Choices

I should have known better. The kids were restless, I was tired, and it was a crowded event. And Mateo. Mateo is struggling to find his place, how to interact and how to get attention. Already feeling alone and out of place, as I tried to escape the church dinner with 3 increasingly grouchy children, things happened in rapid succession. Trying to balance a handful of plates while scanning for a trash can, monitor the kids (who had scattered like marbles dropped from a sack), carry a diaper bag and purse, I turned my head in time to see Mateo push a little boy. Before I could reach him, the boy's mother had swooped in to get in Mateo's face and start yelling at him. Humiliated, I mumbled an "I'm sorry" in her direction, grabbed Mateo's hand, and tried to make it out of the gym before the tears started falling off of my face.

But believe it or not, that is not the focus of my musings.

I am who I am, and not surprisingly was very shaken by the incident. After hours of crying, not much sleep and feelings of failure for not being able to break through to this child yet, a thought occurred to me. I have a choice.

The raw emotion of the incident caused me to forget the 30 seconds before Mateo pushed, and why my attention had been momentarily shifted. After seeing me struggle with the plates, an older lady came forward to take the plates from me, with a kind "Let me help you". A small gesture for her, but a big moment for me.

And herein lies my choice. I can either dwell on the hurt/embarrassment/frustration or focus on the help/kindness/grace. I can let my feelings of pain fester until I no longer want to be involved, or I can move forward. There are mean people out there. There always have been, and there always will be. But there are also gentle people. And while I was crying into the dishwater that evening as I cleaned, there were also three small children. The oldest, who repeatedly came to hug me, while murmuring "awww, it's ok Mommy." The middle, who sat at the table to make me a card covered in hearts surrounding the word "mommy", and presented it to me with a quiet, "I made this so that you would feel happy again". And the baby, who started it all. Who screams, and pushes, and cries. Who with his arms around my neck, and head on my shoulder is a tangible, solid reminder of love.

God's grace is everywhere. Even in the midst of breakdowns and tears, He sends me gentle reassurances of love. And it is my choice to see them.