Parenting is hard.
A lot of things are hard, but I digress.
The phrase “His mercies are new every day,” keeps hitting me like a ton of bricks.
My mercies are hardly ever new. They’re barely refurbished.
I can hold a grudge so hard, it’s a miracle if it doesn’t break apart in my hand. And I’ve realized, I store up these angry little rocks in my heart even when it comes to the ones I love most.
Even when it comes to my daughter.
She’s a beautiful girl. She’s funny and outgoing and incredibly athletic (girl practically back handspringed out of the womb…ow), and is one of the most street smart people I know.
The only reason I’m not still looking for my car in the Wal-Mart parking lot is because of her.
But she’s strong-willed. And divisive. And manipulative. And an 8 on the enneagram (just like Stalin…but so was Dr. Martin Luther King so there’s hope, y’all).
And a sinner.
Just. Like. Me.
His mercies are new every day.
My mercies have to be new, too.
So that’s my big breath mantra getting me through this tween stage of parenting.
Nobody’s perfect. Not me. Not my daughter.
Only the Lord who grants us favor even when we least deserve it.
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