The Hands That Rock the Cradle

by

I have not been “inspired” to write lately. Mainly because I have been carrying this burden for quite a while now that’s eating up my enthusiasm and my passion to blog. It has been partly resolved recently but I still have those moments of anguish over situations I have no control of. Probably, these are the issues God is saying, “Let me handle this, my dear.” So I lift my hands in surrender to the One who truly has full control over all things.

Now my hands are free to work on the things that matter to me and that’s my family. I sometimes cringe when I read about homeschooling families who really got it together. I mean, they look all so pretty in their photos with their lessons plans covered until the 10th grade even if their kids are only in first grade and these kids are behaving oh so politely every single time. Reading about their homeschooling journey makes me want to throw in the towel! How can do they do that? Don’t they get tired or frustrated or impatient? Because, you know what? I do, always! Is it really possible to have a “perfect” homeschool day?

Yesterday, as Coby and I were discussing about our country’s history, I lost my cool. You see, I decided to use the Filipino curriculum in Social Studies for both Jianne and Coby to prepare them for a National Exam next year. Because he is not fluent in our native tongue, I have to translate some words in English or at times we both look into the meaning of the word in a Filipino dictionary. The morning went well for us, accomplished our goals for the day. But only when he opened his Social Studies book that afternoon, that all got messed up. I could see that he was holding back the tears as he sees my angry eyes. The anger dissipated in a few minutes and we were able to find a way to get back to the lesson and finish it with smiles on our faces. But the damage has already been done.

That night before we went to bed, I apologized to him, again. He said something to me that really shook me to the core. I would rather not mention it because it’s too embarrassing to hear. It was not a disrespectful comment but it was the truth to him. I was silent and the comment was painful to swallow. I was awakened to the fact that my son is not a little boy anymore. He speaks from the heart and is utterly concerned about me. I cried. I cried because I don’t know if my son still feels that I love him. I asked for forgiveness again and we were locked in an embrace. As I was hugging him, I was whispering these things to him:

You probably think I don’t love you because at times I act as if I don’t. I let my anger get the best of me and hurt you in the process. Sometimes my love fails you and it fails me too. But you know what? There is someone who loves you no matter what and His love is greater than my love for you. That is God! He is the only one who will give you the perfect love that neither me or your father can give. All of us are imperfect but God is the only one who is perfect. Since He made you by his hand, He knows every inch of you. He knows the number of your hair. He made you the way He wanted you to be. You are so special to Him. Don’t you forget that.

We hugged again and both cried in his bed. When the emotions died down, I asked him how can I be a better mom to him. He said, “Well, you are patient with me because you find other ways of helping me learn the subject. But you really need to do something about your anger. You have to control it.”

I tried to defend myself by asking, “But have I not improved over the years? Am I still angry all the time?”

He paused for a while and said, “Well, the last time you lost your temper was when we were still living in the apartment,” which was quite a long time ago (yeah, yeah). But I am thankful that Coby has really been honest to my face. He says things as it is. God always uses him to give me a wake up call, and boy haven’t I been up and about by this time?

Seriously, as I was writing this, a prayer for a mom like me came to my mind and I’d like to share it with you…

Lord, I thank for the hands that you have given me. You have enabled me to use them well. You gave me my hands so I can nurture my children as I rub their backs when they sleep, tap them on the shoulder to encourage them and give them a thumbs up and applaud them when they achieved something. I use my hands to prepare their meals every single day, to pour their milk on their glasses, and to give them a bath especially the little one. My hands are there to show them your Word, to point to you as the source of all and lover of their souls and lead them to have a relationship with you. But I also plead you to restrain my hand when I am about to point my finger at every mistake they make. Allow me to gently discipline them and not use my hand to spank them in anger. Remind me also that my hands are also used to praising you for the privilege to be a mother to these two wonderful kids. As I cover my face with hands in humility for the wrong that I’ve done, may you grab them tight and restore them to the way you have designed them to be. I thank you for your mercy everyday, Lord, in Jesus’ name, Amen.

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From one mother to another, share with me, how do you use your hands?