfect, I thought - a chance to get out of the house and get a new toy to tide us over during the next shut-in.

The plan worked perfectly. We got to Toys R Us and spent a leisurely hour walking through the aisles, each child carefully examining their options. The tension was broken; tempers were cheered, words were kinder, moods were brighter.

Everyone finally had their choice and to extend the benevolent feeling, we even stopped in the candy aisle for an additional treat before proceeding to the register. All was going well. And then I realized that I didn't have my wallet with the gift cards.

Hoping it had just fallen out into the van, I lined the three older ones up against the wall, and ran out to check. No luck. I hurried back in to find my sweet angels sitting quietly where I had left them. They looked at me expectantly and asked if I had found it. I shook my head no, then called home. Sure enough, dear husband found it on the dining room table. I hung up, turned to the kids, and braced myself. "We have to leave the toys here for now. I don't have any money. We have to go home."

And they took my hands and walked out without even a whimper.

Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that. On the drive home, it occurred to me that they probably didn't like me too much in those days either. I was sick of being at home too and it showed; I was sharp with them, less forgiving than I should have been, my irritation showing outright. And when my mistake was on full display, they simply loved me. They had every right to be upset. I can't imagine a situation more disappointing to a child than to have to leave promised toys at the store. But they understood. They understood and they loved me, and I was humbled to accept their grace.

I trip over my own shortcomings, tangle myself in self-satisfying sin, and justify my selfish whims time and time again, and I back-pedal furiously when I'm confronted with the truth about myself. But God gives grace generously, lavishly. And He gives grace through little children, who sometimes give their mothers a gift they don't even know they are giving.

We drove home, picked up the wallet, drove back, got the toys, and picked up a special fast food dinner to boot. And we survived the next ice storm with new toys. We even liked each other this time.