The world can be a scary place if you’re less than three feet tall.
One of my kids sensed the danger of being a kid more profoundly than others. When we left home he stayed close to my side. His grubby little fingers always clung to
- the edge of my coat,
- or the handle of the baby’s stroller.
One Sunday, we went out to eat after church. This was pretty exciting stuff for a young family of six. After the meal was over, we headed out to the parking lot.
For once, my cautious child ran ahead.
It wasn’t until he was almost to the car that he looked back. That’s when he noticed that he was alone. In the midst of
- juggling the younger children
- and saying good-bye to friends we had met at the restaurant,
my husband and I had barely made it out the restaurant doors. My son looked straight at me. He took off as fast as his little legs could go.
He ran right in front of a car.
The driver slammed on his brakes. My son just kept on running. He didn’t stop until he was back where he belonged. With mom and dad.
Yeah, yeah, I’m not exactly parent of the year. Never have been. Never will be. Too often I’ve
- fallen asleep when one of my kids were pouring their hearts to me,
- grown impatient when I could have been more understanding,
- forgotten about fieldtrips and class snacks
- or gotten distracted in restaurants when I should have been paying attention to passing cars and little kids.
Let’s face it, parenting is tough stuff. Situations can move from broken toys to broken hearts fast. Often, it’s hard to keep up with what’s going on, much less provide guidance and love.
I’ve been through some
- tough times.
- impossible situations.
- long, sleepless nights.
How did I survive?
I ran to Jesus. Like a mom on fire, I burned up the road to get back where I belonged.
Jesus loves our kids more than we could ever love them ourselves. Without Him I know my husband and I would have never made it through.
Run to Jesus.