It's just Me Abby

Being raised by a single mother and an army of sisters didn’t groom me much for being a boy mom. Baby dolls, Barbies, feelings, and melodrama were not the munitions I needed from my arsenal of experiences to help me navigate the wild rumpus of three sons.

I plunged this untamed world and found out quickly that little boys really were made of snips and snails, and puppy dog tails, and worms and boogies, and mud and noogies.

This morning one of my sons laid down on the couch across from me while I drank my coffee. I was mid sip when I watched him shift his body with a goofy grin and hurl a fart my way.

What would have once mortified me was now the most natural thing I could do in return—I sent him my own gusty wind with a big smile, “Right back at you, Boo.”

His face lit up.

In truth, I almost missed this moment.

Just minutes before this exchange I was listening to him rummage around the kitchen. He saw me through the doorway of the sitting room and greeted me. Since I was in the middle of my quiet time I decided to ask him if he wanted to sit and read the Bible with me. His response was quick.

“No thanks.”

My thoughts started to swirl.

I was offended and felt slighted; then I became doubtful. Was his recent profession of faith earlier this summer sincere?

I began to sense the relentless pharisee that was rising in me, my longtime and unwanted acquaintance.

But we were comrades once. Let me explain.

I grew up in a home that loved Jesus, and I was taught very young how to follow him. I began to spend time with him reading my Bible and praying every morning.

As a child my natural disposition was very docile. I found security in following the rules. I had not intended to be a goody-two-shoes; I was just too timid of getting in trouble.

My developing piety compounded with my compliant spirit birthed within me a burgeoning self righteousness that became a ready advisor in my adolescence and accompanied me into adulthood. It gave me a sense of control. If I was able to master holiness I could guarantee God’s approval and pleasure.

I didn’t quite understand the danger of this pharisaism. It was my safe guard against grievous sins and God’s disappointment. I was unaware that I was making God’s unconditional love very conditional.

My impulse to control bled into my marriage. I took it as my responsibility to govern my husband’s holiness in addition to my own. My love and my approval of him was conditional and it was contentious.

Throughout the decades of diligently reading my Bible it was only a handful of years ago that I truly grasped this false gospel that the apostle Paul so sharply opposed in his letter to the Galatian church. The Galatians had been bewitched by legalism and so had I.

I mistook my self righteous piety for devotion and my devotion for passion. My passion was Jesus plus me. But true passion is just Jesus, and the truest passion is birthed from finding delight in his complete, finished work and treasuring him for it.

Now, at present, I recognized that my old nemesis was looking to jump my son. I could guilt him into reading with me or I could let him be a nine year old boy and trust that God will grow him in his marvelous grace.

I desperately want my son to love God wholeheartedly. As his mother I will always have the privilege of teaching, admonishing, and speaking truth to him. But I long for him to choose passion over dogma, deep devotion over moralistic religiosity, and that starts with me demonstrating not guilting

God’s fierce, unconditional love embodied in our thoughts, words, and actions is hallowed persuasion to all those who are watching.

To my son who chose not to read the Word this morning: God loves you freely so rest freely in His love and mine.