{arms.stretched.out}

So I've been watching the clock since, oh, say 6:30 am when the girls woke up, waiting for this moment. This moment WHERE I CAN PUT THEM TO BED. It's been one of those days, people. One of those days when I love my children with all of my heart BUT I JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE. Enough whining, enough crying, enough it's-not-fair, enough she-did-it, enough no-I-didn't (mainly from Addy who, sadly, is a good liar and will insist on her innocence no matter what), enough, enough, ENOUGH. I just want to run away. Don't judge, people, no need to put DSS on speed dial, but you know what I'm saying. It's sad when you can't even say prayers nicely, which happened this evening. It got so bad that I had to separate the girls and say a few prayers myself as I did it, praying for grace that I couldn't muster up on my own. And then it happened. As I'm ready to storm out of the room, close the door a little too hard (I have a history of this . . . more on that another time - again, don't judge, people), I turn back for a split second and see my little girl's arms stretched out. She wants a hug. Lord knows I need a hug. And in that moment, it's all OK. Sure I'm still absolutely exhausted and not really excited about trying to get ketchup out of my rug (Addy, of course, insists she did not do it, but, hmmmm, she was the only one who had ketchup this evening), but my child's love sure is a whole lot more unconditional than mine. And in that moment, I caught just a glimpse of how Jesus feels about us, even on our worst days.