My words. My words when spoken to my child have the power to encourage, grow, and fuel. My words also have the power to break, bend, and snap. Too often I carelessly snap at my little one expecting him to think like he’s much older than he is. My fault, not his. He’s four. I’m a direct person and my son can handle direct, but I know when my words are gentle and sweet they warm his little boy heart. They make him smile and he feels assured of himself, my love for him, and his little world. I must understand that my voice becomes his inner voice. What he believes about himself is largely birthed out of what I believe about him, what I speak over him, and what I believe he’ll be.
My son, Jericho, is strong, curious, silly, creative, helpful, gracious, and generous. He’s sunshine on a gloomy day and I can’t miss an opportunity to tell him.
Ann Voskamp says,
“Yeah, after 18 years, there it is:
I have been the mama who’s punished when I needed to pray.
Who’s hollered at kids when I needed to help kids.
Who’s lunged forward — when I should have leaned on Jesus.”
My son needs me to pursue Jesus so I can give him my best, not my leftovers, not my grumbling, not my frustrations, but the fruit that tastes like patience, kindness, joy, and peace. He needs it as much as I do.
“Lord, help me to love even when I feel like the bank is empty, to pour words of kindness and grace when I want to scream, to speak truth and pray when I want to retreat. Your power is made perfect in my weakness. This I know is true. Jesus be near.”
