Every single day I get so mad at my boys at one point or another that I cannot even contain my frustration in my tone of voice. Or eyebrows. Or stature.
I tense up. I close my eyes. I flare my nostrils. I stare daggers.
Occasionally I even get aggravated to the point that my body seems to want to willfully act out against me and my love for my boys. Like a person possessed, my hand reaches out to grab little arms more firmly than needed, seemingly out of my control. Fingers dig a little too tightly. Legs move a little too swiftly for small boys to keep up.
I do this enough times until I find myself in bed one night, crying to God for the patience and grace to guide my boys with. Sure that I’m the worst mother in the world.
But finally, after many tears, and many years, God has given me a few simple tools to diffuse my demonic mommy possession. Here is one of them.
When I am absolutely at my very angriest and most frustrated … I reach out, wrap both arms around the boy of the moment, and hug the ever living daylights out of him.
And my fury melts.
I think God probably hugs me more than I realize.
-Jessica from Bohemian Bowmans