How God Used My Children to Bring Me Himself

I was fortunate enough to have parents who introduced me to God. For years I watched them communicate with Him. They prayed, they took us all to church, they read the Bible. At the time I mimicked what they were doing. He was the "God of my fathers". I liked Him though. He was like a long-distant friend who lived far away and when life got difficult He and I would talk on the phone - bit disconnected, a bit distant, a bit unknown, a bit scary to tell you the absolute truth. Sure, He had died for me on the cross and was raised from the dead, my sins no longer there to condemn, but would He realize one day while we were talking that I was really quite a terrible person full of sins and a black and ugly heart? Would His eyes be opened to the truth of who I really was and one day stopping answering my phone calls?
When I found out I was pregnant with Kaeley, my first, I knew this was the clean-slate I needed. Here was my chance to make my mark on the world. I was going to be the perfect parent. I was never going to raise my voice. I would always know what to do, because I was her mother, her perfect mother. She and I would conquer the world together, her and I.
Without realizing it when that brand-spakin' new baby was placed squalling on my chest, I looked into her deep brown eyes to find my identity in those title of "mother". But instead of finding a new and shiny version of myself in those hungry eyes of hers I saw only myself as I was. A human being had been entrusted to my care and it was the scariest thing I had ever encountered.
Searching for my identity in parenting didn't work, because this whole parenting-thing wasn't the all-roses I had pictured. It was often tiring and sometimes really loud. It was messy. Yes, it was beautiful and fun and silly, but it was overall so much harder than I had ever imagined. You know, people are looking at you, the parent, and how you'll handle situations and when you have no idea what you're doing you look like a fool. I didn't know much besides reading picture books for hours and cooking meals. That's what I knew. I didn't know how to potty train, how to stop her from throwing a fit over a toy at Target, how to teach her how to read, how to do anything it sometimes felt.
But that's how God showed me. He showed me through Kaeley.
It was how He made me so very desperate for Him. It was how He showed me He was not a long-distant friend. I scrambled around the house clawing for a sure foundation to stand on, as my identity in this little independent person who was born sixty years old told me what-for melted away. I was lost in this journey I had created for myself. And that's when He did it. When I was on my knees gasping for a breath of fresh air He yanked out the phone line. He wasn't a long-distance friend, but rather a housemate. He had been here the entire time and yet I hadn't known.
With the birth of Kaeley, February 4, 2004, came the birth of the Gospel in a heavy way. It was parenting indeed that brought this arrogant woman to her knees. Of course, that's what He had been waiting for all that time.
He picked me up off the floor and put me gently into this great and comfortable arm chair called Grace. I am not anyone's Savior. I am a parent. I rest in this comfortable arm chair now realizing it is a gift never to be taken away. I let God do the grunt work of "fixing" everyone. Potty training will happen. Reading will happen. All this stuff that comes with parenting will happen. My identity is not found in the eyes of these precious children. My identity is found in the easy chair. It's only that the birth of my firstborn got me there.

Happy Birthday, Ten Year Old!