A Gift for Mom! 🤍

As a mom, I often find myself at a complete and total loss when it comes to my strong-willed child. I have five childreneach with unique personalities, but this particular child has me pleading the blood of Jesus just about every moment of the day. He is very visual with his emotions, and they frequently look a lot like rage.

RELATED: To the Mom of a Difficult Child: What if You’re Raising a Peter?

One night, after a massive meltdown and subsequent grounding, he said, “You are always mad at me. I am a bad kid, and you always take my stuff away.”

I paused, then took a deep breath, and began trying to explain the principles of good choices, consequences, and the purpose of discipline.

I said to him, “Your choices are like seeds. Each good choice you make is planted, and then a flower or tree grows up out of it. Each bad choice you make is planted as well, but a weed grows up out of it. At the end of the day, don’t you want a beautiful garden?”

“Mama?” he looked up at me with a look of contemplation on his face. And I’m patting myself on the back thinking, Oh, this is good. He’s listening and we are about to have a moment. 

“Yes?” I outwardly replied to my now much, much wiser and learned little grasshopper.

“I like this pencil. It looks like a rainbow,” he replied. And then, the child proceeded to snap said pencil in half . . . right in front of my face.

Internally, I screamed, “That pencil weed will look beautiful in your garden, son!” In reality, however, I just sighed and fell back into the couch feeling completely defeated. Again.

That night as I put him to bed, he asked me, “What could I do to make you stop loving me?”

As I fought back tears, I said, “Nothing! There is absolutely nothing you could do that would ever make me stop loving you!”

His eyes got really big then, and he cried out, “Mama! You’re just like Jesus!”

RELATED: “How Do You Know God is Real, Mom?”

What happened next is something that has happened to me many times over the yearsI felt God nudge me and say, Hey, I’m talking to you, too.

This childthis stinkin, rotten, beautiful childis such an ever-present reminder to me of how much my Heavenly Father loves me even as I test Him.  Even as I throw spiritual fit after fit, He loves me the same. Even as I scream and cry out, Are you angry? Why did you take these things from me?! He still loves me, just the same.  

I can picture Him trying to tenderly speak to me of the principles of reaping and sowing as I snap my beautiful, rainbow pencil right in front of His face. Why do we so often break the beautiful things before us?

RELATED: In the Middle of the Mess, God Loves You

In the calm after my heart’s storm, I can hear my own voice echo that of my child’s, asking What could I do to make You stop loving me? And before the clouds even part, I can hear the gentle whisper of His voice saying, Nothing, my sweet girl. Absolutely nothing. That’s Jesus.

What about you? Do you find yourself asking the same question?

No matter what you have done, or how many things of beauty you have broken before Him, His answer will always stay the same. In His love, He chose to have His own body broken before our Heavenly Father so we may cease from our striving and rest in this blessed assurance.

I challenge you today to plant those seeds of good choices.

At the end of the day, and more importantly, at the end of your life, don’t you want a beautiful garden?

Originally published on the author’s blog

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Laura Gaston

Laura is a wife, mother of 5, and blogger at brokendevotion. Having struggled with severe depression and anxiety throughout her life, she feels that she has been given a special ministry in helping others who walk down this road. Just as He called, and continues to call her from her ashes and into a life of beauty and redemption, she now hopes to inspire others that Grace has no limits, and that nobody is beyond Christ's reach.

I Lost My Sight at 16—But It Wasn’t the End of My Vision

In: Faith
Cross and sunset

After my father shot me, I lay in a hospital bed, and my world went dark. I was 16 years old. The injury left me completely blind. But the darkness didn’t stop there. As my physical sight disappeared, something else came into focus—the depth of the wounds I had carried long before that moment, wounds I had never fully allowed myself to see. For years, I had learned how to survive without asking too many questions. I had learned how to minimize what hurt, how to explain things away, how to keep moving forward as if everything were normal. But...

Keep Reading

Ministry Starts Inside Your Own Four Walls

In: Faith
Family around a table

When people hear the word ministry, they often think of missionaries, or the pastor who preaches every Sunday, but in our home, ministry belongs to all of us—even our kids. Growing up, I didn’t think of myself as a ministry kid. Still, when my dad packed our old Astro for the summer and we all piled in, we were on mission. Each kid had a part to play in my dad’s evangelical magic shows (yes, you read that right!). My brother would juggle, my older sister sang, my middle sister flipped the projector slides that shone pictures of Jesus on...

