It’s Yellow Ball Monday, and Alice Daniels has the ball:
A number of years ago, I was in that worn-down part of the day of getting the children ready for bed. I had given my 18-month-old, Elaine, her bath, tucked her up in her crib, and was now trying to corral my 4-year-old, Lucy, and get her ready for bed. As all parents know, some days that venture is about as fruitful as herding a roomful of cats, and this was one of those days.
I finally got her bathed and dried off, but not without her wiggling and giggling and talking non-stop on a variety of topics ranging from the merits of string cheese to ladybug funerals, and generally disobeying every directive I gave her.
Finally I said, “I am getting so cross with you. You are not obeying. I want you to go into your room, put on your pajamas, and get into bed. I’ll come and check on you in a minute.” She went away, downcast, and when I went into her room a minute later, she was standing there, her big, brown eyes filled with unshed tears. She threw her arms around me and cried, “Oh, Mama! I’m so sorry. I will obey you. Please—have mercy on me!” Of course, I couldn’t resist that plea, and we ended the night on a happy note.
When I left Lucy’s room, I went across the hall to check on the baby. I peeked through a crack in the
doorway, and saw Elaine, lying in her crib in the dark, waving her pajama-clad feet in the air, and singing a little song she had apparently composed herself. The lyrics were: “Mommy, mommy, mommmmeee. No way, no way, no way!”
Several years later, this story never fails to crack me up, but I wonder sometimes if I must look similar to God. How often do I sit in the dark, kicking my feet, and saying “No way”? How much better after a spell of disobedience that I fling myself upon Him, re-promise to obey, and beg for mercy!