The other day in the car, as we rocked out to the Beetles,  I heard my littlest say "I'm gunna p-way da guitar!" and then proceeded to play a mad air guitar from his five-point harness.  It was rad.  But as I watched from my rearview mirror I felt a twinge of sadness too, for this was the first time my three (going on sixteen) year old, called his favorite instrument a guitar and not a Tee-tar!

As I put my eyes back on the road I heard my rock star wail, "It's been a hard days night and I been sleeping like a dog."  My heart swelled with joy that some little-boyisms remain.  But at the same time I was laughing at his mixed up lyrics his two older brothers yelled out, "That's not right!  'It's been a hard days night and I've been WORKING like a DOG!'"  Asher didn't care and went on singing happily along.  The CD ended and a new one began.

"All God's people singing Holy, Holy!  Hallelujah!  He reigns!" were the lyrics that flooded our Tahoe.  And my two older boys, who had just been so eager to correct their brother, began singing anything but the words written above.  I don't even know what they were singing.  

I thought back to the Palm Sunday when Caleb was two and Brody was only a baby.  We lived close enough to walk to church at the time and so that festive morning we dolled them up, handed our eldest a palm branch and taught him to shout "Hallelujah!"  All the way down the main thoroughfare he waved his palm branch and shouted at the passing cars...

Ha-yee-u-i-uh!  

Ha-u-u!

Ah-heee-lu-ya!

We laughed and waved to the cars that honked, as we delighted in our little ones.

Flash forward five and a half years, and one more boy later, and I'm aware that something has changed.  It's more than mispronounced words or a simple lyric correction from older Brothers.  I've been noticing an increasing amount of criticism amongst the boys lately.  "Don't say that... don't do that... you're not supposed to touch that... no you're not... I said stop it!...  I'm telling mom that you're...  that's not right... that's Stu-pid...."  And I wondered, where on earth are they learning to be so critical?  

As I raised my voice one day recently to correct them, I was stunned to find that I sounded just like them.  Like so many things (both good and bad) they were learning that critical tone from their very own mother.   Me.  The one who only a few short years ago, smiled and clapped her way though their childishness, has grown weary.

I'm not suggesting we don't correct behavior -- it's our job to train them in the right way to go -- it's the spirit, it's the tone, it's endurance with which we come to them fresh each day.  Every morning we wake up, God's mercies are new, our slate is clean, and his Grace is ready to come rushing into our own flawed lives.  My question to myself is two-fold.  

1) Am I waking up eager to love my children fresh each day?  Or am I bringing the weariness from the previous days into our brand new one?

2) Can I just stop talking and let them be?  Instead of modeling a critical spirit can I graciously give them the space they need to make mistakes, to learn, even if they have to suffer healthy consequences for wrong choices or behavior?  

I am thankful tonight for the glimpse into my oft-times weary heart, the ears to hear my own tone, and the ability to perceive this Mother's flaws.  I'm thankful for Jesus, for HIs mercies which are new daily, and for the promise I'm made in His likeness -- which means extending grace is not beyond me.