The afternoon ended with a family discussion. The pressure had been building for weeks, and we finally erupted. Everyone had a chance to say what was on their minds, and some of those thoughts weren’t pretty or nice.
When it was over, I had a private meltdown pity party in the black of my bedroom. It was one of those I’m-failing-as-a-mother moments. I silently prayed, I need to see your glory and your grace.
Mark came in and sat by me, reassuring me I wasn’t a failure of a mother. We recapped the conversation that had just taken place {with Mark being the more level-headed thinker}, then made our way into more pleasant conversation.
There were no great words of wisdom spoken. No audible prayers. No quick-fix remedies. But when we emerged from the bedroom, a different atmosphere was in place.
Peace, calm and quiet had somehow filled the rooms, even though we were all still sharing the same space.
Glory and Grace had settled in for me to see and feel.
