The Messenger

It was a combination of little and big things that culminated to the end of a day that found me crying on the floor of my locked bathroom.

Little things like hair that wouldn’t cooperate and ended up in a messy ponytail all day, kids bickering, annoying allergies, guilt from $30 spent at a drive through because I felt too worn out to pull together a good dinner.

Bigger things, like a headache from a nap I never should have taken, another rainy and dreary May day, the never ending messes that need cleaned up, my daughter being ten minutes late to kindergarten roundup because I didn’t get organized in time.

The sassy words that my daughter said to me in front of one of the kid’s teachers and a friend were the climax of my bad day. They were words that stung and embarrassed me, and made me feel guilty and made me doubt my parenting. All the way to the car I prepared my lecture about respect and honoring our parents, but just as I started delivering it I burst into tears. This caused her to burst into tears for making me cry, which caused me to feel guilty and cry harder.

Four hours, and many little things later I locked myself in the bathroom and cried. And cried. And finally prayed for some help to get control of myself.

I finally pulled myself together, somewhat, and walked out into my bedroom and to the pile of clean laundry on my bed that needed folded and put away. (Which, thanks to a sweet husband, meant we HAD clean clothes to wear tomorrow.)

I sat on the bed and started to fold.

“Can I help you?” A sweet little voice said.

I turned to see my six year old son Lincoln walking through my bedroom door. His hair was a little disheveled and his eyes looked tired.

Linc glasses

“Sure!” I squeaked, as the tears started again and he hopped up on the other side of the bed and started folding.

We folded in silence for a few minutes while I tried to discreetly wipe away those darn tears that wouldn’t stop.

“When I am done folding with you I will help you put it all away. I could tell you were sad when you tucked me in and I wanted to help you.”

(more silent tears)

After we finished putting away the laundry I told him he could sleep in my bed until Brett and I went to bed. I curled up with him to cuddle for a bit before heading downstairs.

We laid under the covers and snuggled and chatted.

Then Lincoln asked, “Are you wearing slippers?”

“Just slipper socks, why?”

“I just wondered what you were wearing on your feet because I thought I would rub them and I want to make sure you can feel it.”

He then hopped down to my feet and pulled off my socks and rubbed my feet for fifteen minutes while we giggled and chatted.

When I finally left him so he could sleep my heart felt much lighter than it had all day.

Lincoln almost always falls asleep within a couple of minutes of laying down. Heavenly Father gave me a tender mercy by helping him stay awake for a good twenty minutes while I had my pity party in the locked bathroom.

I am always grateful for these reminders to count my blessings, and I am amazed how many times they are delivered by children, who I have decided are some of God’s best messengers.


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