Keep Reading

These Holy Small Things

In: Faith, Motherhood
Children sewing at machine

My 8-year-old-daughter has recently taken up sewing, to my simultaneous delight and chagrin. My delight because I too love sewing; my chagrin because her enthusiasm often outpaces my own abilities, namely, in the undertaking of tedious projects with no pattern. Take, for example, the cloth doll diaper we designed and stitched up together. Granted, the design was fairly basic to draw up and scale. But the minuscule nature of the work, both for my hands and head, was enough to throw me into existential questioning. It was one of those moments when you wonder how the sum of your life...

Keep Reading

Life Lessons from My Grown Children

In: Faith, Motherhood
Two women's hands on teacups

“Don’t limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time.” – Rabindranath Tagore Quietly communing with a loved one in the early morning hours is such an intimate and precious time. Visiting with one’s grown child when all is dark and still is one of life’s purest pleasures. I remember the conversation clearly. My daughter’s husband, small children, and father were all asleep as we whispered and chatted. She and I are both fidgeters by nature, unable to be still for long. This inner restlessness must be remedied, and we are compelled by biology to...

Keep Reading

My Prayer Is Simple Now: “I Believe; Help My Unbelief.”

In: Faith
Woman sitting by water

I have spent most of my life in faith. Not circling it or analyzing it from a distance, but inside it—learning its language before I even realized I was learning it, shaping myself around it in ways that felt as natural as breathing. I was raised in Christian Science, which is a very particular kind of faith. It’s not really about “believing” in the way most people think. It’s about understanding. Aligning your thoughts with what is ultimately true about God and reality. If you can understand rightly, you can be well. If you can see clearly, healing follows. So...

Keep Reading

Your Worth Is Not Someone Else’s To Measure

In: Faith, Living
Woman looking over canyon

Insecurity is something we all carry in one form or another. For me, it has probably always looked confident and outgoing from the outside. But internally, it can feel heavy, complicated, and exhausting at times. And when someone comes along whose behavior reinforces those insecurities, it amplifies what was already there. There was someone I had hoped to genuinely connect with, but it was clear from the start that the feeling wasn’t mutual. From the beginning, their wall was up. No matter how kind I tried to be or how carefully I showed up, it never came down. Their distance...

Keep Reading

Lord, Give Me Faith Like Hannah

In: Faith
Woman walking in field with hand in wheat

Hannah knew what it was like to feel forgotten. She often clutched her empty womb and thought Surely the Lord has forgotten me.  She knew the bitter sting of feeling isolated and alone. She knew the anguish of praying day after day after day and seeing no fruit, not even a bud, from her faithfulness. Hannah knew what it was like to feel like the weight of the world was on her, and her hope may have dwindled. Even those around her did not offer encouragement. Quite the opposite—they did their best to sow seeds of discouragement. Yet Hannah pressed...

Keep Reading

God Carries Me Through the Deep Waters of Change

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Woman at the beach as waves come in

“Ahhh!” My underwater scream garbled in my snorkel tube as the manta ray’s cavernous mouth swept a hand’s distance from my face. My fingers tightened around the surfboard until my knuckles ached. My arms trembled. I jerked my head side to side, searching for my daughters, Mia and Megan. Recent college graduates, they had joined me on one last mother-daughter vacation before launching their adult lives. They floated easily on the vibrant Hawaiian water, relaxed, trusting. I wanted to borrow their calm. Earlier, our guide had explained that the LED lights built into the surfboard attracted plankton the way college...

Keep Reading

Faith After a Rare Disease Diagnosis

In: Faith, Motherhood
Family smiling in posed photo

My pastor frequently speaks of “kid pain” and acknowledges there’s nothing like it. I can testify to that. After nine months of uncertainty and unexplained issues following the birth of our now 4-year-old daughter, Harlow, we finally received her diagnosis of Pyruvate Dehydrogenase Complex Deficiency (PDCD), a life-limiting mitochondrial disease with no cure and no FDA-approved treatments. It was heartbreaking. In moments like these, a parent can fall into complete desperation. You go through a range of emotions almost too fast to name: fear for your child’s life; anxiousness about how much time you’ll get with them; overwhelming grief. And...

Keep Reading

What If I Don’t Hear God’s Voice?

In: Faith
Woman with folded hands looking up

There have been many times over the years when I’ve heard others share stories of how the Lord spoke to them or gave them a sign. Seashells scattered along a sandy beach, numbered to represent how many children they would have. A quiet walk in the park, followed by a clear sense that another little one was coming. What a blessing, I think, when I hear and read their stories. I often wonder how much more faith they must have than I do—to know with such certainty that what they heard was truly God speaking. I listen, I smile, and...

Keep Reading