The living room twinkled in hues of blue from our eight foot tall white Christmas tree, decked out in blue lights peppered with homemade ornaments. Tori Grace sat at its feet, tucked in between the tree and fireplace. In all her silly brilliance, I laughed over her funny story when I said, “Baby girl you are so beautiful,” but her response caught my eye. Ever so quickly, she set her jaw and froze over the compliment before smiling and saying,
“I don’t like that.”
“You don’t like it when mommy says you’re beautiful? What about when I tell you how much you make me laugh? Or how smart you are?
“No. Stop it, I don’t like it.”
We talked a little more as I prodded Tori about liking compliments when the moment sucked me under like a tidal wave back to my first day of school. Sitting on my daddy’s old white jeep, tears streamed down my face. In my hot little palms was a quarter—a gift from my drunk father, a way to give him a call since he was leaving. As the quarter seared itself in my palms, Daddy said pretty little girls need to know about the birds and the bees as he told me everything I needed to know. After that, he walked out. He was gone.
I didn’t understand him but I knew he was talking about something grown up and terrible. I wanted nothing more than to erase the things he said and to cry into his shoulders. I wanted to ask him why he was so upset and why he had to drink. I wanted somehow make him happy enough to stay. I didn’t want him to leave again.
A wound took place in my heart, so faintly I didn’t know how deeply it had severed my soul that day.
I lost my ability to receive. I lost the ability to experience joy and excitement of something new like going to school, simply because I knew joy didn’t last—so why bother with hope? I knew my daddy wouldn’t be there. I had seen the pattern enough before to know it would be repeated over and over.
The rest of my years were spent smiling sweetly when someone complimented me-unable to receive their words and experience the gift. Deep down I knew better, I knew I wasn’t that pretty, I knew I wasn’t that good. After all, if I was, my daddy would’ve stayed, or got better.
Lurching forward I stared back at my wide-eyed Tori Grace asking mommy if I was listening to her when I heard Jesus whisper to my heart—I know your wounds Heather, I was there. I stood by your side and wept as your heart broke. Let me take your wounds and give you the gift of receiving. Teach your daughter to open her heart.
Eyes misty, I looked at my daughter.
“Tori open your hands for me like this,” I said as I wiped my eyes and cupped my hands as if to hold water.
“Now listen, when someone says you are beautiful, or says you did a fantastic job coloring—Tori it’s a gift for your heart and we need to tuck it in.”
So when I say, “I love you,” I want you to catch it your hands and put it your heart. Let’s practice. Tell mommy what you like about me.
Shyly Tori Grace says, “Momma you’re pretty and fiery, like a dragon.”
Smiling, I cup my hands and hold her words. Whispering, I look into her eyes and say ‘thank you’ as I take my cupped hands, folding them over my chest as if pressing her precious words through my skin and tucking them away in my heart.
And so the afternoon was spent lying on the floor by the fire place, both staring at the ceiling with our hands cupped in the air to receive the next gift for our souls.
These past few weeks I’m learning the hard work in motherhood isn’t the dirty dishes and piles of stinky socks. The hard work is looking within your soul—asking Jesus to repair it while yourself out for your children. The hard work is giving what you don’t have while Jesus pours into you.
He is beside you whispering words of hope and healing because he knows the sting of our wounds intimately. He knows what it’s like to have faith and hope for a beautiful better tomorrow. Three nails and a cross. Blood pouring forth to give you new life—the ability to hope because he is already at the end of the story waiting for you but you have to start somewhere, so why not this Christmas?
As Christmas day looms brighter and brighter on the calendar—you may be holding out because you’ve lost your ability to receive, you’re afraid to hope, you don’t know what God has in store for you. Sweet mama, hold out your hands and receive this gift,
“Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you.
I’ve called your name. You’re mine.
Fear not because I am God, your personal God,
The Holy of Israel, your Savior.
I paid a huge price for you:
all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in!
That’s how much you mean to me!
That’s how much I love you!
I’d sell off the whole world to get you back,
trade the creation just for you.
“So don’t be afraid: I’m with you. (Isaiah 43:2,5-7 Msg).
Christmas is the moment when hope was born. Christmas intertwines hope and the promise of healing and joy–it’s your moment to take a deep breath, cup your hands and receive.
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