Falling isn't Failing

My heart hurt as I watched my one-year-old struggle to get his body to do what his head was asking. I stood and watched as he slowly made his way across the room. He was crawling, then moving up on his knees, then putting one foot out in front of him in an effort to pull himself up and walk. But his weak little legs wouldn't let him. He cried out in frustration and looked up at me, his eyes asking me to do something.

I smiled at him and told him it was okay, that I knew he would walk soon enough.

I see the reasons why he struggles more clearly than he does. I've known him since before he was here with us, growing and changing by the day. Because I know him, I know it will take some time for him to walk, and I don't mind a bit.

I thought about how I wasn't frustrated with him or embarrassed by his lack of ability. When people ask if he's walking yet, curious about this meaningful milestone, it's never bothered me to answer, "No, not yet."

So I went to him and helped him to his feet. He held my finger with his tiny hand and we walked together. He giggled at the joy of putting one foot in front of the other without falling, and I thought my heart might burst with his joy.

He will fall a thousand times before he actually stays on his own two feet. He'll try, he'll get discouraged, and try again. Then the day will come when he'll run. I'm sure of that. For now, I'll be here to help whenever he needs me to get him up and going in the right direction.

In the meantime, as I watch him strive and fail, I'm learning something new. Or maybe it's not exactly new, but it's fresh.

Once again, the parent heart of God has been revealed through one of my children.

Because I'm crawling so much of the time, frustrated with myself for tripping and hitting the floor again and again. I'm impatient with myself and confused as to how I can want something and have such a difficult time living it. I consider myself ugly, impatient and cranky. I see myself sad and failing to find joy. I'm assuming God must be tired of all the crawling, sick of my mistakes, shaking His head in disgust and moving on. So I stay planted on the ground, afraid to move, jumping to the conclusion that I'll never get it right.

"It's okay, daughter. You'll get there. Be patient with yourself. I see you. And by the way, I'm not in the hurry that you think I am. I know why you struggle, I've known you since before you were born. Be more patient with yourself and let me help you."

He comes over and stands there with His hand outstretched, pulling me off the floor and keeping me stable as I toddle along. We will practice this over and over, a thousand times. He won't get tired, but I might. And I'll let go and flop to the ground, stubborn and weary, sick of the striving. I might even forget to get back up, but He'll find a way to remind me. Then relief will wash over me as I reach for the hand that never tires of me or my faults. His hand full of hope.

So this year I'm thankful for Asher and his struggle to walk. As his mother, I'll never give up on him. Even if he never took a step on his own in this life, I would love him all the same.

Just as it's true that if I never accomplish what I think I should, my God will not give up on me.

My children and I, we strive and we fail together. My prayer this Thanksgiving is that they will both know how madly in love I am with them despite my failings, or theirs. Even more, I pray they'll learn what God's unconditional love looks like from their imperfect Mom. I'm thankful that I'm theirs. It makes all the striving, and even the failing, completely worthwhile.
----------
This post was submitted to Scribbit's Write-Away contest for November.