She had a bad day today. And I am re-learning how to count gifts and number graces in the middle of chaos and her teacher texts me to tell me she’s sending home a note. It’s the first note in months, the first note since before the landscape began to change. And I’m tempted to explain it away and point at this or that, when really, there’s nothing to blame but sin. And no one to blame but every single one of us.
I sit through a meeting and send little droplets of venom sailing south, annoyance at a project not complete months past its due date. It’s not until I’m driving to get her that I realize I’m annoyed with myself for not seeing the project finished. And I’m tempted to point at someone else, to put it on a less tenured set of shoulders, relieve myself of the responsibility, when really, there’s no relief in that. And we’re all to blame anyway.
I walk into her classroom and her first question aches. “Mommy? Are you mad at me?” She knew her teacher had called me, knew I’d gotten a note. I had driven across the river asking for wisdom in responding to her, especially in this season, and there she was dreading my drive, too. I’d had a thought, crossing that river, that sin is sickness. And if sin is sickness, shouldn’t we be reaching in with healing hands? I tell her I’m not mad. I tell her that we’re going to be okay.
We drive, but not in silence. I play whatever music I can find to soothe the moment, to guide my heart. David Crowder croons, reminds me, He never lets go. It seems like an odd choice for the moment, but this song has always comforted me, always reminded me of God’s great, great faithfulness. I say thanks out loud, almost verbatim the thanks from Ann’s toast story, and we drive to the grocery store, and I look for every opportunity to speak kindness. I normally crank and mutter my way through these aisles (somehow I’m always fighting the throngs for the perfect head of lettuce), but tonight I slow, deliberately, and try to move on in gentleness.
We get home, and I have a plan. Dinner, bath time, a story, and bed. And we’ll talk. We’ll talk about the day and what went wrong and how it can go right tomorrow. So we talk over chicken and carrots and cucumbers and she tells me a little bit about why she did the things she did, and how she thinks she might do better tomorrow. Later, I’m tucking her into bed and she says it.
“Mommy, you know that song you played? The Never Let Go song? Well, I was thinking, that tomorrow…tomorrow I won’t let go. I’ll just hold on and be good and not let go. So I can be nice to my friends. Because today, I was holding on but then I let go and I fell. Here, let me show you…”
…and she takes my arm and holds on real tight. And I take her hand off of my arm and put it in my hand and explain to her what the song really means, that even when we can’t hold on, He holds on for us, and that we can all stop trying so ever-loving hard to hold on to a Father who’s got the whole world in His hands. And she smiles.
“I’m really glad you told me that, Mommy. I really like that song.”
So I tuck her in and ask her if she wants me to sing, and she does. And she takes my hand and holds it up, in front of her night light where stars glow bright on our skin, and we sing it together, how He never lets go.
Never Let Go
The David Crowder Band
When clouds veil sun and disaster comes
Oh my soul, oh my soul
When waters rise and hope takes flight
Oh my soul, oh my soul, oh my soul
Ever faithful, ever true
You, I know, You never let go
You never let go, You never let go
You never let go
You never let go, You never let go
You never let go
When clouds brought rain and disaster came
Oh my soul, oh my soul
When waters rose and hope had flown
Oh my soul, oh my soul, oh my soul
Ever faithful, ever true
You, I know, You never let go
You never let go, You never let go
You never let go
You never let go, You never let go
You never let go
Oh, my soul overflows
Oh what love, oh what love
Oh, my soul fills with hope
Perfect love that never lets go
In joy and pain, in sun and rain
You’re the same, oh, You never let go
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