Lashing out at the girl has never worked...and to be very honest, her fits have NOTHING on her older brother, so keeping my cool is always pretty easy with her. So I simply said, in my sternest voice..."Keziah, I better NEVER hear you say you are going to shoot ANYONE again. Do you understand me? You need to go in your room and think and pray about your attitude."
This sent her into a complete other tirade as somehow I "scared" her with my uneven tone and she became quickly "scared" of her room, using this as her excuse to go to round three in tired, angry five year-old land. Things carried on for a few more minutes as I went about finishing the book with her brother and thinking in my mind how much she reminded me of my little sister Ali, at this same age. In my mind, I smile in those moments... because Ali, all grown up, is so dear to me... and yet, I can still see her as a little girl, scrunching her face up, running off to her bedroom....me following close behind, knocking on her door and being allowed entry once I stated my identity. I would lay next to her and comfort her in an attempt to fix all the things that were somehow not fixed in myself at her age.
And I blink. And I'm here. On my couch. Staring at my DAUGHTER...and feel as if I just finished hugging Ali and telling her how beautiful she is and how "...they didn't mean it like that... they love you Ali..." When all of a sudden, there she is, my sweet Keziah, staring at me...and in a final attempt to prove indeed she is right about the world being against her, she states, face still scrunched, bottom teeth out to look very serious and mean: "You don't love me." Here's where what I am really good at comes into play. Because I had years of practice on Ali.
"Yes, I do Keziah," I say, staring at her, helping her understand the seriousness of it all.
"No you don't." She says it, hoping to stay angry but desperately wanting to hear my next words.
"Keziah, I love you more than ice cream... and cake and Hot Tamales...and..."
"NO YOU DON'T!" She shouts, still holding on for the ride... "You hate me."
"Keziah, I love you...I don't hate you..."
"Tell me you love me. Tell me." It's getting really dramatic at this point... and I'm thinking this girl could easily be making some serious money on the big screen.
"I love you." This time I motion for her to come to me. She has so desperately wanted to come to me this whole time...I've seen it in her eyes. But she had to get this mad...had to...just to see if I'd still invite her to come to my lap, even when I've seen the ugliest parts of her.
Her face morphs and I recognize the sweetest little girl I've ever known...she comes and sits next to me, blanket in hand, thumb in mouth. I hold her. I coddle her and let her be the baby she needs to be in this moment. I ask her if she wants some water and she follows me to the kitchen and then to her bed.
Later on, while laying next to her in bed, after giving an unprompted apology, she begins to tell me how much she loves Jesus... and how he lives in her heart...and we talk about forgiveness and I confess how I was mean to her daddy today and how every day I have to ask for forgiveness too. I tell her what a big thing she did by saying sorry. She asks me if I love her all the time. "Haven't I told her this a million times?" I think to myself.
"Yes, Keziah, I will always love you... there's nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you...ever." I hear my mother's words echo in my mind as I say it. And I understand her words more than I ever have.
I spend a majority of my thought life in guilt mode...thinking of all the things I could be doing for my kids, with my kids... all the ways I have probably messed them up in some psychological or physical or spiritual way. But tonight...perhaps tonight was a glimpse into the way Jesus cares for me and perhaps this is why when I understand my depravity, my desperation, my utter sinfulness, I come to Him so easily. Because He's willing to receive me. He's willing, even when I'm flailing about in my mind and in my heart, to take me into His arms and hold me, dispite my words or deeds...dispite my five year-old wants and complaints and fits. When everything is going well, as it was for my daughter until that moment this evening, I don't sense my need for grace, my need to hear that I am loved unconditionally. But as I lay in bed tonight next to Keziah, I couldn't stop thinking about these parallels...about her heart and how exposed it was and how she allowed me to see that and how Jesus, in this proliferation of sorts, wants to see my heart. How He hears me out when I throw a fit and when I'm finished welcomes me to His table, to dine with Him in peace and in the security of knowing that I am His child, His beloved daughter.
