We’ve all been there. Standing in the middle of a department store near candy or toys or anything remotely appeasing to a child and then witnessing the downfall. The feet start to stomp, the back arches, screams fill the aisle, and tears pour. The look on the mother’s face is utter humiliation as she thinks fast to figure out what in the world she’s supposed to do next.
Never having experienced this personally I have always been the gal on the outskirts watching. Watching whether she loses her cool, jerks the child by the arm, and says a harsh word. Going through my mind was the thought, “If that was my child, I would . . . I can’t believe she is . . . No wonder her child behaves that way . . .” . I was the prodigy of parenting and had it all figured out . . . before even conceiving my first one.
That is until those two little lines showed up on that little plastic stick.
Then my face fell flat in my hands knowing that this was much bigger than all the boxes I had put around the scenarios in my mind of when I become a mommy. In that moment God’s grace had to be sufficient because that’s all I had.