Confession. I may have teared up the first time my son called me Mama.
He was just over a year old and it was the first time I knew he was actually talking to me and not just making a string of ma-ma sounds.
Now he is a little over two and says my name all the time (somewhere in the ballpark of 342 times a day, if I had to guess).
He loudly calls my name first thing in the morning—jolting me awake because he’s awake.
He happily repeats my name all day long—when he’d like more milk, or to play cars, or to read another book.
He impatiently spits out my name when I try to help him with something he was going to do himself (thank you very much).
He confidently whispers my name when I ask him “Who loves you?” before bed.
Basically, he needs me. Frequently.
But he doesn’t just need me. He wants me. For both the good and the bad.
Some days are good days. Some days I see the tremendous opportunity I have been given to play such a big role in his life. To teach him about bugs, about Jesus, about brushing his teeth. Other days are harder. My patience is thin. I have regrets.
But the next day, by the grace of God, we start over. I’m invited again to the messy, mundane, and sacred moments of his day.
As I thought about this, I was struck by how God invites us to talk to Him like my two-year-old talks to me. He wants the messy and the mundane and everything in between. What an incredible thought. The same God that created the heavens and earth wants a candid dialogue with me.
Thank you, Jesus. Let’s chat.
“pray continually,” (1 Thessalonians 5:17)