Monday, November 22, 2010

Jesus Kisses My Heart

The holidays have this uncanny way to bring out the nasty in me.

The reality is I have deep, deep hurts in my heart. We all do.

I just so happen to feel the throb more intensely during the holidays, and I just so happen to express my pain without the mask of holiday cheer.

Just the other day, Izzie told Steve at bedtime: “Daddy, Jeeeesus kisses my heart.”

I don’t’ know what you hear in those words, but this mommy hears an earnest plea: “Draw near to Me; I know how to mend the wounds of your heart.”

This season, I am challenged to approach the throne room of heaven, bare all my battle wounds, and allow the Lord to kiss my heart.

After all, He knows how to make everything better.

Lord Jesus, you know how my heart throbs and aches. I give you full access to my hurts; come kiss my heart. Amen.

“My son, if your heart is wise, my own heart also will be glad; And my inmost being will rejoice when your lips speak what is right” (Pro. 23.15-6).

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Poo Bringing Me to My Knees

Many of you have been there, so you know what's coming. After a long morning of shopping, everyone needed a nap, especially mommy.

It was an exciting adventure. Izzie listened and obeyed. Isaac was incredibly happy to sleep in the front pack in all five stores we ventured into. I remember thanking the Lord, as I drifted off to sleep, for all three of us being able to nap at the same time.

Little did I know only two of us slept.

I awoke grumpy with the neighbor's dog for disturbing my sleep, but became increasingly annoyed as I glanced at the clock and heard Izzie singing in her room after only a 45-minute nap.

Calming myself, I decided to go in and ask her to "keep it down" while mommy finished her nap. Upon opening the door, I knew what had kept her awake: an incredible stench, poo.

Before I could exhale all of my venom on her, Izzie was confessing.

"Mommy, I got poop on my nightgown. See! Here's my panties!" As she raced across the room to show me her shame on the nightstand.

I tried to walk toward her, but as I did, I noticed about twelve brown spots all over the carpet, cream colored carpet.

Maybe you handled it better than I did when you walked in on your two-and-a-half year old slinging poo every where, but I didn't.

As I was telling Izzie how angry mommy was with her, she started to cry and protest, "But I got fresh panties!"

That's when I noticed all the wipes everywhere. In an attempt to clean up the mess, she used almost an entire package of wipes scrubbing each spot on the floor.

Talk about being at a loss. My anger was to the point that I had to distance myself from the situation. I just couldn't rationalize why she didn't use the toilet or even why she didn't come ask me for help in the clean up process. So I cleaned her up, put her to bed, and announced that there was no talking to mommy until after she napped.

It took me a few minutes to regain my senses, and I sat on the bottom step of our staircase and prayed. "Lord Jesus, please help me understand..." and before I could even get the prayer out of my mouth, I heard him speak.

"Look, Krista. This is an example of what happens when you try to do things in your own strength. Instead of asking for My help to intervene in a situation, you, too, smear it around making a bigger mess."

Imagery burnt upon my memory. Check. Got it, Lord.

So in a bit, when Izzie wakes, I am going to ask her forgiveness, remind her of potty basics, and then get on my hands and knees to clean up the poo properly. As I scrub, I will give thanks to God that he is ready and willing and more than capable to step in and clean up my life when I need him.

'Cause Lord only knows I have a lot of poo in it.

Lord Jesus, thank you for speaking to me so clearly. Teach me to humble myself and ask for help when I need it. Amen.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Pray for me, Mommy!

We were having lunch a couple weeks ago: grilled cheese sandwiches, broccoli spears with ranch dip, and cubed apple pieces. It doesn't happen often, but I bit my tongue and cried out.

"What happened, Mommy?"

"I bit my tongue, and it hurts."

"Oh. That's okay, Mommy. Want me to pray for you?"

Her question startled me so much that I literally jumped, "Oh, Izzie, mommy would love for you to pray for her."

Putting down her apple cube and cupping her hands for prayer, she said, "Lord Jesus, mommy bit her tongue. It hurts. Make her feel better. Amen."

A couple days later, Izzie was running around munching on a pretzel and bit her tongue. I was in the middle of cleaning up the meal from the table, getting ready to feed the baby, and wanting so badly to sit down and rest.

I heard her cry out, "Ouch! I bit my tongue." I paused, gently stroked her hair back and said, "I'm so sorry sweetheart. I know that hurts," and then turned to finish what I was doing. 

"MOMmmmmeeeeee! PRAaaay for me!"

Stopping me in my tracks, I prayed. "Lord Jesus, Izzie bit her tongue and it hurts. Please make her feel better. Amen."

"Thank you, mommy."

I am humbled to be her mother. Who taught her to pray like this? I wish I could say that it was me. And maybe I did, but I like to think that her soft little heart somewhere, somehow has learned that there is power in prayer. 'Cause that's what I learned.

Lord Jesus, thank you for a daughter with a soft heart. Teach me to pray with the simplicity of a child's heart. Amen.