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It was a weekend of no sleep and me alone with the three kids, our youngest going through a three-month growth spurt and the older two deciding they were going to learn how to talk back.
It was a weekend of me begging God every step of the hour to help me be a 1 Corinthians 13 kind of mama when all I wanted to do was have a long soak in the bath. It was a weekend of me telling the boys I needed a few minutes in the office alone, to fall on the carpet and weep.
When I became a wife at 21 I had many things to learn as I embraced this new role. One of the areas I was challenged to grow in was my understanding of intimacy. I had always defined intimacy as something physical. Whenever I heard the word, I automatically assumed “sex” as the only way to be intimate.
From day one of my marriage, sexual intimacy was our greatest struggle.
In a recent interview, Sally Lloyd Jones, author of the Jesus Storybook Bible, offered such simple but profound advice on giving hope to children.
Here is a just a portion of what she said:
Children look to us for everything. But in all that we’ve given children, have we forgotten to give them hope? Have we left them in despair -- looking at what they should do but don't? Looking at who they should be but aren’t? How do we give hope to children? When we take the focus off them and put it back on God where it belongs. They don’t need to be told to try harder, believe more, do it better. That just leaves them in despair. We need a Rescuer.
As we gathered around tables set with gold, blue, and green chargers topped with china; iced water poured into crystal, flowers brimming over vases, we also noticed several lovely, mismatched little pitchers scattered amongst the setting. Some were plain creamware, others cut-glass, some painted with dainty flowers, others edged in gold. Joining us at the table set in her kitchen area, Sally Clarkson picked one up and reflected, “We wanted you to take with you a reminder of your need to be filled, as you constantly pour out to your families at home.”
After the final kisses, the final prayers…after the last story book is closed and toes are tucked tightly beneath quilts- I sip my tea. Every night I drink it in, leaning with one ear bent toward the hall- hoping tonight might be just the one where bed time goes off without resistance. But the creak in the wood below my feet betrays one of my babes headed my direction.
Up. Again. Deep Breath.
Peeking from around the corner, almost whispering…"Mom? Will you pray for me again?”
