It's Friday...time to take five minutes and write whatever comes out without overediting or backtracking. We took the month of December off from writing together, but it feels like there's no better way to start the year than by letting words flow freely...so here goes.
Blessed are the peacemakers.
Maybe so, but "blessed" isn't how I feel today, all nauseous and cranky and exhausted as I go to pull them off each other a third time in twenty minutes. They're pulling each other's hair out and one has her teeth bared. One is screaming, and the third is loudly trying to convince me he had no part in this particular scuffle. I separate them, wipe snot, straighten clothes, smooth hair, put them in separate corners. Everyone just needs a break.
I don't feel like a peacemaker. I feel like yelling, like stamping my foot and screaming at them, "What is the matter with you? Why can't you just play together nicely?" There's no need in asking them what happened, since I know they'll only blame each other. I feel like sticking them in their rooms and going to drink lemonade on the porch in the freezing cold, by myself.
But wait. How are they supposed to know what to do if I don't show them? How can they ever know how to "make it right" if I don't model that for them, walking them through it step by step again and again? Yes, it's the third time this morning, and I can almost guarantee it won't be the last. I can think of a hundred things I'd rather be doing now, but I can't think of a single one that's more important.
Blessed are the peacemakers, indeed. Blessed, because I'm here, in the middle of this mess. I get to be the one to show them there's a better way. I get to model love and servanthood and turn-the-other-cheek and Jesus to them...and while that might not feel like tons of fun on a first trimester Friday morning, it's a privilege.
So I take a deep breath, bring them together on the sofa, and try to work at peace.
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