This Moment

The morning starts in tears of discouragement and sadness. It is a sure sign that the Munchkin Brigade did not get a good night's sleep. The Boy comes to me with tears streaming down his face and a blank Magna Doodle in his hands. The masterpiece that he has so diligently been working on for two days is gone. Erased at the hands of the sister, who is the technical owner of that particular Magna Doodle. Not viciously erased, just erased so that she can produce her own art.

Thomas is not easily comforted. I find myself carefully refraining from rolling my eyes in exasperation. I offer sympathy while also posing the question of how wise he thought it was to draw on a Magna Doodle and expect it to last forever. He hugs me harder and wipes his nose on my (clean) shirt.

This is my role. To comfort in the midst of insanity and to be a human kleenex. To try to guide with a loving hand and the voice of reason. To not sigh show signs of frustration in the middle of his anguish.

It is not easy for me to be compassionate in these situations. Sometimes, I really want to just give him a good thunk on the head and say, 'Duh!', but somehow that doesn't seem as though it would build him up.

I smile to myself as I wonder at how many times I deserved the thunk on the head from my heavenly Father. At how often His grace and mercy has streamed over me in great waves as He wraps his arms around me and holds me close. All because I did something unwise and found myself in a panic.

I hug Thomas closer and am more easily able to be what he needs me to be at this moment. The Father has modeled it so perfectly and, this time, I find compassion to give.

Soon the tears fade away and the masterpiece is recreated on paper and given a place of honor on the fridge.