…my little children, for whom I am again in the anguish of childbirth until Christ is formed in you!  Gal 4:9

What does it really take to parent?  What does it mean to offer consecrated children unto the Lord?  Is it a baby dedication service with our best outfits?  I believe those are powerful and meaningful, but they’re like a wedding.  The vows are not a completion, but a prediction, a prescription, a statement of intention.  They are not just lost if they’re not followed through on, but actually become a sore source of anguish.  In other words, on that joyful day, the work is just beginning.  Birth is the same.  What toil, what joy…what a picture of what is to come daily thereafter.  Until when?  Until the character of Christ is formed in them…”I have no great joy than to know that my children are walking in truth…”

Right now, the boys are both asleep and Ariel is taking a rest.  I’m listening to her sing, “Jesus loves little ones, through and through, like me and you…”  She takes a break every couple minutes to yell, “Is my quiet rest done yet?”  Oh, the irony of the moment, as I yell back, “No!”  How many years will I labor to form the concept of “quiet” in their little brains?  Feel free to leave a comment on that one if you are an experienced parent.  :)  The sweetness of her song makes up for it all, but I know this peaceful moment will be brief, and if I am not ready for the next one, it will find me disgruntled.  This verse has to be forefront; I have to expect to labor.  

Sometimes it’s just in the natural.  Like yesterday.  My memories of the morning are blurry, but something like this.  Woke up with joy to realize the older ones were climbing into my bed, waking me for the first time, instead of the baby’s cries.  He slept through the night???  I should feel alive and alert and fantastic!  Hooray!  Everybody needs breakfast, and so the bowls of cereal go on the table while baby wakes up and wails…maybe it was all eating at the same time that caused the simultaneous poops that came a little later.  The oldest on the potty, yelling, “Wipe my bu-unns!”  That little phrase was funny when we first taught it to her, having been informed by grandpa that children are not physiologically capable of reaching far enough to clean themselves until a much later age.  Not so funny anymore.  The second was walking around in denial, claiming the far-reaching stench was not from him…and the third, announcing without words his urgent need for freedom…  All at the same time.  

Shortly thereafter,  I remember sitting in my nursing chair, calling #2 over to me.  He’s potty training, a notion that is reinforced every time we have to change one of those bombs, and so running around in training pants.  I thought maybe the pants were wet…confirmed when he came near.  I tell him we’ll change them as soon as I’m done.  He tells me they’re not wet.  Next thing I know, I’m waking up seated in the nursing chair, saying, “Oh…gotta change the training pants…”  I don’t know how much time had passed.  So much for feeling alert and fantastic.  Coffee anyone?  I’ll stop there.  I would call that labor.  

But all the while there’s a much deeper labor going on my heart, through the exhaustion, exhilaration, hysteria (our kids are so funny, I cannot begin to describe it…), there’s a groaning deep in my spirit, constantly crying out to the Lord…Oh, God.  How?  Oh, God.  Let the character of Christ be formed in my children.  Oh, God, my hope is in you.  You said you would give wisdom liberally to anyone who asks.  Oh, God.  Pierce their hearts with this little verse.  Oh, God, make this spanking effective to yield the peaceable fruit of righteousness.  Oh, God, forgive me for my exasperation.  Oh, God, they are yours, yours, yours.  I can’t do this.  But you said whatever is done for the least of these, I do for you.  So here goes, my act of worship.  This diaper change for You, this meal for You, this biting of my tongue for You, this sleepless night for You.  Be magnified, Holy One.  You are worth it.  Them, transformed to your image, is worth it.  I can do this through Christ who strengthens me!  Your power is real, or else I would still be in bed.  

Well, now there’s a little redhead on my left, and a little blue-eyed boy on my right, reading out loud.  Yes, two different books.  Can I concentrate?  No, but how precious they are!  How He must love us to come as a wee babe and labor among us for thirty-three years, finishing with the gruesome work of the cross.  How loved we are, to be called the children of God.