Sometimes I like to think I'm a lot like God. No, I'm not counting the moments where I actually think I am God and am a control freak. That is just out and out sin and me being a moron. No, I'm talking about those rare moments where I pause and actually think the thought, "Hey, I'm a lot like God." I think this is more a sign of mental instability rather than full on hubris.
This past week Henry and I have being dealing with his double ear infections and blistery sore throat. I say we've been dealing with it because it has been the first time in his little life that I've felt that Henry has truly understood he needed me. Most of the time he could care less that I'm around, but this week I've either been holding him, or as he's gotten better, unable to leave his sight. He's okay if I'm in the room with him, but dare I need to pee or the dog need to go out, he screams bloody murder. This has made me think that God must have days like this. Where He wants to say, "Dude, you always need me. I'm glad you're aware of it. But really, I'm sooo over talking about this. Let's move on already."
Thankfully, God has the patience of, well, God.
But I do think God is using Henry to teach me about Himself and about my heart. I assume God is like me, and He is not. I assume that God gets tired of me repenting for judging people and asking for help only to then be consumed with hatred for the lady who gets dolled up and uses the cross-trainer at the gym all sexified. When I am bogged down with fear or doubt and am screaming at God because He obviously isn't listening to me because my life isn't easy yet, I assume that God is ticked He has to get back up when He just set down.
But God isn't like me.
Except once, in the middle of Tuesday night, I was a wee bit like God, and I briefly understood something. Henry was up for the third time in the night. His throat hurt so bad that even trying to give him Tylenol or Motrin was painful, and I ended up with sticky grape flavored arms from him drooling it out onto me. I would get him settled down and try to put him down in his crib, and then, bam, he was screaming again. So I just sat in the glider and rocked him or laid next to him in his big boy bed and rubbed his back. Pretty much all night. And it was wonderful. Yes, I was tired. And yes, at one point Henry woke up and thought it was awesome that I was next to him and wanted to play. But I wasn't angry with him for being hurt. I was sad for him and it was my delight to be a comfort to him. I wouldn't even say I did it because that's my job as his mom. I did it because that is who I am--his mom. And I love him.
God doesn't get annoyed when I come to Him. Over and over. For the same struggles I was having years ago. That is what I am supposed to do, much like Henry is supposed to want his mommy when he is sick. And I like to think that God relishes in the cuddling of my wandering heart. That is who He is. And He loves me.
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